Page 132 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“I’m here to see William Sinclair,” I say firmly, ignoring the eyes from the people that have rapidly multiplied in the foyer.

Jesus Christ. It’s past midnight. Why are so many staff working?

“I’m not sure where he is,” Marina says, opening the door wider. “Please, come in. I’ll find out.”

“Thank you.” I step inside as she barks an order at another one of the household maids who quickly scurries off.

And I see it.

The first thing that makes my blood boil.

On the largest wall in the foyer is a life size portrait of William, Rosalyn, and Jasmine. Jasmine is front and centre in a chair with her parents standing behind her, looking almost regal.

It’s reminiscent of a portrait I would take with my parents, one that would be shared as an official image of the Royal Family. Except it’s not quite right—their lifeless eyes stare down at everyone who enters in a cheap imitation, and it’s plain to see that they haven’t been hiding their ambitions at all.

It’s sickening.

No wonder my mother despises them all so.

It’s not the only photo of them, either. Everywhere I look, there are framed pictures of them, but mostly Jasmine. The gaudy entryway is almost a shrine to her and her soulless achievements, and it makes me sick.

If anyone walked in here, they’d not be remiss in believing that the Sinclairs only have one daughter.

There isn’t a trace of Harriet anywhere. Not even one of her hairs. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that every inch of her DNA has been scrubbed from this place.

I raise my hand to my mouth and glance at the wall of photos of Jasmine. “Is it like this everywhere?”

Marina’s head is still slightly bowed, and she answers my quiet question with a slight, albeit hidden, raise of her thumb.

I can’t bring myself to reply.

I knew it.

Hattie has made it clear that her mother was persona non grata in this household, and given that she herself has been hidden for over two years… What the fuck am I expecting, really?

Even if there’d been any hint of Hattie in this place before, I can only imagine the carnage that ensued to remove it all the moment our engagement was announced.

The maid from earlier runs down the staircase and stops, curtseys towards me, then hurries to Marina’s side to whisper in her ear.

Marina straightens up and clears her throat. “Mr Sinclair is in his office waiting for you. Would you please follow me, Your Royal Highness?”

I nod at her, and she motions for me to fall behind her as she walks. A thousand questions whir in my mind but asking any now will only serve to expose her as the spy she is. As much as it pains me to find out what’s going on in this hellscape, I must wait.

Marina knocks at a large door and says, “Mr Sinclair, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince is here.”

“Come in,” William says from the other side.

Marina pushes the door open, and once again, I nod at her.

“Thank you.” I step inside his office to see him bowing and Rosalyn in a small curtsey. “I didn’t realise you weren’t alone. Am I disturbing you?”

“Of course not, Your Royal Highness.” William jerks towards his wife. “Rosalyn, go to bed.”

She startles, much the way he just did. “But I—”

He cuts her off with a dark look. Her lips press into a thin line that makes anger spark in her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. She merely inclines her head towards me with a, “Good night, Your Royal Highness,” and disappears from the room.

The door clicks shut behind her, and I stare at it for a moment before turning my attention to William. “Are you sure I’m not disturbing you?”