Page 1 of Gilded

MALIA

T wo weeks earlier

Rain pelts my face and drenches my clothes.

The full moon shines on the ocean’s choppy whitecaps, and the wind howls across the island.

Despite my heavy jacket, the cold cuts through my clothes and sinks into my bones.

Between the fear and the cold, every muscle in my body is taut.

My teeth chatter, and my heart throbs in my throat.

On this side of the island, I don’t see the lights of the New York skyline in the distance, just the black sea. The black night. All rattling around in my black soul.

I drag my soaked hair out of my face and follow the glow of the flashlight showing me the path.

A path littered with tripwires, land mines, and infrared security cameras.

I fear every step will be my last, but I stick by my bodyguard’s timetable to the second, so he can deactivate exterior security measures for the time it will take me to get here.

As I near the lone dock on the uninhabited side of the island, a strike of lightning blazes out at sea, followed by a roar of thunder that shakes the ground.

A small aluminum boat bobs with the waves and bangs against the wooden pier, and the terror of what I’m about to do registers full force.

I’m already terrified of the ocean, given I can’t swim, but the ocean at night, in a storm, is an entirely different beast. This is crazy. Crazy . But my only other option is unthinkable. Unspeakable.

I don’t see Yari, and a strange mix of relief and terror swamps me. Relief that I won’t have to face the ocean at night. Terror over the life that awaits me if I don’t.

A hand grips my arm, and I cry out and pull back.

“Shh, shh, it’s me.” Yari.

I drop my hands to my knees and blow out a hard breath. “Jesus Christ.”

“We may need to scratch this.”

I straighten and follow his gaze toward the house perched on the island’s highest point. It’s massive and dark and looks terrifying at night. But what shoots panic through my heart is the blazing light in my father’s bedroom at 3:00 a.m.

“Oh my God, no .” Fear pushes my feet toward the dock. “Let’s go.”

Yari follows, tossing me a life jacket. “Get in.”

A gust of wind slices in from the east, along with more lightning, slamming the small boat against the dock so hard, it knocks Yari off his feet. I reach for him but lose my balance as well and press one hand against the dock to keep from rolling into the water.

The dinghy is getting tossed around like a bubble in the wind, no match for the wild weather. I hate the idea of depending on a small piece of foam wrapped in orange fabric to keep me safe from something as wicked as the ocean in this mood.

This all sounded so plausible when we whispered about it a few nights ago, after I found out my father isn’t just cold and callous—he’s evil.

But now, quivering from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes, with the dock lifting and rolling beneath us, my terror rises.

Yari gets back on his feet and wrangles the small boat to the side of the dock, but I suddenly can’t force myself to move.

“Malia,” he calls above the wind. “We have to go now .”

I glance back at the house and see more lights clicking on. And I find myself caught between two true evils—my merciless father and the unforgiving sea.

At least with the sea, I have a chance. With my father, it’s just a matter of time.

I grab the life vest from Yari and drop it over my head.

“ Stop .”

My father’s bark carries on the wind, and I spin, terror striking my heart. He’s running toward us, holding a handgun, and he’s flanked by his business partner Soren Zeiger, James, the head of security, and two other guards. There will be more here any second.

“How dare you.” He points the weapon at my chest. He’s squinting through the rain and wind, and his dark shirt clings to his body.

I don’t know if it’s the situation or what I’ve learned about him, but he looks exactly like what I would imagine if I envisioned evil.

“I’ve spent my entire life protecting you. And this is what I get?”

The gun doesn’t frighten me the way it should. The way I thought it would. In fact, this seems like the perfect end to a miserable life.

“I’ve spent my entire life obeying you,” I spit back, “padding your bank account with billions of dollars, and this is what I get?”

I’ve never spoken to my father this way. I’ve been conditioned not to talk back, not to sass, not to refuse or argue in any way, about anything ever. I’ve done my best to battle my stubborn, outspoken nature in hopes of earning his love.

Now, I know there was never any love to earn.

“How do you expect me to live here knowing how you use that money? Money you said went to charities that help children, when what you do is prey on children.”

He comes closer, rage cutting across his face. “You ungrateful bitch . I’ve given you everything . I could have killed you years ago.”

The biting threat shocks me. He’s always been dismissive, condescending, arrogant and mean, but never blatantly hateful. Besides, now I know killing me earlier would have cost him billions.

