The Inheritance Games (The Inheritance Games #1)(14)

“No,” I said. What am I doing? It was late, and I doubted American royalty took kindly to being dethroned. But there was something about the way Grayson had looked at me, from the first time we’d met.…

“Open the door,” I told Oren. He did, and then he stepped back.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Grayson wasn’t the heir anymore, but you wouldn’t have known it from his tone.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I told him, pulling my robe tighter around me.

“I’ve spent the past hour telling myself much the same thing, and yet, here I am.” His eyes were pools of gray, his hair unkempt, like I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d lost everything today.

“Grayson—” I said.

“I don’t know how you did this.” He cut me off, his voice dangerous and soft. “I don’t know what hold you had over my grandfather, or what kind of con you’re running here.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m talking right now, Ms. Grambs.” He placed his hand flat on the door. I’d been wrong about his eyes. They weren’t pools. They were ice. “I haven’t a clue how you pulled this off, but I will find out. I see you now. I know what you are and what you’re capable of, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my family. Whatever game you’re playing here, no matter how long this con—I will find the truth, and God help you when I do.”

Oren stepped into my peripheral vision, but I didn’t wait for him to act. I pushed the door forward, hard enough to send Grayson back, then slammed it closed. Heart pounding, I waited for him to knock again, to shout through the door. Nothing. Slowly, my head bowed, my eyes drawn like magnet to metal by the envelope in my hands.

With one last glance at Oren, I retreated to my bedroom. Open. The. Letter. This time, I did it, removing a card from the envelope. The body of the message was only two words long. I stared at the page, reading the salutation, the message, and the signature, over and over again.


Dearest Avery,

I’m sorry.

—T. T. H.





CHAPTER 13


Sorry? Sorry for what? The question was still ringing in my mind the next morning. For once in my life, I’d slept late. I found Oren and Alisa in our suite’s kitchen talking softly.

Too softly for me to hear.

“Avery.” Oren noticed me first. I wondered if he’d told Alisa about Grayson. “There are some security protocols I’d like to go over with you.”

Like not opening doors to Grayson Hawthorne?

“You’re a target now,” Alisa told me crisply.

Given that she’d been so insistent that the Hawthornes weren’t a threat, I had to ask: “A target for what?”

“Paparazzi, of course. The firm is keeping a lid on the story for the time being, but that won’t last, and there are other concerns.”

“Kidnapping.” Oren didn’t put any particular emphasis on that word. “Stalking. People will make threats—they always do. You’re young, and you’re female, and that will make it worse. With your sister’s permission, I’ll arrange a detail for her as well, as soon as she gets back.”

Kidnapping. Stalking. Threats. I couldn’t even wrap my mind around the words. “Where is Libby?” I asked, since he’d made reference to her coming back.

“On a plane,” Alisa answered. “Specifically, your plane.”

“I have a plane?” I was never going to get used to this.

“You have several,” Alisa told me. “And a helicopter, I believe, but that’s neither here nor there. Your sister is en route to retrieve your things, as well as her own. Given the deadline for your move into Hawthorne House—and the stakes—we thought it best that you remain here. Ideally, we’ll have you moved in no later than tonight.”

“The second this news gets out,” Oren said seriously, “you will be on the cover of every newspaper. You’ll be the leading story on every newscast, the number one trending topic on all social media. To some people, you’ll be Cinderella. To others, Marie Antoinette.”

Some people would want to be me. Some people would hate me to the depths of their souls. For the first time, I noticed the gun holstered to Oren’s side.

“It’s best you sit tight,” Oren said evenly. “Your sister should be back tonight.”





For the rest of the morning, Alisa and I played what I had mentally termed The Uprooting Avery’s Life In An Instant game. I quit my job. Alisa took care of withdrawing me from school.

“What about my car?” I asked.

“Oren will be driving you for the foreseeable future, but we can have your vehicle shipped, if you would like,” Alisa offered. “Or you can pick out a new car for personal use.”

For all the emphasis she put on that, you would have thought she was talking about buying gum at the supermarket.

“Do you prefer sedans or SUVs?” she queried, holding her phone in a way that suggested she was fully capable of ordering a car with a mere click of a button. “Any color preference?”

“You’re going to have to excuse me for a second,” I told her. I ducked back into my bedroom. The bed was piled ridiculously high with pillows. I climbed up on the bed, let myself fall back on the mountain of pillows, and pulled out my phone.