Page 385 of Filthy Elites

I’d barely seen him since my marriage—only once, at Dad’s funeral a little more than a year ago. At the time, I’d been too busy sorting through all the possibilities that had started spinning in my head to notice just how much gray had come into his dark auburn hair or how many more lines had formed at the corners of his eyes. Or maybe a lot of that had arrived in the past year now that he was fully in charge of the Noble dynasty.

He walked over, his loafers thumping against the asphalt, and came to a stop at the bottom of the steps. His expression was more somber than I remembered it usually being.

Had he figured out what I’d done? Was heangry? He’d argued with Dad about the arrangement the old man had made, bargaining me away to Clyde Hoffman to secure an exclusive business arrangement, but not enough to stop the marriage from happening. And who knew how much he’d been enjoying the fruits of their arrangement since then?

We’d always had a bit of an odd relationship, my brother and me. He was old enough to bemyfather. I was only a year older than his older son, Roland. And as heir to the Noble crime syndicate, he’d shouldered the weight of many more family expectations than I had. But he’d seen me as more than a possession to trade.

“Anthea,” he said quietly, in a tone that sounded like an apology, and then, with a brief glint dancing in his eyes, “Back to your old tricks?”

He wasn’t an effusive man, but there was admiration in that question. My posture relaxed, and I almost started crying all over again. This time, I held the impulse in.

Ezra respected me because I was made of the same tough stuff every Noble should be. Because I’d learned how to hold my own among the men who controlled so much of my world, honed my own skills to make myself useful among them.

Dad hadn’t known about those skills—I didn’t think he’d have approved. But I’d revealed my evolving studies to my brother, figuring he’d recognize the value in them. He’d have a reason to speak up for me.

It just hadn’t been quite enough to save me from the marriage altogether.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said evenly, and the corner of Ezra’s mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. The last five years had allowed me to practice my poker face to the point of perfection.

“Let’s go home,” he said, with a rough exhalation. “Do you need to pack?”

“There are a few things I should grab. I’ll worry about the rest later. You can come in if you want.”

He looked up at the sun beaming from the clear blue sky. Clyde couldn’t have died on a prettier spring day.

“I think I’ll wait out here,” he said.

I pushed open the door and glanced around the front hall, my mind momentarily blanking. Technically, everything in this house was mine now. I didn’t want any of it. What I wanted was never to have to see or think about it again.

I forced myself to walk up the stairs to my room—the small sitting room that held my desk and bookcase and a large closet full of clothes. I’d had to sleep with Clyde in the master bedroom, of course.

A rush of urgency swept over me. I grabbed a large hobo-style purse and started shoving the few items I did actually want to keep—the items I’d brought from home in the first place—into it. A few pieces of jewelry that’d belonged to my mother. Three favorite novels. A scarf, a pair of black kitten heels that never pinched my feet, the laptop with its methodically scrubbed history. The two dresses that’d survived Clyde’s purges.

I paused and stared at the outfits stuffed into the rest of the closet. The clothes Clyde had bought for me, that he’d insisted I wear. Low cut on top, high on the bottom, covering as little flesh as possible at all times. Silk and satin and a maid uniform that was way too “dirty” to be used for cleaning.

A different emotion gripped me, fierce and forceful enough to make my jaw clench.

I marched down to the kitchen, found a garbage bag, and strode back to my room. Then I yanked dresses and tops and lingerie off the hangers in savage abandon. I stuffed everything I could into the garbage bag, slung the purse over my shoulder, and hauled the rest of the stash down the stairs.

Ezra raised his eyebrows when I dragged the garbage bag through the doorway. I gave him a tight little smile.

“When we get back to the mansion, I’m burning all of this in the backyard.”

My brother let out a low chuckle. “I’ll bring you some lighter fluid to get it started.”

He helped me toss the garbage bag into the trunk. As I got into the car, the familiar smooth amber scent of the cologne the Noble men favored wrapped around me. Dad had worn it too.

My throat constricted, and I found myself hugging the purse to my chest. Ezra had said we were going “home,” but the Noble mansion didn’t exactly feel like home anymore. It was where I’d grown up, sure, but it was also where my father had bartered me off within weeks of my eighteenth birthday.

But he was gone too, and there were other familiar faces I’d be looking forward to seeing there.

“How are Roland and Wylder?” I asked as Ezra got in beside me.

My brother had a damn good poker face too. I only noticed the tick of his jaw and the momentary tightening of his hands at the mention of my nephews because I knew him so well—and because being observant had been the key to my survival.

“Roland left,” he said brusquely, starting the engine. “Wylder’s had to step up. He’s… getting there.”

I blinked at him, unable to hide my shock. “Left? When? What happened?”

---