Page 19

My heart hammers rapidly in my rib cage as I stomp down the third floor corridor, only lit by two wrought iron sconces.

That strange moment in Sir Ian’s office just now. Charles towering over me, his navy three-piece suit barely restraining his raw masculinity. The way those glacial eyes of his become incandescent.

How the oxygen was sucked out of the room with every inch he closed between us, his head dipping down in those very tiny increments.

He didn’t look like the charming golden prince.

He looked like a ravenous lion, and I was his next meal.

Instead of panicking or my pulse clamoring in fear, my first instinct was to lean into him, to close the remaining inches between us and see what he’d do.

A sensual heat pulses between my legs—a sensation so strange, I almost don’t recognize it.

Until I do.

There’s no way I’m attracted to that arrogant asshole.

A shocked gasp emits from my lips.

No fucking way.

I throw open the stairwell door and fly down the stairs. I can’t be so messed up, my body is reacting to the type of men I’ve always avoided since I was sixteen. Rich, arrogant men with fake charm who see women as nothing more than pussy and sex.

The same fake mask. Insincerity in his voice.

But the common sense doesn’t stick. I can still smell Charles’s cologne and feel his body heat so close to mine. I think back to that evening at The Sanctuary—him rolling up his sleeves, doling out one harsh command after another, the crack of a whip hitting skin—the violence in his eyes and voice.

The throbbing heat continues to gather between my legs, the sensation climbing as my underwear rubs against my piercing with every step I take. This isn’t supposed to happen. The piercing is supposed to be painful—pain I can control.

There’s no way the pulsing sensation between my legs is attraction. No fucking way.

I bite back a frustrated growl as I reach the basement and bank a right, eager to take a scalding hot shower to stop this madness.

“No way,” I mutter. Stepping into the room, I beeline for the showers, not caring I don’t have a change in clothes or my towel with me.

I slam into someone.

“Sorry, I—”

“Watch it, bitch!” Carla’s shrill voice jolts me from my thoughts.

She has a towel wrapped around her body and is sneering at me like a tyrant would to her captive.

I roll my eyes. “We have to stop meeting like this.” I move around her.

“Cheater.”

Gasps ring out in the locker room and I feel a dozen pairs of eyes staring at me.

“What did you say?” Heat suffices my face. Fuck, this bitch messed with the wrong person today. Slowly, I turn back to her.

Carla taps her feet, her lips twisted in a sneer. “I’m just saying what everyone is thinking. You want to be Odette. We all saw you salivating over the role since the day you got here.”

She steps forward and pokes me in the chest. “But you aren’t good enough. Bethany is so much better than you. Worthy of the role, unlike trailer trash like you.”

“You better watch what you’re going to say next.”

Carla ignores me and raises her voice. “We all saw you hand over the pointe shoes to Bethany. The faulty shoes. Because that’s the only way you’ll ever be Odette—if Bethany is taken out of the picture. If you’re going to cheat, then at least be brave enough to admit it!”

A murmur rises in the room, the girls whispering to each other, their fingers pointing in our direction. I’m appalled. There’s no love lost between us, but even she must know I won’t resort to cheating to get what I want.

“I had nothing to do with Bethany’s accident. I never wanted to get the role this way.”

She snorts. “You think because you’re an Anderson now, you’re somehow different? That you can cheat and steal and get away with it? Well, you can’t. We won’t let you. And we’ll find proof you sabotaged Bethany, and that’ll be the end of your ballet career.” I’m once again reminded why I didn’t want the world to know I’m an Anderson—but that ship has long sailed when the paparazzi caught whiff of our existence a year ago.

I reach out and grab her towel, pulling her toward me, the venom barely disguised in my voice. “I am not a cheater, bitch.”

Carla arches her face up. “Go ahead. Hit me. End your career now. I don’t give a fuck who your family is. I’ll sue the shit out of you and it’ll be splashed all over the news. Hit me, cheater. Go ahead.”

My hands tremble, and the pressure builds inside my chest. It’ll feel so good to hit her, to smack that smirk off her face, but what will that do?

Carla sneers, the whites of her teeth taunting me.

This is what she wants. Don’t fall for it, Taylor. Be the best damn Odette so no one can say anything anymore.

My fists tighten on her towel, but slowly, I release my grip. Huffing out a deep breath, I wipe my hands on my leggings.

“No, you’re not worth my energy or time.” I look around the room, making sure I make eye contact with everyone staring at me. “You just wait and see—I’ll be the best damn Odette you’ve ever seen.”

I’ll start by finally taking action on unraveling what happened that night. If my overblown reactions at the premiere were any sign, those monsters from my past won’t rest until I find out what happened. The cops abandoned me back then—a poor girl with no connections. But everything is different now.

I have influence and resources as an Anderson. I’ll fucking help myself.

Brushing past her, I pull out my phone and pull up my text messages.

Taylor

Grace, can you get me the info for the private investigator you hired back when you were trying to find the identity of our dad?