by Ally Vance
Cry for me, baby girl. Yes, just like that.
Now spread your legs. It’s time for our happily-ever-after.
Prologue
Kaiden
“Warren, do you take Camilla to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, for better or worse, for richer or poorer…”
I lift my eyes up to the ceiling, fed up with this bullshit ceremony. Like my brother knows how to comfort anyone other than himself. It’ll be Camilla on her knees serving him, not the other way around.
An image that sends fire licking through my veins.
She should be my mine. Just like everything else in this damn world. But Warren was born first. By two fucking minutes. So he inherited the family fortune. Our father’s company. Our father’s estate. And now, the promised bride.
Trained and prepared through the Elite Bride program, she personifies elegance and charm, possesses a body meant for sin, and has fuck-me lips that would look amazing around a man’s cock.
I want her. Probably more than my brother does. He has a harem of females to compete for his satisfaction. But that’s not her purpose. No, she’s here to give him an heir and to please whomever he tells her to please. She’ll spend tonight on her back with all the groomsmen inside her.
Except me.
I don’t share.
And I want her for myself.
Just like I want everything else my brother has.
One day, it’ll all be mine. Including her.
But for now, I’ll watch from the sidelines while I prepare for utter annihilation.
That’s the benefit of always being second best in the Graves family. No one watches me. I’m merely the spare, given all the riches of the world with a single responsibility—stay alive. Just in case something happens to son number one.
Well, something’s going to happen.
Me.
Then all of this—including sweet, darling Camilla—will belong to me.
I do, I tell her as I meet her pretty blue gaze over my brother’s shoulder. To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. For as long as we both shall live. Because you’re my pet now, not his. Mine, baby girl. All. Fucking. Mine.
Chapter One
Two Years Later
Kaiden
“I’m convinced she’s barren,” my brother says, the petulance in his tone making me grind my teeth.
She’s not fucking barren.
She’s just incapable of having his children.
Because of me.
I can’t have my intended impregnated by my idiot of a brother, so I took charge of the situation by giving her a birth control shot—one I repeat every three months while she sleeps.
It’s become one of my favorite tasks—to sneak into her room while she sleeps, drug her, and administer the shot. Then I hold her for a while, allowing my scent to drench her sheets, until it’s time for her to wake.
My little beauty has no idea.
And neither does her incompetent husband.
The doctors have all been paid to help me maintain her health and to lie to Warren about her fertility.
The fact that he hasn’t even considered the possibility of my interference is proof of his mental ineptitude.
I sip my brandy and pretend not to hear him. I do this often. He’s already surrounded by enough men who want to suck his dick. I don’t need to add myself to the party.
Instead, I watch Camilla on the other side of the room.
Tonight she’s dressed in a fitted blue dress that ends mid-thigh, revealing her long, toned legs to the room. The bodice is tight as well, cinching across her waist and hugging her generous tits.
I want to drag the zipper down her back and sink my teeth into her neck, to mark her as mine for the world to see.
She’s become my obsession.
My lifeline.
My goal.
And she’ll finally be mine after tonight.
I’ve spent the last two years preparing for this moment. I’ve thought of every avenue, every escape, and every potential turn.
There is no outmaneuvering me. I will win. And I will take.
My cock pulses with anticipation. No more watching and coveting. By the stroke of midnight, I’ll have her naked and beneath me. Willing or not.
She meets my gaze, her cheeks flushing at my invasive stare.
I’ve never hidden my interest from her. Always staring. Always studying.
I’m pretty sure she knows about the cameras in her room, too. Specifically, the one over her bathtub.
She puts on a show for me nightly, those naughty fingers parting her thighs and bringing herself to completion for my greedy eyes alone.
Because my brother never satisfies her. He only uses her to take care of himself and his friends, leaving her without an ounce of pleasure for herself.
I know all about the bruises beneath that tight dress. They’re the kind that hurt, making her flinch when anyone barely touches her.
I want to bruise her, too. But in an entirely different way.
By the time I finish training her, she’ll be addicted to my brand of pain.
I take another sip, still holding her gaze. She turns even redder and looks away.
So submissive and pretty. I can’t wait to force her to watch me. She’ll cry, and I’ll lick away those sweet tears.
Then I’ll fuck her mouth so hard she chokes, and I’ll drown her in my seed.
My trousers suddenly feel a little tight. I should adjust myself, but I don’t. I want her to see what she does to me. To know what’s coming for her later.
She peeks at me again through the curtain of her dark, voluminous hair, and I allow my lips to curl just a little at the sides. I have a dimple in my left cheek, one that has enticed more than a few women to my bed.
Well, that and my reputation.
I’m known for my dominance and wealth, and my astute unattainability. Tell a woman she has no chance at landing an eligible bachelor, and her competitive drive kicks in. She believes she’ll be the one to bring the billionaire to his knees.
