Page 67 of Brutal Heir

He couldn’t possibly know that I was illegitimate.

I didn’t think for a second that he knew all about my fashion stylist gigs before we met, either. Clearly, he had researched me since then.

I needed to get the hell out of here.

After I stormed past him into the main suite, I found the large safe inside the foyer coat closet.

It was open, just like he'd said.

Once I snatched my purse from the safe, I crossed to the hotel suite doors and wrenched them open.

Immediately, two large men dressed in S.W.A.T gear closed ranks, blocking my exit.

From behind me, Sebastian’s deep voice commanded, “Let her go.”

The men fell back.

I barely glanced at him as I fought back tears. “Goodbye, Sebastian. I’d rather you didn’t try to contact me.”

As I stepped over the threshold, Sebastian called out, “Sabrina…”

I stopped but didn’t turn.

“I will be at Sauvage-Lafleur’s studio at noon to pick you up," he said sharply. "We’ll head straight to the airport from there.”

This man was impossible.

Knowing that I could tell him no until I was blue in the face and he wouldn’t listen, I realized there was no point in continuing to argue. He would accept my answer when I refused to leave with him later.

At least at the studio, there would be witnesses.

CHAPTER 18

SABRINA

Thirty-two missed calls.

My mother left a voicemail for nearly every one.

“For the last time, I said no!”

I’d been arguing with my mother for the last twenty minutes.

It was already close to ten a.m., and I was behind.

I had to head straight to work instead of stopping by my rental flat, even though it was close to the studio.

Fortunately, one of my roommates noticed I’d forgotten my phone and brought it to work for me.

Unfortunately, the moment I charged it, I discovered the missed calls from my mother.

In the last message, she'd threatened to buy a ticket to Paris and come find me if I didn’t call her back immediately. It was especially difficult after I’d made the mistake of telling her about the job offer.

“Sabrina, you cannot go to Italy.”

“I know, Mom.”

I rifled through the sample shoes that sat in a pile in the studio's corner, dumped there after the fashion show cleanup at the Louvre from the night before. Selecting a pair of black velvet platform heels with an ankle strap, I kicked off my borrowed sneakers.