Page 20 of Vengeful Vows

There’s no mistaking that I’m still a prisoner, even if Paige is bright and bubbly.

She closes the door, and I stand up, stretching and yawning.

I go to the shower, realizing that all of these rooms must have a suite, or at least most of them.

Only this one is a bit bigger, and there are no hushed voices coming from the door at least.

I take a luxurious, long shower, putting my hair up. The smell of sex needs to be washed off, but my hair doesn’t need the dryness that comes from washing it so often.

When I step out of the shower, I go into the bedroom and rifle through the clothes, picking through them to find something comfortable—a pair of high-waisted, white shorts and a comfy T-shirt with a graphic of the sun on it.

Paige is about my size, although the shorts stretch a little tightly over my ass. The clothes are high-quality, maybe better than what I have at home, so I can’t complain there.

Paige and Lara have been kind to me, and it’s not like anyone did anything to physically harm me so far, but I’m still on edge. I don’t know what to expect next from the Burkes.

Taking a deep breath before sliding the door open, I hope that Paige has given up so maybe I can jump out a window or something.

But when it slides all the way through, she’s leaned against the wall, looking at me, and I hold back the groan that wants to be set free.

“Breakfast will be cold,” she says in a scolding tone, and starts down the stairs, clearly expecting me to follow.

And I do. As we go, I look around and try and get my bearings a bit more. When we get to the stairs, they are much longer than the ones at my father’s mansion.

“I put a plate in the microwave for you,” Lara says, sitting at the table as we enter the dining room.

“Thank you,” I mutter, and sit down at the table, taking a small bite of a blueberry muffin. Sugar and tartness bloom in my mouth, and I almost want to moan. They really do have a great chef.

“I can’t wait to show you the rest of the house,” Paige says in a bubbly tone.

“She’s probably tired,” Lara pipes up. “Don’t push her too hard.”

“I’m not pushing,” Paige pouts, looking at me. “Tell her I’m not pushy.”

I can’t help but let out a small laugh. I think, in another situation, I would have liked Paige and Lara. They have such opposite personalities, with Lara quieter and statelier and Paige so bubbly and sweet.

“Did you guys fight a lot as kids?” I ask.

Lara snorts. “Yeah, all the time.”

“I’m not surprised,” I mumble.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Paige says, still pouting, and Lara and I share a laugh.

I feel slightly lighter, my shoulders relaxing a bit, but I’m still on guard as we eat. I won’t let their kindness sway me. They’re still daughters of the enemy, and sisters to my forced husband.

If my goal is to get out of here, maybe they are the way to do it, but I can’t risk getting attached or thinking at any time that I can trust them.

I’m on my own here, regardless of however well they might treat me, and I’ll do well to remember that.

When we finish with breakfast, Paige leads me around the bottom part of the house. I look around, eyes wide and mouth ajar, at all the modern but comfortable-looking furniture, but then I see the ratty recliner with the peeling leather.

I pause, frowning. “What...is that?”

“Oh, God, that monstrosity.” Lara groans. “That’s our father’s special chair.”

“He keeps it because of Ma,” Paige says.

I raise an eyebrow.

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