5. VERENA GRAVENHURST #3
I’m halfway to the island when I notice him.
The arrogant prick from last night is leaning against the far counter.
Steam curls from the mug in his hand, and he looks entirely too comfortable for this time of day.
His eyes flick up slowly, and I pretend not to care as an amused smile creeps up on his lips.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and a set of black slippers, appearing as if he’s just rolled out of bed.
I swallow hard, breaking my stare when he lifts his mug to his lips, taking a sip of his coffee.
His abs flex with every movement. I contemplate turning around and returning to my room, not wanting to share the space with him despite the size of the kitchen, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets under my skin.
Claiming the nearest stool, I snatch a muffin from the tray and sink my teeth into it without hesitation. I don’t have to look up to know his eyes are still on me, which has me shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Sure enough, as I glance back at him, he still has his eyes locked on me.
“Stop staring, creep.” My words are muffled by the large piece of muffin that I’ve yet to swallow, and I glare at him. He stays quiet, taking another sip of his coffee, and irritation burrows under my skin as he continues to stare. “What do you want, asshole?”
He pushes away from the counter, forearms flexing from the force, and it dawns on me that I’m all too aware of the way his body moves.
He stalks forward and leans on the island directly in front of me, resting his elbows on the counter, and my heart flips at the close proximity.
Studying his face, I’m noticing things I couldn’t see from a distance, like his eyes—a sapphire blue so sharp my breath hitches.
His full lips and the light pepper of freckles dusted across his nose.
He has a small scar above his eyebrow, partially hidden by his unruly ebony hair, and I itch to trace my finger over it.
“I’m just surprised to see you here at all, I suppose, after your great escape last night,” he taunts with an obnoxious smirk, and my cheeks heat at the mention of it.
“It must be so hard to be handed extraordinary wealth and still be so unhappy. Poor princess, were your pillows not fluffed to your desire?”
He takes another sip, peering at me over the brim of his mug.
My eyes narrow, and I place my muffin on the counter harder than intended. “You don’t know me.”
He huffs out a laugh, quiet but sharp. “Maybe not. But I know enough.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“That you’re ready to toss your grandfather’s legacy aside the second it asks something of you. A little work, a little responsibility, and suddenly the princess wants to run away.”
“I’m not a princess,” I spit, anger flaring inside of me.
“Sure you are,” he says, voice low. The asshole has the nerve to smirk.
“A grand estate,” he raises his free hand, as if telling me to look around, “a prestigious academy, and enough money that even the generations after you would thrive off of. A rare gift placed straight into your palms, and you’re acting like it’s an inconvenience.
Most people would kill for the chance you’ve been given,” He leans closer, “but go ahead. Prove me right. Walk away because the world isn’t bending to you. ”
We stare at each other for a suspended heartbeat, his words settling into me like a stone sinking into the ocean.
He isn’t wrong, not entirely, but I hate that his words hold even a fraction of truth.
Angry tears burn the back of my eyes, but there’s no way in hell I’ll allow them to fall in front of him.
“My only parent died when I was fourteen.” My voice comes out low and laced with anger.
“I spent the following night in my first foster home without a spare second to even grieve the loss of my mother, and for the next four years, I was passed between homes more often than the seasons changed. They were terrible,” I let out a dry laugh, “and that’s an understatement.
They didn’t give a single fuck about me or my story; they just wanted the paycheck that came along with me.
After the first year, I stopped bothering to unpack my suitcase.
” I stare at him for a moment, anger rippling off of me in waves.
He doesn’t say a word, just listens. “I’ve had to work for everything I’ve ever wanted since I was a child, with no one by my side, no one to protect or provide for me, not even the grandfather who knew of the struggles I endured.
A fluffy pillow is the least of my worries,” I say, beginning to walk away, then spin back on my heel again.
“And you know what, maybe I don’t want to work for it anymore.
The way I see it, the world could use a little bending,” I grit out.
His jaw works beneath his flesh, then something akin to sympathy flickers behind his eyes, so quick I would’ve missed it had I not been staring directly into them, but it’s too late.
Once a fire has been stoked within me, it’s not so easily put out.
“So spare me the judgment. You don’t know what loss does to a person, and you sure as hell don’t know the first thing about me, asshole.
” I push up from the stool, needing to get out of this kitchen before I break down completely.
It isn’t until I reach the exit that he speaks again.
“I’d prefer Loxen,” he calls out, and my steps falter.
I peer over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“My name is Loxen, not asshole. Though you can call me whatever you’d like.” He smirks.
I roll my eyes, pushing through the swinging doors. “Asshole suits you better.”