Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 168587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 843(@200wpm)___ 674(@250wpm)___ 562(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 843(@200wpm)___ 674(@250wpm)___ 562(@300wpm)
“Luke is missing.”
I snort. “Don’t toy with me like that.” That’s not a problem; that’s a prayer answered.
“I’m serious.” He swallows, looking around the large room nervously as if Luke’s going to appear out of thin air. “He’s not here. He never arrived. He’s also not at his house. He’s missing. No one has seen him.”
“I’m not sure why that’s a problem.” I don’t want to marry the sick bastard. Luke Cabot is the highest-ranking Lord you can come by, which just makes this even worse. Lords are like anything else in this world. You have some at the bottom, and others at the top. There are different tiers. But honestly, it doesn’t matter; they’re all sick fucking bastards who will kill anyone to get to where they are. Even the bottom feeders will destroy anything to get a chance at serving.
He steps over to me. “Laikyn …”
The door opens and my father enters with my mother. I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m guessing this good fortune has nothing to do with you two?”
My mother’s injected lips seem to thin a tad at my comment. She’s told me a million times that this is just the life we live. That it’s a “tradition” and I just have to accept it. That as far as Lord and Lady goes, we’re royalty. Bull-fucking-shit. I’d rather be someone’s bitch than a Lord’s Lady.
My father, however, stares at the floor while running a hand through his dark hair. “Daddy?” I ask, stepping over to him, holding my dress in my hands so I don’t step on the hem. “What’s going on?”
His throat works, swallowing before his eyes find mine. There’s a look of regret in them, and hope fills my chest. Maybe he’s realized that I don’t want this life.
He clears his throat. “I just received a call …”
“Please tell me you did this—called off my wedding?” I rush out, my words hopeful.
“I’m sorry, Laikyn, but the wedding is still on.” He sighs.
And what little hope I had is now smothered. “But Miller said Luke’s missing.” I point at my brother. Had my father received the same phone call that my brother did? Or was it someone else?
“You are no longer to wed Luke.” He yanks on the collar of his tux.
Picking up the dress so I don’t trip over it in my six-inch hooker heels—that my soon-to-be husband also picked out—I take a step back, my heart picking up speed. This is good news. Why does he look so concerned? “I don’t understand. If he’s not here—”
“A new Lord has chosen you,” he interrupts me.
My mother places her hand over her mouth, trying to quiet a sob.
“No,” I argue. “That can’t be.” It was decided that Luke would be my husband when I was eighteen—three years ago. Things like this aren’t just changed at the last minute. I’ve lived the last few years preparing for this day. To be his wife. What he wanted. A Lord can’t choose to marry me, not when I’m already promised to another.
“Who?” my brother demands. “Who in the hell would make this change?” He fists his hands at his sides.
I reach up and grab the pearls my mother gave me. She thought they would give me some kind of comfort, and I laughed, but now I hold on to them as if they’re an anchor to a lifeline.
“I—” The door swings open once again, this time hitting the interior wall and making me jump.
A set of baby-blue eyes meet mine, and my stomach drops. The wind knocked out of me. I haven’t seen them in years, but they’ve haunted my dreams ever since.
Three years ago
“Where is she?” my mother demands, entering the hospital. She received a phone call that my sister was brought in tonight, but no other information was given.
“Ma’am—”
“Where is my daughter?” she screams at the nurse, pounding on the check-in desk.
I turn around to see my sister’s boyfriend walking toward us. His white T-shirt and jeans are covered in blood, and my chest tightens to the point it restricts my air.
My mom’s legs give out when she sees him. “N-o,” she chokes, placing her shaking hand over her mouth.
Tyson catches her and holds her body to his, but his baby-blue eyes meet mine, sending a chill down my spine so cold, it’s paralyzing. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “She’s gone.”
“Tyson,” my brother growls, shoving me to the side and pulling me out of that memory, and steps in front of me. “What are you …?”
Ryat, Tyson’s best friend, slams the door shut just as hard as he opened it.
I take a step back, tripping over the dress, but thankfully, the stained glass stops me from falling to my ass.
“How?” my father demands, turning to face him.
Tyson just gives him an evil smile that reminds me of how fucked up he really is. “Leave us,” he orders.