The Vanity of Roses Read online

“Yes. It’s lunchtime anyway. We should get to the dining hall before all the best food is gone. Are you hungry?”

  Oh, I’d worked up an appetite, just not for what she was suggesting. Something was seriously fucking wrong with me. Not even twenty-four hours earlier, that asshole had been dragging me (literally) around the mansion, and now I was standing here hoping like hell Holly couldn’t smell me like I was in heat.

  I wasn’t sure who was crueler: Callan or the god who made him.

  Then again, maybe it wasn’t a god.

  Maybe Callan had been forged in fire by the devil himself.

  Highly doubting food would sit well in the terrified somersaults in my belly, I was willing to go anywhere if it got me the hell away from here.

  “I’m starving.”

  Walking to the cart we’d been pushing around all day, I gripped my fingers over the handle for balance. Despite no longer being in Callan’s sight, my legs wouldn’t stop shaking. “Let’s go.”

  Holly gave me a funny look as she grabbed her bucket to set on the cart. Thankfully, she didn’t ask any more questions.

  I was practically speed-walking to get us the hell out of there, my heart hammering beneath my ribs in a desperate bid to rip free and run for safety.

  We’d made it down several halls before Holly spoke again.

  “Sheesh, Lisbeth, slow down. You act like you’re running from somebody.”

  No truer words had ever been spoken.

  I could only pray he wouldn’t catch me.

  Callan

  For a split second, I’d thought my mind was playing tricks on me.

  Lisbeth had been so quiet, her small body crouched on the floor, and I didn’t believe I’d seen her movement at first.

  I wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the light behind her, the glow pouring in through another door that flashed as she moved to shove towels onto the shelf, her head dodging this way and that so she could see through the tiny slits in the wood to watch what Isabelle and I were doing.

  My mind.

  Just another trick.

  Another ghost.

  But then she stood up, and those blue eyes locked with mine. So perfect, that look.

  Fear.

  Shock.

  Desire.

  For years, all I’d wanted to see in those cruel blue eyes was desire. I’d watched Lisbeth from the shadows, and now she watched me.

  It stoked the flames inside me, heat raging to pour over my skin and through my veins. But my anger ran cold as she stared, the color draining from her face, the tension of her body palpable from where I stood on the other side, trapping her gaze in place.

  And, of course, my body reacted.

  How could it not?

  She may as well have branded her name into me over the years I was her servant.

  I’d been owned once, and now I struggled to break free.

  Swallow...

  I’d spoken that command to Isabelle, but to Lisbeth as well.

  And she did, so obediently. Her delicate throat knowing what to do, her eyes rounding as she realized that she’d followed the instruction without thinking.

  It was the first word I’d said to her in over eighteen years, and Lisbeth’s body knew only obedience.

  I’d fallen over the precipice at that moment. Made a decision that would only destroy us both. But it couldn’t be helped.

  She ran off as if that would save her, as if there was some place she could hide.

  There wasn’t.

  “Mr. Rose, we weren’t expecting to see you here today. Is there a problem?”

  Edward was a smarmy son of a bitch, but he ran this house well. Overseeing the hiring and firing of every employee for both the mansion and the pit, he wasn’t one to overlook mistakes. But while he often was overbearing when it came to those he viewed as beneath him, he was a suck up when it came to me.

  Finding him in his office, his thin body hunched over his desk, white hair perfectly in place, his bony hands scratching notes over the pages of a leather bound ledger, I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and made a mistake I knew would cost me.

  “I want Lisbeth reassigned to the family suites.”

  Edward dropped his pen on top of the ledger and relaxed back into his seat.

  “Has something happened?”

  “Does something need to happen for me to make changes?”

  His white eyebrows tugged together, the skin wrinkling between his beady brown eyes.

  “No, but I recall you wanting Lisbeth assigned to areas that would keep her out of sight.”

  Bit late for that.

  “So you chose the gym?”

  A splutter of sound erupted from his throat.

  “I apologize. Gretchen should have known-“

  “It’s fine,” I growled, effectively cutting off whatever complaint he would make about the woman who oversaw the cleaning staff. “Family suites is where I want her.”

  “Starting when?”

  “Now.”

  I turned to leave, but he shouted at my back.

  “Lisbeth has already worked for the full day, Mr. Rose.”

  I stopped, my fingers curling into my palms as I turned back to him.

  “And that’s a problem, why?”

  “Your rules have always been that we can only work each employee for eight hours.”

  True for the rest of the staff, but Lisbeth wasn’t technically on payroll.

  “She starts tonight.”

  “But, Mr. Rose-“

  Edward was dragging his claws along my last nerve.

  “Are you going to continue arguing with me, or were you planning on saying Yes, Mr. Rose. Anything you say, Mr. Rose?”

  Mouth slamming shut, those beady eyes widened before he rolled his shoulders and reached to straighten the cuffs of his jacket.

  “Yes, Mr. Rose. Anything you say.”

  “Thank you.”

  The deed was done, and with every step I took away from his office, I knew I should turn back and change my mind, should tell him to keep the bitch where I couldn’t see her, where I couldn’t stare at her pouty mouth and imagine forcing her lips apart with my teeth, my tongue, my dick.

