Page 1 of Wicked Heiress

Prologue

KATARINA

No one wanted me. I was thrown away like trash, hidden behind locked doors and ivy-covered gates. And after two years of living with my grandfather—who would tell you I was lucky he took pity on me—I was finally allowed to speak to someone other than the staff.

Lucky me.

Tonight was my first dinner with a guest. It was always the staff and me. Sometimes, I ate in my bedroom when my grandfather couldn’t stand the sight of me. And on rare occasions, the great and powerful Fitzgerald Archibald Adams IV sat at the opposite end of the banquet table fit for a king without acknowledging me.

When we crossed paths, he didn’t talk.

He never looked at me.

I was like wallpaper.

My cousin strolled into the great room dressed in a black suit. Bastian Salvatore was about five or six years older than my eleven years and had caramel-colored hair styled off his forehead. His gray eyes were striking, the first thing I noticed about him. And he carried himself like an adult—not a teenager.

My grandfather hadn’t come downstairs yet. He was still in his office on a business call.

Bastian offered his hand to me. “I’m Bastian. Your cousin. Our mothers were sisters.”

I smiled and shook his hand, thrilled to meet a family member. “Nice to meet you, Bastian. I’m Katarina.”

His expression mirrored mine. “That’s a pretty name. You know, you look like your mother. The two of you could have been twins.”

Everyone said that about us when she was alive.

Our grandfather cleared his throat, and I turned my head to see him standing in the entryway. He was polished and expensive, as usual, and was the kind of man who demanded to be noticed. The type of man you wondered if he was a god.

He appeared twenty years younger than his age and with no gray hair. Never without a suit, my grandfather wore his like armor.

“You’re alone?” Grandfather asked Bastian. “Where’s that dirty, filthy animal you call a brother?”

Like me, Bastian was an orphan. His parents died in a plane crash that was still under investigation, their murders a mystery. But unlike me, Bastian left my grandfather’s estate. He was adopted by the Salvatores and got a new family that cared about him.

Bastian’s nostrils flared at my grandfather. “Damian is at home,” he said with disdain as he crossed the room in a few steps. “And he’s not any of those things you claim. You don’t even know him.”

Grandfather rolled his eyes. “He’s not worth knowing.”

“Fitzy,” Bastian countered as if he were one of the old man’s business partners. “Let’s cut the shit, shall we? I’m here because I want to start working at Atlantic Airlines. I’m old enough to learn the ropes.”

He fixed his gold cufflink and snickered. “You’re a child. An imbecile like your father. Like I would ever let you run that company. You would drive the stock price into the ground.”

I had no idea what they were talking about. Grandfather used words like stock, portfolio, and diversification all the time. He owned more companies than I had socks, and he was one of the wealthiest men in the world.

He didn’t let me leave the house to attend school. I was educated by private tutors under his roof and taught how to be a proper lady. I liked reading and writing, anything that extended my time in the library. It was my only freedom.

As Grandfather turned to leave the room, Bastian slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out something silver and shiny.

A key?

A shiver raced down my arms. My grandfather would blame me. He held me responsible for anything that went wrong in this house.

He lost money on stocks.

It was my fault.

He didn’t like the cook’s food.

---