Normal—she needed to act normal, and not like a woman running. She needed to act like a woman who hadn’t burned bridges behind her. She was just passing through. “Right,” she whispered to herself.
The bathroom door opened with a soft push, and for the first time in three days, she saw something that didn’t make her want to curse the universe—a clean shower. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Okay, maybe this won’t be a total nightmare.”
Princess turned on the water and quickly stripped, deciding to take a quick shower. The hot water hit her skin, and Princess nearly groaned. It felt like heaven. Getting used to luxuries like hot water and a clean bathroom was a dangerous game because they made her relax. And relaxing got people like her killed. Her head tipped back under the spray anyway, her eyes closing as the heat soaked into muscles she hadn’t realized were tight. The tension didn’t disappear—but it loosened just enough to remind her what it felt like not to be constantly braced for impact.
Her father would’ve hated this. That thought came out of nowhere—and hit harder than it should’ve. Her jaw clenched. She wasn’t his perfect little princess anymore. She wasn’t his bargaining chip or the daughter he paraded around like a possession.
Her hands curled into fists under the water. “You don’t own me,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the spray. “Not anymore.” She’d never let him or any man control her ever again. She allowed the anger to steady her. It grounded her and reminded her exactly why she was here in the first place. She wasn’t lost; she was leaving her old life, and that was the difference.
By the time she stepped out of the shower, the steam had fogged the mirror and softened the hard edges of the room. Princess wrapped a towel around herself, her gaze catching on her reflection anyway. The woman staring back at her was blurry and unclear, which was exactly how she felt. She wiped a hand across the glass, but the woman staring back at her still didn’t look like the one who had left Chicago. She looked less polished and more tired, but she was standing.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Good enough.” She dressed quickly, trading heels for bare feet for now, not ready to deal with the added height or the noise. Her clothes were simple and comfortable in a way she wasn’t used to, but wasn’t entirely opposed to either. Her outfit was just another thing her father would hate, and that thought almost made her smile.
The hallway felt different when she stepped out of her room—like less of a threat. It felt more like unknown territory, which, honestly, might’ve been worse. She followed the faint glow of light toward the kitchen, her steps quiet and measured, and that’s where she found Butcher. He stood at the counter with his back to her, one hand braced against the surface while the other held a glass. The overhead light cast shadows across his shoulders, emphasizing the width of them, the solid line of muscle beneath his shirt. He looked like he belonged here—like the house had been built around him, and not the other way around. Something about that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
“You always creep around like that?” he asked without turning to face her.
Princess stilled and then rolled her eyes at him. “I wasn’t creeping.” He glanced over his shoulder, letting his eyes drag over her for half a second before flicking back to his glass. Something low in her stomach tightened.
“Sure you weren’t,” he said. She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway like she hadn’t just been caught off guard.
“You always assume things about people you don’t know?”
He huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “Only when they walk around my house like they’re casing the place.”
“I’m not casing anything,” she snapped.
“Then what are you doing?” he asked.
Her mouth opened, and then closed, because she didn’t have a clean answer, and he knew it. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth again, slower this time. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s what I thought.”
Her spine straightened. “I’m figuring out my surroundings,” she shot back. “Something you’d understand if you’d ever been in a situation where you couldn’t trust anyone.” The second the words left her mouth, the air shifted, and Butcher went still. When he turned to look at her fully this time, there was something different in his eyes—something darker. Something that said he understood that sentence a little too well.
“Careful, Princess,” he said, voice low. “You’re starting to sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
Her pulse jumped, but she didn’t back down. “I do.” They were just two people with different pasts, and neither one was willing to lay their cards on the table, but both recognized something in the other anyway.
Butcher broke the moment first, turning back to the counter like nothing had happened between them. “There’s food in thefridge,” he said. “Help yourself.” And just like that, his walls were back up, and their conversation was over.
Princess stared at his back for a second longer, something unsettled twisting in her chest, and then she pushed off the doorway and moved into the kitchen. Why should she be the one to walk away? Besides, that wasn’t her style—not anymore, and that might be her biggest mistake yet.
BUTCHER
She was trouble with a capital T. Not the loud kind, and definitely not the obvious kind, but the dangerous kind. She was the kind of trouble that walked into your life looking exhausted and pissed off while quietly bleeding from wounds nobody could see.
Butcher leaned back against the kitchen counter after Princess disappeared into the pantry, rubbing a hand over his beard as he watched her from the corner of his eye. She had made herself at home in his house, but she still moved like someone who expected an attack at any second. As though she was always aware of where he was standing, and that wasn’t normal—not for spoiled little rich girls. And Princess sure as hell wasn’t what she pretended to be.
The fridge opened, and she stared into it for a long second before looking over her shoulder at him suspiciously. “You don’t have normal food.”
Butcher snorted. “What the hell is normal food?”
She shut the fridge with more force than necessary. “Something besides beer, steak, and enough eggs to feed a small army.”
“That’s all protein,” he said simply.
“Beer isn’t protein,” she challenged.
“Close enough,” he grumbled. That actually pulled a short laugh out of her. It caught him off guard enough that his chest tightened strangely because there it was—the real her. Not the sharp-tongued woman with an attitude who seemed mad at the entire fucking world. She was just a woman laughing for half a second before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to. Princess seemed to realize it, too, because the sound died quickly and her walls slammed right back into place.
