against hers, and he had expensive lawyers, while she probably couldn’t get anyone to return a call.
And she knew how the game would be played. She’d seen how every innocent thing she’d said was scrutinized and blown out of proportion by fans and the media during her competitive years. She’d accepted it as the price of success, but this was different. If she called the cops, George’s lawyers would smear her with a whole new level of aggression. They would be getting
paid
to rip her apart.
It was probably better for her just to stay away from Seattle. She doubted he’d call the cops on her for hitting him since that’d only make them ask
why
she’d done it.
Her only regret was that she’d lost her best friend. She had no idea how to tell Libby the truth, and didn’t want to imagine how she’d react if she knew. Nobody wanted to believe they had a monster in the family.
Sophia inhaled, breathing deeply. She was a fighter—she always got back up. She could survive this, just as she’d survived the death of her dreams. She could survive anything.
Biting her lower lip, she looked around while waiting for someone to answer the door. The mansion was absolutely stunning and so much bigger than any of the giant houses her father had owned. The classic architecture and landscape complete with an aged bronze fountain and perfectly groomed topiaries hinted at old money. The late afternoon sun tinted everything golden, making the place look almost magical, like a castle from a fairy tale.
The only question was… Did it hide a savior or a beast?
The door opened finally, revealing an elderly man in a crisp suit. Rail thin, he had an oddly stiff way of standing, all his joints set at tight angles.
Just be aware that he’s too good-looking and charming for his own good
.
Her mother’s texted advice came back to Sophia, and she squinted a bit. Betsy could be accused of a lot of things, but having low standards wasn’t one of them. Not that the man in front of her was ugly or anything, but he was extremely…average.
He looked at Roco, gamboling around her feet, then at her. She couldn’t read anything in his placid face. “Yes?”
She swallowed. “Mr. Pryce?”
The man’s forehead creased. “Mr. Pryce…?”
“Mr. Salazar Pryce.”
“He’s not receiving any visitors.”
She blinked. “You aren’t…?”
“I’m the butler.”
Oh wow. She’d never seen a butler in real life. “I’m Sophia Reed. Could you just ask if he’d see me please? My mom, Betsy Reed, called yesterday.” Or at least that was what she had promised to do.
The man ran his gaze over her from head to toe. She knew she looked presentable in her favorite white blouse and gray pencil skirt paired with pink ballet flats; she’d checked after she’d gotten off the bus.
She straightened to ensure she looked as tall as possible. She was barely five four, the perfect candidate for a little help from the shoes department. But heels hurt her hip too much.
“Please wait a moment,” the man said and disappeared.
She let out a soft breath. She needed to project the proper confidence. Nobody wanted to be around the downtrodden.
The butler reappeared. “This way, miss.”
She started to drag her suitcase along, but he waved a hand. “Leave it in the foyer, please. I’ll have it looked after.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You needn’t be so formal, miss. Call me Al. Regrettably, your dog should remain here. Animals aren’t allowed in the study.”
“Sorry, boy,” she whispered at Roco, leashing him to the suitcase. She didn’t like leaving him behind—it felt like he was the only one she had left—but she had no choice if she wanted a roof over their heads.
Al led her up the winding stairs, his head held high. She followed him, doing her best not to wince or drag her feet as her hip and knees ached. They only bothered her when she overdid it, and the hike from the bus stop had definitely done that.
The inside of the
And she knew how the game would be played. She’d seen how every innocent thing she’d said was scrutinized and blown out of proportion by fans and the media during her competitive years. She’d accepted it as the price of success, but this was different. If she called the cops, George’s lawyers would smear her with a whole new level of aggression. They would be getting
paid
to rip her apart.
It was probably better for her just to stay away from Seattle. She doubted he’d call the cops on her for hitting him since that’d only make them ask
why
she’d done it.
Her only regret was that she’d lost her best friend. She had no idea how to tell Libby the truth, and didn’t want to imagine how she’d react if she knew. Nobody wanted to believe they had a monster in the family.
Sophia inhaled, breathing deeply. She was a fighter—she always got back up. She could survive this, just as she’d survived the death of her dreams. She could survive anything.
Biting her lower lip, she looked around while waiting for someone to answer the door. The mansion was absolutely stunning and so much bigger than any of the giant houses her father had owned. The classic architecture and landscape complete with an aged bronze fountain and perfectly groomed topiaries hinted at old money. The late afternoon sun tinted everything golden, making the place look almost magical, like a castle from a fairy tale.
The only question was… Did it hide a savior or a beast?
The door opened finally, revealing an elderly man in a crisp suit. Rail thin, he had an oddly stiff way of standing, all his joints set at tight angles.
Just be aware that he’s too good-looking and charming for his own good
.
Her mother’s texted advice came back to Sophia, and she squinted a bit. Betsy could be accused of a lot of things, but having low standards wasn’t one of them. Not that the man in front of her was ugly or anything, but he was extremely…average.
He looked at Roco, gamboling around her feet, then at her. She couldn’t read anything in his placid face. “Yes?”
She swallowed. “Mr. Pryce?”
The man’s forehead creased. “Mr. Pryce…?”
“Mr. Salazar Pryce.”
“He’s not receiving any visitors.”
She blinked. “You aren’t…?”
“I’m the butler.”
Oh wow. She’d never seen a butler in real life. “I’m Sophia Reed. Could you just ask if he’d see me please? My mom, Betsy Reed, called yesterday.” Or at least that was what she had promised to do.
The man ran his gaze over her from head to toe. She knew she looked presentable in her favorite white blouse and gray pencil skirt paired with pink ballet flats; she’d checked after she’d gotten off the bus.
She straightened to ensure she looked as tall as possible. She was barely five four, the perfect candidate for a little help from the shoes department. But heels hurt her hip too much.
“Please wait a moment,” the man said and disappeared.
She let out a soft breath. She needed to project the proper confidence. Nobody wanted to be around the downtrodden.
The butler reappeared. “This way, miss.”
She started to drag her suitcase along, but he waved a hand. “Leave it in the foyer, please. I’ll have it looked after.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You needn’t be so formal, miss. Call me Al. Regrettably, your dog should remain here. Animals aren’t allowed in the study.”
“Sorry, boy,” she whispered at Roco, leashing him to the suitcase. She didn’t like leaving him behind—it felt like he was the only one she had left—but she had no choice if she wanted a roof over their heads.
Al led her up the winding stairs, his head held high. She followed him, doing her best not to wince or drag her feet as her hip and knees ached. They only bothered her when she overdid it, and the hike from the bus stop had definitely done that.
The inside of the
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