More lightning and thunder join another half dozen flashlights in the distance, adding panic to my terror.

“And you.” He shifts the weapon toward Yari. Yari . I’d forgotten about Yari. “Backstabbing sonofabitch.”

“ No! ” I lunge toward Yari to get between him and my father, but not before shots crack through the air. I reach Yari just as he drops to the dock. Terror grips my heart. I run my hands over his chest. “ Yari! Yari! Oh my God. Yari! ”

His head rolls toward me, his eyes open and focused on mine, but all that comes out of his mouth is a bubbling gurgle and a stream of blood.

“ No. Yari! ” I half scream, half sob as I look over my shoulder at my father. “Get the chopper. He needs the hospital. He has a family .”

“You both should have thought of that before you betrayed me.”

When I look back at Yari, his eyes are still open, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but a blank stare.

I’m fumbling to find a pulse when the guards yank me to my feet, and my father— my fucking father —presses the gun to my forehead.

“ Do it ,” I scream, sobbing. “ I hate you. ”

Soren grips my father’s shoulder. “She’s not twenty-one yet.”

I don’t know what that means, but another flash of rage lights my father’s eyes. “One more disobedient word out of your mouth, and I’ll put a bullet through your brain.”

“You’re a monster ,” I scream as James grips my arm. “ You. Are. A. Fucking. Monster. ”

My father pulls the gun away from my head just to bring it back in a swift arc, hammering my skull and turning everything black.

I’m still woozy and half-conscious when a knock sounds on my bedroom door. I continue to stare at the ceiling, numb. Hollow. Devastated. I continue to run my fingers over the perfect edges of a classic red Lego, but it’s not bringing the comfort it usually does.

I’ve been crying for hours, and I’ve finally run out of tears. Run out of the energy required to cry. My lungs keep seizing, making my breath stutter.

One of my many nannies as a child, Evelyn, now my housekeeper or maid or nag or bitch or whatever the hell she’s become, enters my suite.

As the sun comes up, I touch the cut on my cheek, one that needed several stitches to close. I’ve got other cuts and bumps along with a wicked headache, a hole in my heart a mile wide, and the kind of guilt that swallows me whole.

I’m grateful the doctor who stitched me up left me with meds for pain and sedation. I’m not sure what I’ll do with them. I’m still trying to decide between killing Soren and killing my father.

“Get up,” Evelyn says. “Your father wants to see you.”

Tears I didn’t think I had left leak from my eyes and slide over my temple. “Fuck him.”

“He’s so angry. I’ve never seen him like this.” She shakes her head. “ Tsk . You’re so impulsive.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word impulsive.”

She slaps my leg. “You’d better get out there. If he has to come get you, he’ll be twice as mad.” Then she mutters, “But that’s hard to imagine.”

She stops beside me and leans in to look at my cut, coming into my line of sight. All I see is annoyance and disapproval, a visual reprimand. And her old-lady, powdery scent wafts in, making me gag.

I wish I could fire her, but I have absolutely no power in this house. In this life. I’m told what to do, what to eat, what to wear, how to act. I have no friends. No family beyond my demented father. And now, I can’t even get close to my bodyguards.

“Crying like a three-year-old isn’t helping,” Evelyn says. “If you want that to heal, you have to keep it dry.”

“ Get the fuck out ,” I scream. My voice seems to echo with the slam of the door. I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at anyone like that. Ever.

She walks out in a huff, and my mind turns to Yari again. I wish those bullets had hit me. Then Yari would be home with his family, and I’d be free from this prison.

I cover my face with both hands, thinking of Yari’s wife and two sons, and choke out, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

When I’ve gained enough strength, I sit up.

The room swirls before it settles. I slide the Lego into the pocket of my sweatpants and reach for the last of the tissues on my nightstand.

But the box is empty, so I use the sleeve of my sweatshirt to dry my face.

I force myself to my feet, and I’m instantly lightheaded.

My brain pounds like a gong, and my body aches everywhere.

I make my way to my father’s office with a hand on the wall to keep me upright.

There, I take a deep breath, wipe my face again, put on a blank expression, and knock.

“Come,” my father barks.

Another deep breath, and I enter his office. But what I find isn’t what I expect.

There are three other men in the room—two of my father’s lawyers and Soren. Fear crawls down my spine.

