Page 10

How dare he use the words my mother has said to me since I was a child against me.

Words that I despise.

Words that I shared with him in a vulnerable moment.

Words he swore he didn’t believe.

My chest is heaving as I walk out of the kitchen and stalk into our bedroom, desperate to put some space between us so I avoid a murder charge. I slam the door and yank my clothes off before grabbing my uniform for the hotel. Hands shaking, I begin pulling the uniform on as my mind spins.

How in the fuck did I end up here?

I shake my head.

Your job is to serve.

You owe me that much, at least.

My mother’s words bounce around in my head and I grit my teeth. I know exactly how I ended up here. It’s so painfully obvious to me now but I’m so goddamn angry at myself.

How did I let this happen?

And why the hell did it take me this long to realize?

Once my uniform is on, I march into the bathroom and pull my hair up into a ponytail, refusing to meet my own eyes in the mirror.

I hated my childhood.

I swore that as soon as I could, I would get free and build myself a new life.

Instead, I just traded my mother for Owen.

Fuck.

Finally, I do meet my gaze and suck in a breath. I look fucking awful. There are dark circles under my hazel eyes, my hair is pulled back into a ponytail but it still looks greasy since I skipped a shower the past three days in favor of more sleep and I look like I could fall over at any minute.

I can’t keep doing this.

But I don’t have fucking time to deal with it right now.

I release a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and stand up straight, smoothing a hand over my hair before I turn and walk back into the living room. Owen is watching the game again, a satisfied smirk on his dumb face and as I stare at him, it’s hard to imagine what I ever saw in this man.

“I’m headed to work,” I say, checking the time on my watch. He doesn’t even spare me a glance as he raises those two damn fingers in a wave.

“See you later.”

I nod. There is nothing else to say.

I’m done with this.

And I don’t know how or when but I am going to walk away.

I just need to figure out a plan, first.

“I’ll clean up, by the way,” he says, pulling my attention back to him.

Shit.

Needing time to come up with a plan means I have to continue living with this asshole while I do that. Which means, I need to keep the peace.