Page 12 of The Royal Art of Revenge

And scream.

But that’s beside the point.

Today’s newborn was very co-operative… Until she wasn’t. My change of clothes was a good idea, let’s just put it that way.

Now, with my shoots done and my night free of having to return home to my hellhole, I have no idea what to do with myself. It’s not as if I have any friends. Avoiding anyone that could possibly recognise me was relentlessly drilled into me when I came back, but it’s fine.

The less people who know about me, the better.

For right now, anyway.

It’ll be that much more shocking when the truth comes out.

I lock the rented studio behind me and tuck the keys safely into my bag. I decide against calling my father, instead sending him a quick text on my way out of the building. My hotel room has been booked for hours, of course, but I don’t tell him that.

No, I’m as sweet as sweet can be. I even toss in another little apology for upsetting Jasmine this morning.

He simply hates it when we fight, after all.

And I… Well. I need him to think I’m still under his thumb. That I’m not planning on stepping out of line at all. That I really was just trying to be a good sister and help Jasmine see the error of her ways.

The thought of it almost makes me snort, and I narrowly avoid bumping into someone. After a quick—and genuine—apology for almost bowling into them, I turn down the street where my hotel is situated.

What should I eat for dinner?

Hmm.

A group of people are standing outside the door, smoking. The thick, arid scent of the smoke curling around them makes my stomach curl. Goosebumps prickle across my skin, and I keep my head down as I hurry past them.

They’re all in suits.

They’re just businesspeople, taking a break from their meetings.

Just a smoke break.

The smoke can’t hurt me.

Still, that doesn’t stop the tightness that spreads across my chest, nor does it calm the heavy beating of my heart.

Trauma isn’t rational.

My room.

I need to get to my room.

To a place where I can barricade the door, curl away, let this panic run its course.

Shit. I should be over this by now.

“Miss Porter?”

I flinch at a gentle touch on my arm and step away, putting several feet between me and whoever just called my name. My head is spinning now. My vision is fuzzy. There’s a whole bundle of cotton in my mouth that keeps getting thicker and thicker, drying out all my saliva, threatening to choke me on the dryness of my throat.

“Damn it, Michael, did you scare her again?”

Ah.

I know that voice.