All the men are my father’s age, in their late fifties.

The attorneys are sitting off to the side in straight-backed guest chairs.

Soren sits in one of the big leather chairs across from my father’s desk, ankle across his knee, swiveling back and forth while spinning his dagger on its tip on the top of the wood side table.

“Well, Malia,” Soren says, his tone disgusted. “Not a good look.”

I’m instantly aware of my sweats, my hair in a tangled top knot, my stocking feet, no makeup. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I choose sarcasm instead. “If I’d known there would be others in the room, I would have prepared.”

“No need,” my father says, voice low and angry. “We just need your signature on these papers.”

I look at his desk, confused. I’ve never signed anything in my life. I own nothing. My father controls everything. “What? Why?”

Soren stands with an annoyed sigh, grips my arm hard enough to leave bruises, and drags me toward the desk. “Do what your father says.”

I jerk my arm from his grasp. “You have no right to tell me what to do. My father does enough of that for both of you.”

Out of nowhere, Soren backhands me. His knuckles crack against my cheekbone and whip my head to the side.

I cry out in pain and shock, lose my balance, and fall against a heavy wooden chair, jamming my ribs so hard I see stars, before dropping to my knees.

My teeth cut the inside of my cheek, flooding my mouth with the taste of blood.

I’m stunned. Again. I’ve never been hit before. Not by my father, not by any nanny or guard. Now, I’ve been hit twice in a matter of hours, and I don’t know how to adapt. I’ve been ignored, disregarded, belittled, scoffed at, and now, hated, but I’ve never been hit.

Soren pulls me to my feet, his grip so painful, I whimper. When I’m standing, he bends from his six feet to get eye to eye with me, and his expression is murderous. “I have every right to tell you what to do, and you will listen.”

I’ve never noticed the color of his eyes, but right now, they look black, like they’re exposing his soul. He’s got the rough look of the other men my father works with. Thugs. Criminals. Villains. “You’re hurting me.”

“That’s another thing you’ll have to get used to.”

I look at my father and get his stony, ice-cold glare. “Are you going to let him treat me like this?”

He ignores my demanding question. “Come sign.”

The lawyers wear nervous expressions but stay mute. The storm kicks up debris, and thunder shakes the house.

Soren releases me, and I scan the papers, which show a nine-figure number and the name Varopoulos, which means nothing to me.

“What is this?”

“Sign the trust over to your father,” Soren says. “ Now .”

“Trust? What trust?”

“Just sign it,” my father growls.

I look at the papers again and scan further down the page. What I see makes my heart jump to my throat.

“No.” I look from my father to Soren, then back. “No. I’m not marrying him. Absolutely not .”

I step back, but Soren forces me forward again. “I suggest you obey, Malia. I don’t have the same tolerance for your tantrums that your father does.”

I ignore Soren. “Who created a trust for me? We’ve never talked about any of this. I bring in so much money for you.”

When he doesn’t respond, I give up on demanding and try bargaining. If there’s one thing my father responds to, it’s money. “I know trying to leave was rash, and I was wrong. I’ll keep doing what I’m doing. Last night doesn’t have to change anything.”

“You’re right.” Soren wraps his hand around the back of my neck. “It doesn’t change anything. The money will just be going into my bank account instead of your father’s. Now sign before I choke you.”

I assumed my father would want to marry me off at some point, and I tried to hold that off as long as possible by bringing in billions for the charity—back when I believed it was a true charity.

But marry Soren?

“Take the trust,” I tell them. “I don’t care. But I won’t marry him.”

As I speak, my panic rises. The implications of being married off to Soren are terrifying in a million ways. At least my father is the devil I know. Soren is definitely the devil I don’t, nor want to.

Soren’s hand fists in my hair, shooting more pain across my already injured head, and I cry out. Then something pinches my throat, and my eyes fly open. I can see the handle of his coveted dagger at the side of my head and feel the blade pressed to my throat.

“Sign right fucking now,” he growls as the knife slides toward the side of my face. “Or I’ll cut off your ear.”

Panic bubbles until it boils over. “ Father, do something .”

“ Sign ,” my father repeats through clenched teeth.

Soren stabs my temple. Pain explodes on the side of my head, and I scream. Blood flows down the side of my face and into my mouth, earthy and metallic.

“Last chance,” Soren says. “Sign, or I’ll take this ear and start on the next.”