Page 15 of The Arrogant's Surrender

I get up from the armchair, pour myself a glass of whiskey, and look out from my penthouse, not far from one Zeus owns here in Manhattan.

I stare at the night outside, unseeing, as I seriously consider what L.J. said for the first time.

It’s true that from the moment I first saw her, even in a photograph, I was struck by her beauty. But that alone isn’t enough for a relationship. I’ve been with more beautiful women than I can remember, and none of them left any impression beyond the hours of pleasure we shared in bed.

On the other hand, as my partner pointed out, I’ve never spent so much time with someone I was interested in, not even those who were a constant presence for a period in my life.

I walk to my apartment library, sit at the desk, and turn on the computer. This time, my search on Brooklyn Foster has nothing to do with the night of the incident—it’s about her past.

Twenty minutes later, I’m partially surprised by what I’ve uncovered.

She was a hairstylist before becoming pregnant. The last photo on her Facebook, taken in a salon, shows her with a rounded baby bump—I’d guess about four months along.

Is that the real Brooklyn? Likely, yes.

Not the girl with a sad smile, holding her babies shortly after their birth, when she probably realized that whatever dreams she’d once had wouldn’t come true. No, this was a future mother preparing for her children.

I stare, captivated, at her frozen smile on the screen.

I thought she was beautiful, even in hospital clothes, thin from months of inactivity.

I was wrong. Brooklyn is stunning.

There are many photos of her with Madison, and it seems the two are not only close but also hardworking women.

There’s only one photo of them with an older man, who is unmistakably their father. Despite their differences—one blonde and the other brunette, one with blue eyes and the other green, if I recall correctly—their features are unmistakably his.

They share the same direct, questioning gaze that leaves no choice but to meet it.

I scroll down to find his name.

Otis Foster.

Where is he?

I search for his name.

Deceased.

But it’s not just the obituary that catches my attention—it’s a news article about his arrest for fraud. Nothing major, just petty crime, but it seems at odds with what I’ve learned so far about the Foster sisters.

I shut the computer down, and the idea takes firmer shape in my mind.

Have I found my candidate?

I know she’s not as docile as I initially thought, based solely on her princess-like appearance, but I never wanted a doll. If her behavior upon waking is any indication of who she is, the idea of bending her to my will is all the more thrilling.

I’ll have about a month to observe her—the time I estimate it will take for her to recover. After that, I’ll know what I need to about Brooklyn Foster. And if I see in her what I’m looking for, I’ll devise a plan to seduce her.

Brooklyn

CHAPTER EIGHT

A Week Later

"How are you feeling today,my dear?" asks one of the nurses assigned to me, Miss Inara.

"I’m better. A little better every day," I reply, sounding both enthusiastic and unsure. "Aren’t I?"

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