  Yet, I kept storming off knowing damn well I was heading straight for disaster because Lisbeth was the only woman in the world I would break my rules for.

  Not because I wanted her so much.

  Only because I hated her.

  In many ways, I was the bomb waiting to explode and Lisbeth was the detonator, but even that wasn’t enough to stop me.

  Word must have traveled fast while I’d stormed upstairs. Not even to my suite of rooms yet, Franklin was already chasing me down the hall, his voice a hiss of anger as he questioned my decision.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I spun on him and met his stare.

  “I’m going to my room. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Years ago, Franklin had the ability to intimidate me. He stood at six foot two, his body a line of lean muscle, his grey eyes sharp and discerning. But that was then. And while I still respected him as the man who’d practically raised me, as the person who’d set me on the path to run this family, I wouldn’t cower to him. Not like I had as a child.

  There was always a power struggle between us, in moments like this more than anything, but I didn’t miss the second he stepped back and understood that, when it came to Lisbeth, I wouldn’t give him the right to an opinion.

  “We should talk,” he said simply, knowing better than to argue or question my decision to keep her close.

  Edward must have picked up the phone to call Franklin the second I stepped foot out of his office.

  “About?”

  Stare holding mine, he didn’t back down to the tone of my voice. Not Franklin. Even if he couldn’t overpower me, he’d never crawl.

  “About why Lisbeth is here.”

  Did it matter? Regardless of the circumstances that landed her in the mansion,
she was here now, and I had every intention of toying with such a frightened little mouse.

  Still, I was interested in his concern. This was the second time today he’d demanded we talk.

  “Is there something I should know?”

  “We won’t talk here.”

  Franklin marched forward, his shoulder brushing my arm as he shoved past me toward the family suites, his leather shoes a clipped click against the marble floors.

  If it had been about any other thing, I wouldn’t have followed him, but my curiosity couldn’t be helped. What was so important that he felt the need to stalk me and demand we discuss Lisbeth?

  Stepping into the family suites, I waited for Franklin to take a seat before I leaned against a wall and crossed my arms.

  “Talk.”

  His expression was a mess of harsh lines and frantic shadows, his eyes locking on me as his lips pulled into a thin line.

  “You were supposed to do your worst to her, and instead you’re playing with her?”

  My brow arched as anger bled from his voice, but I didn’t move in response, didn’t allow my expression to change any more than that.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped, for the first time showing me a side of him that was heated instead of cold.

  “Anything I damn well please.”

  He scoffed, a hand flying out as if it would wipe away my response.

  “Don’t forget that woman is the reason your mother is dead. Don’t you dare fucking forget the way she treated you for all those years. Why are you being so soft on her? A maid? Seriously? Is that the best you can do? And now you want her up here?”

  Angling my head, I grinned, the expression a warning.

  “Was there something else I was supposed to do?”

  “Yes. Throw her ass to Colton. Throw her in the fucking pit for all I care, but stop whatever game it is you’re playing now. She’ll crawl underneath your skin if you let her too close, and this time she might actually succeed in destroying you.”

  Silence fell between us, thick and insidious. When I didn’t respond to the demands he’d tossed out, Franklin gathered control of himself, his expression transitioning back to a bored mask while his eyes still burned with barely repressed anger.

  I knew he hated Lisbeth just as much as me, but for him, this was over the top. It made me wonder what had driven him to this level of irritation.

  “We both know how you felt about her, Callan. My only concern is that you’ll forget that I brought her here for you to destroy her. Not for you to go soft and ask that she dust a few things and wipe down windows.”

  The conversation would have continued if not for the squeak of wheels coming down the hall, the bump of a cart over a flaw in the marble floor. Franklin’s eyes tore from me to look out the door, his body tensing as Lisbeth stepped through.

  She paused as soon as her eyes caught sight of Franklin, but when she turned her head to look at me, a visible tremor ran over her shoulders, those blue eyes widening with fear dancing behind them.

  Franklin stood from the couch, a warning glare shot at me before he stormed from the room to charge down the hall, Lisbeth’s stare following him with so much contempt that I almost smiled.

  It seemed we weren’t the only ones with hatred pouring out of us. Lisbeth felt it, too.

  The cart squeaked again as she pushed it further into the room, her eyes surveying a space that had already been cleaned this morning.

  I was nothing if not a gentleman. Seeing her confusion as to what to do, I decided to help her out.

  Stepping over to the fireplace, I glanced back to see she was watching me intently, her fingers curled over the handle of the cart so tight the knuckles were drained of color.

  The mantel was filled with the usual odds and ends: candles, flower vases, a bunch of bullshit that meant little to me.

  I swept my arm across the length of it and knocked all that shit to the floor.

  Glass shattered at my feet, a silver candleholder rolled across the plush area rug, water splashed, and fresh flowers from the morning snapped at the stems, the rose petals scattering all over.

  Lisbeth’s eyes narrowed on the mess I’d made, her lips falling open in surprise, but then that gaze lifted up to me. I didn’t miss how her fingers tightened over the cart, how her trembling shoulders stilled with rage.

