Page 129 of Queen of Nothing

But I go no further.

Here, I stand and wait—as though I have an easier escape if I stay here. Like, if it’s Father knocking at the door, then I can just barricade myself in the ensuite, because I cannot deal with that again.

I can’t endure it—and keep my mouth shut about what I know, about his secret… my secret.

My shoulder digs into the doorframe.

I lean against it.

Abigail opens the bedroom door and dips into a deep curtsey. She holds it for a moment before rising.

So it’s either Oliver or Father.

I almost shut the bathroom door.

But then Abigail steps back and throws an uncertain look my way.

That hesitates me.

“Mr Dray Sinclair,” she says, her voice uneasy—

And my heart slingshots.

Abigail is right to be troubled about this.

For the same reason I suddenly become rooted to the ensuite doorway.

Men are not allowed to visit my bedchamber. Ever. Not unless they are immediate family, like my brother.

Even Father rarely comes to my room.

Before I can dismiss him, or make sense of his appearance at my door, Dray steps inside.

The shoulder of his cashmere sweater brushes by Abigail, her eyes wide and mouth clamped, as though to shut in any argument.

Sleeves rolled up, he slips his hands into his pockets, and under the chandelier light, the platinum watch on his wrist glitters.

His hair is more dishevelled now, looser and wavier, and falls over his brow—and so I know he was partaking in the celebration downstairs.

I blink at him, the shock lingering in me, hitching my tone, “What the fuck, Dray?”

His gaze is lured in by my voice, finding me by the ensuite door. His eyes are diamonds, made even paler against his cool complexion, like he hasn’t been enjoying the summer sun.

Dray arches a brow. “You will have to be clearer than that,” he says, coldly.

I push from the doorway.

My sock-wrapped feet come thudding down on the hardwood floor. But I only take two steps, because ultimately, I am a coward.

“You can’t be here,” I say. “You can’t be in my bedroom.”

Echoing it apparently makes it truer. To me. Not to Dray.

His smile is amused, patronising, then it’s gone, and there’s suddenly a hollowness in his stare.

“Your father permits visitors, Olivia—since you are not allowed to leave the confines of this room, or have you forgotten that already?”

I’m damn sure my father didn’t allow him to come to my room.