I snort.
Only one woman has ever captured my focus, and it’s the one standing across the room.
I fell for her the moment I laid eyes on her at my brother’s engagement party. All demure, soft lines, pouty lips, and a gaze that held a sea of secrets. I’ve discovered most of them just by observing her so intently, but there are more I want to learn about.
Like her penchant for pinching her clit when she comes.
I want to explore that little habit with my teeth.
My brother’s laugh draws me from my thoughts. He and his friends are talking about what they intend to do to Camilla tonight.
“I mean, if she’s barren, I might as well get other uses out of her,” he jokes, making me grunt against the rim of my glass.
He’s been “getting use” out of her for too fucking long.
Then he insults her by going to play with his little Elite Maiden whores. Oh, they’re trained beautifully in the art of sex. But they lack Camilla’s upbringing. She comes from wealth and class, while the infamous maidens are picked up off the street and forced into a life of sexual servitude.
Sure, they’re well compensated for their services. Most live in lavish mistress apartments where they want for nothing while giving their bodies away for whatever depraved pleasures the elite men of this world require from them.
My brother has a harem.
Five female vixens all stowed away in a penthouse he uses primarily for fucking.
He took Camilla there once, forced her to watch him with his beauties, claiming she needed lessons on how to properly pleasure men.
Prick.
He fails to see that Camilla isn’t just a fuck toy but a prized possession meant to be paraded around and cherished.
Yes, she should be adept in the bedroom.
But she requires a much more gifted instructor than my ill-equipped b
rother.
I’ve been running the family company for him for years, while he runs around pretending to be the figurehead and the almighty Graves king.
Pathetic.
I hate him. However, I play my part in the background. Pretending to worship the ground he walks upon while doing all the work for him.
It serves a purpose. I needed to learn the business to be able to own it, something my father failed to teach me before his early passing. Then all the investment went into the older heir, with expectations of Warren claiming everything.
Our lives should have been switched at birth.
Alas, here we are.
I take one more sip of my brandy and set it aside, finished with the contents and tonight’s society party. I only attended to see Camilla. We rarely speak, but she’s very aware of my presence.
I purposely move by her on my way out, brushing my arm against hers.
Her intake of breath is audible. I allow it to follow me from the room and through the exterior doors.
She’ll make similar noises for me later.
Once I complete these finals tasks.
Claude meets me by the bottom of the brick stairs outside. He tosses me the keys to my Porsche and climbs into the passenger side, aware that I prefer to drive myself. I barely finished half my drink, leaving my sensibilities very much intact.
“Sir.” He dips his chin.
“Claude.”
I slide behind the wheel, my heart skipping a beat in my chest as I run through the plan in my head for the millionth time.
Claude says nothing more, his silence a welcome balm to my spirit.
Those who know me are aware of my preference for avoiding small talk. He’s also very aware of my plans for later. It benefits him as my chief of security, and also because he loathes my brother.
Warren has always treated the staff with disdain, pissing all over them—sometimes literally—and damaging their loyalty to him.
It’s a fault I noticed and rectified, choosing to align myself with those who can aid me in events like the one I have planned for tonight.
They’ll all have my back because, unlike Warren, I’ve earned their trust and loyalty.
“Is everything set?” I ask Claude.
“Yes, sir,” he replies, his eyes on our surroundings. “Window opens at ten sharp. Harvey will take care of the drink.”
I nod. “And Jacquelyn?”
“She’ll play ball.” The words were a husky growl, causing my lips to quirk.
“Did she require persuading?” The blonde bombshell was one of the maidens who frequently serviced my brother.
“She requires a beating,” Claude mutters. “She’s the linchpin of the entire plan.”
“Which is why I’ve charged you with keeping her in line.”
“And she will, even if it means I have to kill her.”
“That would be a shame,” I drawl, turning onto the highway. “You like fucking her.”
“Duty over pussy, sir.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I echo, thinking back to Camilla. She doesn’t factor into that statement, because she’s worth more than her cunt. Elegance and intelligence run through her blood, marking her as the perfect female to carry my heir. She’ll also be a suitable companion, as she favors silence almost as much as I do.
And her books.
I can’t forget those.
She adores reading. I’ve left her several books throughout her time under my brother’s roof. The first one surprised her, but she read it and put it on her shelf. The next one made her smile. The third, she actually hugged.
Yet she never asked my brother about them.
Did she know I left them for her? I always added a touch of my cologne to each package, something I knew she could smell when she opened them.
It was meant as a test of her intellect and her ability to pay attention to detail.
I doubt she’ll fail me in this area.
She’s proven to be very observant. I touch everything in her room each time I visit, moving things just out of place to see what she’ll do. She rights them, then glances around while biting that full bottom lip.
One time I took some of her clothes. She folded her items to hide the hole, her cheeks pink the entire time.
