Page 4 of Capturing the Ruthless Billionaires

She refused to think they weren’t going to get away.

Her phone, lying on the covers beside her, beeped, and she flipped it over to see a text from her sister. Her heart sank even more. She was all they had, and she couldn’t fail them.

Rhea: Anyone awake?

Cara: Me!

Alexandria: Me too.

Rhea: PP?

Alexandria: Yes!

Cara: Yay!

Rhea: I’ll bring snacks.

Alexandria threw the covers off her legs and climbed out of the bed. She hadn’t turned the heat up in her bedroom, hoping the frigid night air wafting through the open windows would help her fall asleep. It was after one in the morning, and she was still wide awake.

In her silk pajama shorts and shirt, she skipped shrugging on a robe and headed straight for her father’s study where he kept his good-grade liquor.

They usually took turns grabbing snacks from the secret stash their chef left for them, hidden in the pantry behind jars of saffron, cardamom, and vanilla. Their mother’s strict rule of no sugar in the house only applied to Alexandria, Rhea, and Cara. She didn’t want her daughters to get as big as houses, her words, since it would affect the quality of who they matched to marry. Anything less would reflect poorly on Swan House.

Well, fuck Swan House, Alexandria muttered under her breath. The use of vulgar language was also not allowed, per her mother’s rules. They had to remain super slim to portray a non-gluttonous disposition and had to act prim, proper, and regal as princesses. Demure and obedient, and unflinchingly loyal to their family name. They were the princesses of Swan House. Alexandria had never hated anything more in her entire life.

She didn’t bother with stealth mode as she confidently strode into her father’s study, opened his drinks cabinet, and plucked the fanciest bottle off the shelf.

By the time his security went through the footage and alerted her father of the theft of his—she glanced at the label on the bottle—Glenfiddich, it would be too late, and she wouldn’t care.

This was probably going to be the last time they had a pajama party as well, in this house anyway, and Alexandria was not sad about it at all. She was going to miss her parents, despite everything, but if they couldn’t protect their daughter from a ritual eons old when said daughter had begged them and cried about it being wrong, they kind of made their choice, and it wasn’t her.

How stupid of her to think her parents would simply not adhere to the council’s rule and offer their daughter up as a sacrifice.

She made her way to Cara’s bedroom and found Rhea there already. She’d outdone herself when she’d raided their sweet stash. Almost the entirety of Cara’s bed burst with a variety of colors and shapes of probably every candy and chocolate bar available.

Alexandria didn’t say anything, and neither did Rhea or Cara. They knew their bedrooms were bugged. They had other means of communicating, though. They were all on the same page about their escape plans without saying a word to each other. It was a good thing they were avid readers. Good old-fashioned books and a pencil became their text messaging devices. They would draw an inconspicuous line under a word or a letter to form sentences. That’s how they had planned their entire escape.

Rhea’s and Cara’s gazes slipped to the bottle in Alexandria’s hand. Worry filled their eyes, but she shook her head, wiped away all the fear from her face, and smiled, pouring her words into her expression.

She wanted them to know she was celebrating their planned release from the family so their future could be free of Swan House dictatorship. They caught on and giggled, first nervously then more confidently.

Good. She didn’t want them to know she really wasn’t strong enough to go through the ritual tomorrow at noon. Even though she portrayed a tough exterior, and nothing was bigger than the outcome, she was just a scared girl who had to take on three glowering men who would like nothing more than to snap her neck if given the slightest chance.

She was petrified, a constant panic attack simmering with every breath she took. But she couldn’t show her fear to her sisters. They looked up to her, for their safety as well.

The sad truth was that even if she feigned a near-death illness, the council would still expect her to perform her duty and carry her down to the dungeon themselves, and her parents would concede without question.

“Let’s get this party started.” Rhea, clad in checkered pajamas, jiggled her hips and clicked her fingers, her dark brown curls swaying with her. They put on some music, and Alexandria took the first sip from the bottle of Scotch.

Completely unaccustomed to any kind of alcohol, the spirits seared her insides like acid and made her cough enough that she was sure her organs had come dislodged in her body. But she took another sip and then another, and soon she welcomed the burn in her throat and all inside her.

With Rhea’s help, Cara made a fort; the inside was cozy with soft cashmere throws and fluffy pillows. Then they sat inside, cross-legged in a circle, stuffing their faces and whispering quietly, until Cara pulled out a paperback from behind her.

“Oh no.” Alexandria laughed at the sight of the glossy cover featuring a dashing rogue with his shirt open, holding a damsel clearly in distress around her waist.

“Oh yes. I just got to the juicy part. He has a member,” Cara said, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “And it grows—”

“I don’t know if I like boys or girls,” Rhea blurted out softly, then bit her lip. “Or maybe just both.”

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