Page 21 of Cruel Dominion

“Do you know who’s coming?” I asked her over my shoulder, suppressing an eye roll.

“You know that’s not my area,” she chastised, but she and I both knew there wasn’t much that happened in this house she didn’t know about. “But…I believe it’s one of his younger colleagues.”

I chuckled cynically, tossing my purse on the bed. By “younger colleagues,” she meant “eligible young asshole.” Tonight’s dinner was a setup, and I would be the main course.

Of course Dad’s plan for me didn’t end with lying about charity work at galas.

I’d skipped law school, so he went ahead with phase two.

I was to be a trophy wife, married off to one of his cronies. Maybe whoever married me would be Dad’s vice president when he finally started the presidential run he’d been threatening for years.

This was how he saw me. A broodmare, to be sold off for gold and a head of cattle. My fists curled, nails biting down into my palms.

“I don’t know how you do it, Rosie.”

“Do what, dear?”

“Work for him.”

She gave me a confused look, as though it wasn’t a daily challenge for her not to smack him upside the head.

She and Denise, his personal assistant at work, were the only people able to maintain long-term employment with Hudson Vaughn. Denise and Rosie orchestrated the complicated ins and outs of my father’s life, from flights and rallies to events to suit fittings. The two of them probably knew enough secrets to put him in federal prison for life without parole.

Sometimes, I wished one of them would.

Fuck. I knew I had it good here. I woke to breakfasts I didn’t have to pay for or prepare. I never had to worry about missing a train or bus because a personal driver was hired to take me wherever I wanted at any time. Every need was taken care of.

But there was something so empty about a life that was so frustratingly predictable.

If I missed something about being in St. Louis, it was the fact that every day felt like a challenge. When I came home hours before the sun came up, after my shift at the Butterfly Room, I felt like I had really done something. I would be tired with the sort of bone weary exhaustion only earned from a nine hour shift in heels with a fake smile plastered on your face.

Every day was an achievement. Here, every day was the same. Planned to within an inch of its life. Staged.

And no matter how long I played the part, I’d never felt like I belonged. There would always be a part of me that just didn’t fit.

“I pressed your blue Chanel dress,” Rosie said. “Your father wanted you to wear it tonight.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t you think about not wearing it to prove a point,” she lectured, obviously reading my mind. “I took the time to press it, and I don’t want him thinking I didn’t pass the message on.”

“Fine,” I promised. “I’ll wear it and look nice, but for you, Rosie. Not for him.”

“I don’t care why you do it. Just do it.”

She bustled off, probably to bust somebody else’s balls, but paused in the door with her hand on the frame. She didn’t quite look over her shoulder as she said, “It’s good to have you home, little bug,” and then she was gone, leaving me with the sting of tears in my eyes because she was the only one in this house who could say that and mean it.

I shut the door and leaned against it. I had to look on the bright side—whatever bullshittery my father had planned, at the very least, there would be good wine.

Flopping down on the bed, I opened my phone to search for Carter.

Sue me—my day had been exhausting and old habits died hard.

Flicking through the usual photos, I found a few on google from the gala.

There he was as I’d seen him. Tall and brooding.

I could see the difference between the photos.

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