And just last week, I stole one of her scarves.
I intend to reacquaint her with it very soon.
“I’ll meet with Jacquelyn before Warren heads over, make sure she’s still up to the task,” Claude says.
I nod. “Good. He and his band of misfits intend to play with Camilla first, so depending on how that goes, he may be a little late. He’s rather displeased at her inability to create an heir.”
Claude snorts. “I can’t wait to watch him bleed.”
“Oh, it’ll be a glorious sight indeed,” I agree, my lips curling.
Red has always been my favorite color.
And tonight, I’ll wear it with pride.
In the form of my brother’s blood.
Don’t worry, Warren. I’ll take care of everything. Including your pretty little wife.
Chapter Two
Camilla
I’m curled into a ball, waiting for them to leave and trying not to cry from the pain of their cruelty.
Warren often shares me, but never like this.
His friends were brutal tonight. Taking everything. Punishing me with their thrusts. Making me bleed. All while Warren watched with this dangerous smile on his face. He’s still hard. I can see the outline of his erection in his suit pants, but he doesn’t want me to satisfy him. He’ll go play with his whores for that.
This was about punishment for not providing him with an heir.
He wanted his friends to hurt me. To bruise me. To leave marks on the possession he no longer considers his.
“Maybe you’ll take their seed instead,” he taunted. “I’ll have to abort it, of course. But at least then I’ll know you can fucking do your job.”
Everyone laughed at the comment.
Everyone except me.
They’re still chuckling now, amused by my trembling.
One of them kicks me in the side, just to make me flinch. I do because I have no choice, and I hate them just a little more as a result.
I spent my life preparing for this treatment. As the daughter of an elite, I was born into the bride program, knowing I would one day serve a powerful man and do whatever he desired.
Warren is that man.
And tonight, he desires my agony.
I don’t understand. I’m only twenty-four. My body is fertile and young and ready. I should be pregnant, but I’m not. And he’s ensuring I feel the extent of his annoyance.
The men laugh again at something that’s said. A derogatory comment, I’m sure. I hope that means they’re done, because I can’t take much more. As it is, I’ll struggle to walk tomorrow without feeling the things they just did to my ass.
Warren uses his fancy shoe to nudge up my chin, his steel-blue eyes soulless and cold. He says nothing as he stares down at me, a lock of his dark hair falling waywardly over his brow.
Then he leaves without a word, his friends following like good little lapdogs.
My shoulders sag in relief as the first tear escapes my eye.
I hate him.
I hate this.
I hate my life.
I hate what I’ve become.
Not that I ever had a choice. I grew up in this world, knowing I would serve at the feet of a powerful man and bear his children. But I can’t even do that right.
I curl tighter into a ball, longing for a new reality. But I don’t even know what that reality would entail.
Only, I do. I know exactly what I would prefer.
Or rather, who.
I picture him in my mind, admiring his chiseled features and those dark green eyes framed by thick black lashes. They hypnotize me with their cunning intelligence, making my pulse skip a beat at the intensity radiating from them. He would draw his finger
s through his thick dark mane, then scratch the stubble on his chin, as he studies me intently, always watching.
My thighs clench as my core pulses with forbidden yearning.
He watches me sometimes, his stare always penetrating, like he can see right through me. I often dream about his eyes, his hands, his mouth. I fantasize about him, too.
It’s wrong.
He’s my husband’s brother. His twin. But they couldn’t be any more different.
Warren is obsessed with his image. He needs to know the world loves him and that everyone is prepared to bow at his feet.
Master Kaiden is power personified.
He’s always in a fitted suit. He never smiles. He doesn’t play the political game and chooses to lead from behind the scenes. He almost goes unnoticed, except he has a presence about him that just demands submission.
I’ve found myself wanting to kneel for him on more than one occasion.
But he never talks to me.
Only watches.
I look around my room now, sensing his presence all around me.
Sometimes, I think he visits when I’m not here, because I can smell his woodsy aftershave. And someone keeps leaving books for me. I know they’re not from Warren. He doesn’t do gifts for anyone other than himself.
A depraved part of me believes they’re from Master Kaiden. They’re all erotic in nature, constantly teaching me new things I yearn to experience with a man.
I’m not innocent.
I’ve been taken in every way imaginable, but I’ve never experienced sensuality. And that’s what lurks between those pages.
Hot scenes filled with passion and sex.
My blood warms with the thought, only for my core to ache with the reminder of what I’ve just endured.
I need a bath to wash it all away.
It takes me several minutes to crawl across the floor, my legs shaking with the effort. But I finally make it and begin the process of filling the master tub. It’s the only item other than my library that I actually like in this elegant prison.
Well, and Master Kaiden. That’s the nickname I heard one of the maids use once. I’ve used it ever since. To call him just “Kaiden” seems wrong. He’s too enigmatic for a solitary name.
