Page 13 of Filthy Elites

I yank the bow from the top and then unlatch the box. Inside a bright pink velvet interior lays the most outrageous, rainbow-colored violin.

“What the hell is this?”

“You don’t like it? I figured to balance out your drab coloring, a bit of color would be nice.”

“I can’t use this. It’s ridiculous.”

His gaze sharpens. “You can and you will. Now get dressed. We’re late for practice.”

I shut the violin case and then shove it against his chest. “I’m not using this.”

He grabs my arms, pulling me closer. The hard case presses against my breasts. “You’re under the impression you have a choice.”

“Idohave a choice. I won’t allow you to bully me. I’m not afraid of you, Jason.”

He leans forward, bringing his face inches from mine. “You should be afraid of me,Isabelle.”

ChapterSeven

Nicola/Isabelle

The ground seemsto vanish beneath my feet while the room begins to spin. If Jason hadn’t been holding me, I think I’d have collapsed.

“What did you call me?” I ask through the lump in my throat.

His lips curl into a cruel grin. “You heard me. Your real name is Isabelle Maldonaro. And you’re supposed to be dead.”

I shake my head, the denial on the tip of my tongue. But Jason can see the tears that are welling up in my eyes and the glint of desperation that’s surely shining in them. I step back, pulling my myself free of him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Nicola Devlin,” I reply feebly.

“What I want to know is why the most promising violinist in Europe, and perhaps the world, would fake her own death and move to Triton Cove,” he continues, rubbing his chin as if pondering hard.

I curl my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms until it hurts. “I’m not Isabelle.”

He tosses the violin case to the side and strides toward me. I tense to run, but he’s upon me before I can, holding my chin firmly like he did the last time he was in my room.

“Stop lying to me,” he grits out.

My pulse accelerates to the max, but also adrenaline has kicked in. I shove him off me with all my strength. He staggers back, stunned for a moment.

“I don’t owe you anything,” I say.

Instead of his face twisting into an expression of rage, a cold and calculating mask falls in place instead. “No, but you’re pretending to be someone else for a reason. Don’t expect that to remain a secret for much longer.” He walks to the door.

My stomach bottoms out a second later. I have no reason to believe he’s bluffing.

Shit, Isabelle. You can’t let him spill the beans.

“Jason, wait.”

He stops, but he doesn’t turn. “Yes?”

“You can’t say anything.”

Slowly, he looks over his shoulder. “Why is that?”

“Because I’m asking you not to.”

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