Page 17 of Guarded By the Phantom

That was another thing. I understood my mother and her team started looking for someone to protect me as soon as the video came out, but I was still exposed the entire day today. I was even out without protection because my mother insisted I go riding.

And yes, the threat didn’t seem so serious then, but I just couldn’t understand why no one thought that maybe I should stay home until my bodyguard was available. Wasn’t my momworried about me? Didn’t she think even for a second that whoever made that video might escalate?

Then again, what good would staying home do me? They attacked me here, after all.

I sighed, climbing the stairs as my eyes burned. I knew perfectly well why she made me go out. Shewasworried—just not about me. She cared about the damage the video caused to our public image and my father’s career, and fixing that was her number one priority.

Quick steps sounded behind me. I turned to find myself face to face with my new bodyguard.

He stood a step below me, and our faces were on the same level. I arrested my flinch, though he must have seen my reaction, because he grinned, something flickering deep in his eye sockets.

“Can I help you?” I asked, forcing a smile to make up for my awkward behavior.

“Just need this,” he said, reaching into a pocket of his jacket that was still wrapped around me, the hem ending just below my butt.

He rummaged in the pocket, the movement brushing my hip. I blushed, realizing I didn’t give him the jacket back, and, what was worse, didn’t really want to part with it. Phantom pulled out a small, thick paperback and stepped away. I made to take off his jacket, and he waved his hand dismissively.

“Keep it for now. I don’t need it to stay warm. I just needed this.” He raised the book, and I arched my eyebrow, noticing the cover.

It was a beautiful artwork of a red-eyed vampire leaning over a woman wearing an elegant silver nightshirt. She looked innocent and apprehensive, and his expression was so lecherous, there was no doubt what his intentions were.

The title readMidnight Desire.

“That’s… for emotional support,” I said dubiously, wanting to laugh even as heat surged up in my belly.

It was so obviously clear what the book was about, and it made me curious as well as wary.

I didn’t think a book like that had ever appeared within a ten-mile radius of the Ashford-Kingsley residence, and to see it here, in the mahogany staircase decorated with expensive, gild-framed paintings, was a shock.

Phantom nodded with a hum. “I can lend it to you once I’m done with it. You look like you need emotional support, too.”

For a moment, I wanted to say yes, if only out of curiosity. Immediately, my conditioning kicked in, making me shiver.No. Bad girl. Ashford-Kingsleys don’t read trash.

Guilt surged up, followed by anger. My mother’s words and wishes rang so loudly in my head, I didn’t even know what I wanted for myself. Was I just curious or did I actually want to read this book? I didn’t know, and it drove me crazy.

Another reminder my mind wasn’t my own, even when no mind controllers were around.

“I have my emotional support jacket,” I said with a small smile to avoid answering.

He nodded, patted my elbow once, and turned around, sprinting down the stairs.

In my room, the French doors were still open, the cool night breeze drifting in. I closed them quickly, my heart hammering when I caught a glimpse of the dark trees outside. I felt an echo of what happened, a hostile presence sliding into my mind and taking over, slimy and oozing, and so verysmug.

I knew nothing about him, that man who treated me like a thing to possess and break, but I knew how he felt. Arrogant and self-congratulatory, he thought he was a god as he crushed my will and took over. I remembered his amusement as he reveled in his strength, mocking my weakness.

He projected it at me with glee. How weak he thought me. How easy to control. Somehowthatwas what truly upset me, and not the fact he was trying to kill me.

I paced the room, getting more and more agitated. Because I knew he waswrong.I wasn’t weak. I had superb discipline, which got me through high school with my back always straight, the perfect smile on my face—not too kind so as not to invite familiarity, but not artificial. Discipline was what made me obey my mother and sit through countless savoir-vivre lessons, boring charity events, and hours of uncomfortable hairstyling and makeup sessions just so my father could show off his perfect family in public even as he completely ignored us in private.

Discipline was what helped me through long, uncomfortable hours of family photoshoots and let me survive grueling days when I attended school, danced ballet after classes, and did my homework until one a.m., only to get up at five and do it all over again.

It was thanks to discipline that I never cried in front of other people. Not even when my father skipped every ballet performance of mine that wasn’t attended by the press. Not even when my mother looked at me on prom night, eyebrows raised critically, and said I should have lost five more pounds to really pull that dress off, and that I’d better avoid cameras that evening.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, an indulgence I only allowed myself in private. “Stop whining. Did they hit you? No. Did they starve you? Not really. Did they neglect you? Well, maybe emotionally, but that’s nothing.”

And it was. I knew it rationally—I had it all. I was a princess, just like Phantom said, whether I wanted to be called that or not. So many people would kill for my life, and I got it. I was provided for, my every need met, only… It was conditional. If I ever acted out, I’d be shipped off to a mental institution.

I rebelled when I was sixteen, sneaking out to parties, drinking beer, even smoking. When the footage of me dancing freely at a classmate’s house party got out, my mother snapped. She sat me down and showed me a leaflet advertising a prestigious institution. It had pretty gardens, nice, spacious rooms, and smiling patients and doctors in every picture.

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