Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Now this spoiled billionaire possessed the only memory I had left of Dad.
Not for long.
Vera flicked on the turn signal, jouncing the vehicle over a gravel path. “Here we are. Goodness gracious, look at the line.”
Finally.
She shushed an argument between my stepsisters, tsking as we waited. “Christ alive, look at the security at the gate. A bit much if you ask me.”
I scooted deeper into the backseats and swathed myself in black fabric. The handmade material I’d sewn blended so well with the rest of the empty trunk, I knew they wouldn’t rummage around.
“Open.” A security guard rapped the trunk window.
It popped out, creeping up at an excruciating pace. The flashlight’s intense ray impaled the fabric that cocooned me before the door slammed shut.
“All clear. Next.”
Vera threw the vehicle into park with a screech. My step-monsters evacuated the car, swapping places with a valet.
Just as I’d predicted, he parked it on a driveway furthest from the two-acre property’s entrance on Dark Prince Road. He joined a golf cart packed with other valets, hitching a ride back to the main road.
As soon as the headlights faded, I crawled from the trunk to the driver’s seat and cracked the door open.
The Sun terrarium glared down at me, lit up from end to end with blinding floodlights, daring me to trespass. Even a few hundred feet away, it cast a menacing shadow across the trimmed lawn.
I tiptoed on a bollard-lit path to the main house, crouching between rows of luxury vehicles when a valet cruised by in a Lotus Evija.
Reggie would kill me once she saw the state of her dress. Cool sweat made the satin cling to my flesh. I’d torn the slit several inches higher while squatting in the trunk.
Another thing I’d discovered during my research: this party marked the official inauguration of Zachary Sun’s bride hunt.
Quite literally.
I had no doubt the prospective brides in attendance intended to go Hunger Games on each other’s asses until one victor remained standing.
If the DMV rumor mill was to be believed, Zachary Sun—to appease his fed up, desperate-for-grandchildren mother—would begrudgingly select a single candidate to date by midnight.
They were all lovely in different ways. Tall and short. Curvy and slim. With their silky gowns and silkier manners.
Daughters of Singaporean billionaires and former Salvadoran oligarchs. Of Korean chaebols and Hollywood producers.
But they all shared one thing in common…
They wanted to be the next Mrs. Sun.
I ducked my head, hoping to blend with the crowd as I shouldered past ballgowns and tuxes.
I excelled at being invisible, a skill I’d honed by preschool. Mainly to save myself the abuse Vera and Things 1 and 2 hurled at me whenever they had a bad day.
The château towered over me in commanding splendor—stretches of pale French limestone, imperial columns, and polished gardens that rivaled Versailles.
I swallowed the lump clawing my throat and flowed inside, carried by the volume of eager bodies. Curved grand staircases flanked the foyer.
My eyes crawled up the one leading to my target.
Zachary Sun’s office.
Suited guards blocked the bottom, hands clasped at their fronts, Bluetooths tucked in their ears.
In the corner, my stepfamily laughed too loudly at something men in designer suits said.
Vera clutched an hors d’oeuvre to her chest, attempting a frown past a barricade of Botox. She’d aged like milk in a sauna and flaunted a sour personality to match it.
I needed to avoid being seen, but I wasn’t overly worried.
No one else here knew me.
Dad had been too mortal to brush shoulders with this crowd. As for me, I always avoided any event that involved sucking up to Potomac’s deepest pockets.
Marrying seemed like a total waste of time. You should only ever have one love of your life. Yourself. And, perhaps, a dog.
I waited until a staff member rushed up the steps to shadow him. The symphony of voices below chased us upstairs.
I moved my lips without sound, feigning a conversation to thwart the guards’ suspicion. Once we rounded the corner, I redirected to the library that housed the office.
I’d memorized the mansion’s floor plan by heart.
Thank you, Zillow.
When Zach had purchased the manor from the Swiss royals who had occupied it before, he’d barely made any changes, other than converting the subterranean garage into a high-tech art gallery.
Initially, I thought I’d have to somehow break into that.
Alas, I’d stumbled upon last month’s Wired cover. A feature on Zach’s latest hostile takeover.
There it was.
Immortalized on the magazine’s shiny double-spread, almost unnoticeable under the power of his soulless glare.
The pendant.
Perched on a shelf.
Secured by glass.
Lo siento, sucker. You’re about to be one piece of art short.
I sauntered down the hall, passing paintings that probably cost more than the entire Ballantine estate.
Especially now, with Vera and her daughters sinking Dad’s company to depths even the Titanic hadn’t reached.
I had no idea what he was thinking, splitting the ownership of the cleaning company four ways. Three of us had never worked a day in their lives.