Page 35 of Mine

Older than me by more than a decade, the woman is extremely attractive with smooth caramel skin and long dark silver-streaked braided hair. She’s wearing a pair of linen pants and a silk button-up shirt that emphasizes a pair of voluptuous breasts.

She drops the canvas bag on the coffee table in the sitting area and then turns to me.

My stomach drops to my feet.

The left side of her face is mottled with burn scars. The melted skin pulls her left eye downward, and it’s the same with her lower lip. The effect is jarring—the kind of injury that’s impossible not to stare at. One side of her face is supermodel perfect and the other, revolting.

A low rumble of thunder rolls through the mountains.

I look away but instantly regret it because she probably gets that all the time, and it probably makes her wildly uncomfortable. So, I refocus on her eyes, forcing myself to look there—and only there.

The glare I get in return leaves no question as to what she thinks of me.

“I’ll be back in one hour to clean the bed,” she says in a clipped tone.

Clean the bed? Is she the maid?

“Are those my things?” I ask, gesturing to the canvas bag.

“No.”

“What is it then?”

“Toiletries. Clothes.”

“For me?”

“Obviously.”

“From who?”

“Astor ordered it to be done.”

How nice of him.

“Where is my purse, my phone?”

“How should I know?”

I cock a brow. Okay, so the tone between us has been officially set—and it isn’t pretty. Well, I can play this game too.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Prishna, but you can call me ma’am. I’m Mr. Stone’s personal assistant.”

“Okay, ma’am, can you please tell me why I’m here?”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be for long.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

And with that whisper of a threat, Ma’am turns and storms across the room.

“Hey!” I yell after her. “If you hate me so much, then let me go.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, I wish I could.”

The door slams—and locks.

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