  I grinned to see it.

  Stepping to the couch, I ground the mess into the carpet with my boots before taking a seat on the couch and lifting my feet to the table. Lounging in wait with my arms extended out over the backrest, I stared at her in silent question.

  What would the little bitch do?

  She’d clean it the fuck up whether she liked it or not, just like I had to do when we were kids. If she tried to turn and run, I’d drag her back. Judging by her expression, she knew it.

  Eventually, the tension bled from her shoulders, acceptance settling in the lines of her face. Snatching a small dustpan and broom from the cart, she walked over to the mess and began cleaning.

  That would not do.

  Pushing up to my feet, I closed the distance between us with two long-legged strides. She shrunk back, her bottom lip trembling, her hand clutching the damn broom so tight, I thought she might attempt to hit me with it.

  I wrapped my fingers over the wooden handle, yanked the broom from her hold, and snapped the thing in two over my knee. There was only a small knot of wood left over the bristles that I handed back to her, the longer length of wood clattering against the opposite wall when I tossed it aside and moved to retake my seat.

  Anger painted her cheeks a dusty red, and I smiled to see what she would do now that I’d left her with no choice but to crawl around on hands and knees.

  Lisbeth’s eyes danced between the broom clutched in her hand and me, tears stinging the rims that she refused to shed. But rather than dropping to the floor, resigned to what I expected of her, she lifted her chin with a level of pride she shouldn’t have, given everything I’d already done to her.

  But then, that had always been Lisbeth’s problem.

  Her vanity.

  Her belief that she was somehow better than all the others simply because of the family she’d been born into.

  It was my intent that, by the time this was over, the woman would be more than happy to crawl.

  I knew it wouldn’t be easy to knock her down, but it was never an impossibility. Everybody had a breaking point.

  Everybody.

  Voice shaking and so damn quiet that I could barely hear her, Lisbeth met my stare while saying, “You could have just left me homeless and on the streets. It would have been a lot easier.”

  But not as much fun, I thought, my fingers tapping over the backrest of the couch as I crossed one ankle over the other.

  Her gaze flicked to the movement of my body, from my hands to my feet and back to my face. She scowled, and it was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

  “I know you hate me.”

  Oh, she had no idea.

  “And I know you must be angry for how I treated you when we were kids, but is this really necessary? Isn’t it enough that I ended up bankrupt and had to come crawling back? Doesn’t that appease you in the slightest?”

  That would be a big fucking no. Not even a little bit.

  Her eyes studied the floor at her feet, at the glass, the broken flowers, the fucking mess I’d made of it.

  “I shouldn’t have been spying on you today,” she admitted. “And if this is punishment for that, then you should know I didn’t intentionally do it.”

  She lifted her head and was met with my silence.

  I glanced down at the mess and back to her, lifting a brow in question.

  A breath huffed over her lips as she finally lowered herself to the ground.

  Slowly brushing the mess into the dustpan, Lisbeth’s body trembled again, whether from fear or rage, it didn’t matter much to me. I was too busy enjoying the view, my body coming to life as I dragged my gaze along
the arch of her back, over the round hump of her ass, down farther along the line of the backs of her thighs as she crawled along to sweep up everything.

  She’d managed to clean half of the mess before tears finally slipped from her eyes, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs as she dropped the dustpan and broom to the floor and sat up with her legs tucked beneath her.

  I’d thought her beautiful when she was young, but I never realized how much more the word could mean when watching her accept defeat.

  There was true beauty in the way she kneeled with her face turned down and the tears slipping silently over her pale face.

  And still, I wasn’t done.

  I pushed to my feet and crossed the room to stand above her.

  Slowly, Lisbeth’s neck craned back, her blue eyes stained red as they met mine, the tears still falling to run the edge of her jaw and glimmer beneath the light.

  Wanting nothing more than to taste her pain, I remained in place to watch her break.

  Her lip trembled again before she let out a breath and blinked her eyes.

  “Please,” she said, the word crawling up my spine with tempting fingers, “why won’t you just talk to me?”

  Lisbeth

  When Edward had come into my room earlier that afternoon, I’d known what it was about. There was no way Callan would let it slide that I’d spied on him, no way he’d let me walk away unscathed.

  I’d expected to be shown back to the dungeon, or worse, the pit. But instead, I was told to clean the family suites, to grab my cart and run along immediately.

  It didn’t surprise me to find Callan waiting. But still, even knowing he would be here to make my life hell, I wasn’t ready to face him after seeing him in the gym. And now as he stood above me silently staring, I couldn’t stop the onslaught of memory, couldn’t quiet the whispers in my head of just how beautiful his body had been, just how easily his voice had sunk into my skin until I was forced to run from that room.

  Only to find myself now kneeling at his feet.

  Not that he’d demanded it of me. No. He didn’t have to say a word for me to know what he wanted.

  I couldn’t stand his silence any longer.

  “Please,” I begged. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

  Shadows danced behind his amber eyes, reflections of our past, whispers of our present, and so much rage that I flinched to see it brought to light.