Page 45 of Unwillingly His

This was not the clothing of a girl whose father was on the verge of bankruptcy. This was the clothing of a girl whose trust fund could fund a small country for her lifetime without ever running dry.

No, I needed to know what was really happening.

I needed to know what my options were, what was realistic, and how I was going to be able to get free from all of this mess without a ring on my finger, or worse, a bastard growing in my belly.

My parents had spent hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of dollars on my education. I had excelled in courses that other girls struggled in. I was accepted to a top university and graduated top of my class.

It may have been general education in general business courses since I was going to need to play the part of a perfect wife, but that didn’t mean that was the only thing my degrees could be used for.

My parents had raised a strong, educated woman, and I could do what I needed to do to survive without them.

I could be independent.

I just needed a little help.

There had to be some way to get me out from under Lucian Manwarring and his theft of my family’s legacy.

Pushing my shoulders back, I grabbed my own pink power suit that completely channeled Elle Woods energy and paired it with the perfect pink crystal Jimmy Choos.

I was a badass, stylish woman who planned to take her future by the balls.

First, I needed to talk to my lawyer to figure out my next steps.

CHAPTER 19

LUCIAN

Stella, the punishment-craving brat, was making me wait.

If I had the time, I would have gone up to my room myself, reminded her how valuable my time was with a belt, and then forced her to sit still to eat breakfast with me.

Sadly, I didn’t have the time for that this morning, and I sent Hamilton to deal with her for me.

He apparently didn’t have to go very far.

I could hear them arguing just steps outside of the formal dining room.

“No,” she said. “I have appointments that I have to see too.”

What appointments could she possibly have? I didn’t know, and truthfully, I didn’t care. She needed to learn the rules of this house.

Rule one: if you lived in this house, you ate breakfast at this table every single morning.

I couldn’t hear exactly what Hamilton said, but after a moment, he directed her into the dining room.

I stood as a gentleman should when a woman approached the table.

She was dressed all in pink, her arms crossed over her chest like a little angry Barbie.

With a quick wave, I signaled to Hamilton that I would take care of getting her seated and he could let the chef know that it was time to serve breakfast.

Even though now we were running four minutes late.

He quickly pivoted on his heel, turning to anticipate my needs. I have to say, Hamilton was my best investment. I’d picked him straight from the Prestigious Butler Academy, Bespoke Bureau in London.

Classically trained, British Butlers were a must in my line of work. Not only did they anticipate needs, but they were discreet and always distinctly aware of who signed their paychecks, and their loyalty was unflappable. There had been many times my son tried to bribe him to keep his mouth shut about sneaking out. Each time, Hamilton took the bribe and then immediately reported my son’s whereabouts.

You could only buy that kind of loyalty.

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