Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
I’ve dug a little deeper since then, and still, four years and not a fucking blip on the map. So now, I’m wondering if money can move mountains, and there really is zero record of me to be found, the way there’s nothing that helps me find her.
For all I know, Rich Girl doesn’t give a damn who the criminal she let fuck her is, but I was inside that big ass, highly guarded building. Twice. That’s sure to make the wheels spin, ain’t it? Have her wondering who I am and where I came from?
I’m no one, and I came from shit, but would she let me play with her body if she knew I stood over my dad’s dead one with a smile?
I bet the fuck not.
Then again, she’s not what she seems, so maybe she would.
Maybe … she’d stand beside me, her lips curled just the same.
A low laugh leaves me, and I shake my head.
Yeah, fucking right.
Hayze rolls to a stop behind the drugstore, and together, we climb out.
I push all thoughts to the back of my mind and allow it to go numb.
I’ve got a list of shit to do this fine Monday morning, and a long-legged, smart-mouthed blonde ain’t on it.
Rocklin
“Should I ask Saylor to deliver a fresh cappuccino and a warmed blanket to your room, Miss Revenew?” Jasper asks as I stand from the breakfast nook on the back patio.
“What makes you think I plan to go straight up to my room, lock myself inside, and sit on my balcony?”
Jasper fights a smile, scooting in the chair I slipped from. “The same way I know you will take a book with you, one that will not be recreational reading, and you will not move until the clock strikes eight a.m.
“I won’t?” I playfully wonder.
“You will not.”
Folding my arms in front of me, I allow my lips to curve up as I tip my head. “What do you suppose I’ll warm my soul with this gorgeous Saturday morning?”
He passes me my phone before standing tall and clasping his hands behind his back. “Some light reading, of course. Perhaps Investment Management and Fiduciary Service?”
“Am I that predictable?”
“Focused. Not predictable.”
A low laugh leaves me. “Well, good guess, but this morning I’ll be diving into the life of one extremely spoiled royal.”
“Ah yes, academy invitations go out in a few short months. Get to know them better than they know themselves.”
“Exactly.”
His lips arch in response, and he gives a small bow as we part ways.
I head toward my wing with a smile.
When I was first dropped onto the grounds of the Greyson Estate, I thought the place was too big, the rooms and other girls too far, but a separate wing per Greyson was the only solution its curator could come up with to represent equal command, something about offering the Greysons of that time the illusion of control—create a cardinal system, a compass rose, and give them each their own mini kingdom, as a mansion as exquisite as ours can feel, and allow them to rule over it, offering the room in their sections to whomever they like and keeping out those they don’t.
I say they’re lucky that didn’t backfire on their asses tenfold.
Only a man would assume creating distance between those who are supposed to work as a team was a good idea, that their private quarters would cut out the jealousy or need for one to rank higher than the other. It didn’t and all those before us proved that.
It wasn’t until Delta, Bronx, and I slipped into our roles that it changed.
We’re the first generation of all female successors set to reign, meaning none of us has brothers who will ease into our family’s positions within the Greyson Union.
There are no heirs, only heiresses.
We are the future.
While my father is the most powerful, and his name alone is enough to make a man piss where he stands, to identify as a Greyson is to let others know to wrong one is to wrong all. So if someone wants to take an arrow to my heart, it won’t only be the Revenaws who tear theirs from their chest, but my girls’ families as well. It’s a safeguard, so to speak. An unshakable alliance every small fish in the criminal world is aware of.
If Delta, Bronx, and I weren’t as tight as our corsets on gala nights, we would be the generation to explode the foundation the ideal sits on.
There isn’t a record in the books one of us didn’t break or create during our first two years here at Greyson Elite Academy.
They don’t call us prodigies for nothing, but when no one is around to hear it, some do call us weak. The overly ambitious assholes, looking to take our families’ places, believe the influence our last names hold will die with the men in charge today if left to our order.