Princess
Sunday | 9:19am
A soft knockat the door broke my spiraling thoughts. I flinched, then rolled my shoulders back as my mother taught me. Keeping my chin high, I steadied my breath while crossing the room and cracked the door.
One of Nyce’s goons stood there. He was tall, looking like he bench-pressed tree trunks for fun. His face was unreadable, but his presence thickened the air. “He wants you downstairs to eat.” His voice grated low, like tires on loose gravel.
I blinked up at him, lifting my chin. “And if I don’t feel like eating?”
His lip curled, though it wasn’t quite a smile. His eyes narrowed slightly, letting me know he didn’t care about mychallenge. “Then sit there and starve. I really don’t give a fuck. Let’s go.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t reply, though frustration simmered beneath my silence. There was no use arguing with a brick wall, so I brushed past him, avoiding his eyes. The fabric of my boy shorts skimmed my thighs, and with each step, I felt his eyes follow every movement of my body.
As we walked, I realized how massive the mansion was. Everything looked expensive and dark but very well put together, like it was designed by the interior Gods themselves.
We reached the dining room, where another guard, just as big, jerked his chin toward the open doorway. “Go on.”
I stepped in to see Nyce already there, leaning back at the head of a long, dark table. Phone to his ear, fat blunt betweenhis fingers, he sat loose, exuding an ease that dared anyone to challenge him.
Smoke curled lazily into the air as he exhaled. “That’s not my problem,” he said into the phone. “Make something shake. I refuse to lose sleep over it.” He ended the call without apology, the phone hitting the table with a soft thud.
He looked up, and for a brief moment, everything slowed. His eyes hit me like a shot of dark liquor. I swallowed hard as his gaze lingered and dragged slowly over my body like he was sizing me up, but not just for how I looked. It was as if he was curious about what was under the pretty. I stood my ground, clearly seeing he wanted a reaction, and I refused to give it.
“Sit down.” His voice was low and smooth as he gestured to the chair beside him. I walked over, pulled it out, and sank into the cushion, which felt too soft for a tense room. “I see you finally got up outta that wedding dress. This look fits you better.” He took another drag.
I raised an eyebrow. “I would have appreciated something longer, so you and your goons are not gawking at me.”
He grinned, slow and indulgent but not reaching his eyes. He liked being challenged; that was clear. “That so?” I nodded. “Well, if you’d looked deeper in the shopping bags, you’d see the other options. But I digress.”
Digress?His tone and vibe amused me, but I didn’t show it. Truthfully, I didn’t look in the shopping bags. I just grabbed the first things I saw.
A chef set a steaming plate before me and left. The eggs were savory, bacon crisp, toast perfectly buttered, and the fruit bowl vibrant. Even the orange juice gleamed. I stared, my stomach rumbling but resisting.
“Do you really expect me to eat this?”
Nyce flicked ash into the tray beside him, eyebrow raised in mock concern. “Would you rather your defiance cause you to starve, Princess? I can hear your stomach touching your back.” His stare dared me to argue.
I lifted the glass of orange juice and held it halfway to my lips. “Wouldyoueat something given to you by your captor?” I asked, tone flat.
“If my captor wanted me dead,” he said, “I’d already be in the ground.”
Touché. I choked down my retort, conceding his point with a brief glance away, unwilling to show more vulnerability. I sipped, keeping my mouth busy. God, the orange juice was so good. Cold, with lots of pulp, just how I liked it.
“Your father’s a piece of shit.”
I tightened my grip on the glass. “And you're a criminal,” I replied evenly. “So forgive me if I’m not really interested in your moral compass.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “At least I don’t hide behind a pulpit and preach like I’m God, knowing I’m the exact fucking opposite.” My stomach twisted at that truth. Nyce watched me, clearly aware it hit me. “How much do youreallyknow about him?” he asked.
“Enough,” I said, voice low. “He’s not perfect but… he’s my father.”
Nyce leaned back, still watching me. “Your loyalty’s cute. Don’t let it blind you, Princess.” He took a final pull, stubbed out the blunt, and stood up, as smooth as ever. “Eat.”
I looked up. “Or what? You’ll starve me?”
He didn’t answer. He turned and walked out as if I didn’t exist. Once he was gone, I tore into the food, barely breathing. Then I heard a much softer voice. “What’s up, Ma? I’m tryna handle some business right now.”
I froze mid-bite, fork hovering. That voice couldn’t have belonged to the man in front of me. It held something raw and almost human.
