My Prison

CATHERINE

The banging on the door forcefully dragged me out of my sweet unawareness. I opened my eyes and regretted it in an instant. My head throbbed like it was about to explode. Or maybe it had already exploded, but I had yet to acknowledge the fact I was dying. It certainly felt like I was about to die from that freaking headache. This was my price for trying to survive the night with Portia. Now someone decided to torture me even more, taking away my much-needed sleep.

“Ms. Catherine! Master told us to wake you up immediately!” The maid's voice boomed through the door. “The reporters will be here in less than an hour. We won't go away unless we know you're up!”

They had to be fucking kidding me! Cursing under my breath, I crawled out from under the warm duvet and swayed my way to the door. The banging on my door continued, perfectly matching the pounding inside my head. I wouldn't mind swallowing a ton of aspirin for breakfast.

“I'm up,” I growled, opening the door and glaring daggers at the two women standing in the corridor. My room had no lock—courtesy of Regina Duncan, Portia's mother. The damn maids might have just walked in and found a less aggressive way to wake me up, but they chose to bang on my door instead. Typical.

The older one, Christine, looked me up and down and clicked her tongue. “I suggest you take a shower. Young Miss Duncan shouldn't look and smell like trash.”

Nothing like insults as a way of greeting. But after living in this house for two weeks, I had gotten used to this treatment.

“Thank you for reminding me, Christine. Oh, what I would do without you.” I gave her a sarcasm-dripping smile and dropped down in a mock-up curtsy. It cost me another head-throb, but in my current state, I could either do that or flip her a bird.

Her lips peeled back, and I was certain she was about to explode, but then Mary, the other maid, said, “Master Duncan orders you to behave. The reporters will interview you first. Master Duncan wants you to say a few good words about the company. Then the family photo shoot will begin. Master Duncan wants at least one good happy family photo.” Then they turned around and walked away.

I closed the door and began to process what they said. Happy family my ass. Everyone knew this was only for the publicity. Father's damn company was in crisis, and he thought I would fix it for him. A bunch of kids ended up in the hospital after eating Duncan Foods & Snacks' famous potato chips. Someone advised him that presenting his family might help the case in the eyes of the public, and the fact that I, his daughter, was slowly gaining popularity as an artist, somehow made me the best remedy for the crisis.

He needed me, and I needed his money, so I'd agreed to smile in front of reporters and lie. I had done three interviews already. I should have known he would always want more…

“Keep it up. A few more interviews like that, and I'll save your dying mother,” I had heard him say the last time. Then he'd smiled cruelly and added, “Smile for the cameras, Catherine. That's what I pay you for.”

Fucking bastard. He had yet to pay a single cent, but he knew I would do whatever he wanted. He knew I wouldn't risk it. So again, cursing under my breath, I walked to the bathroom and started preparing for yet another shitshow.

***

The morning events drained the final ounce of my energy. I couldn't wait until I was back in my room and placed my pounding head on the pillow. I passed the long corridor swaying on my feet and stumbling. With the vicious pounding in my head, I was half-surprised I hadn't thrown up in the middle of that damn photoshoot. Yet, I survived and even my tyrant of a father seemed pleased.

I was only a few feet from my room when Portia stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “You're not allowed to leave your room today,” she stated, folding her arms across her chest.

My brows rose. “And why is that?”

She inched closer, glaring at me. “Calvin and his parents will be here in an hour. I don't want you anywhere near him.”

A humorless laugh escaped me. “And why would I want to be anywhere near him or his parents?”

She let out a dramatic sigh. “You can stop pretending. He told me how you begged him to stay, and you cannot stand the fact he chose me.”

Rage hummed in my veins. I had never begged Calvin to stay. I only hadn't been fast enough to realize that asshole hadn't deserved me. Slowly, I inhaled through my nose and stretched my lips into a dry smile. “Rest assured, I will avoid the entire Rollins family like a plague.”

I sidestepped her and started walking toward my room, but she grabbed my wrist, pulling me to a halt. “I'm warning you, Catherine,” she snarled. “Stay away from Calvin, or I will tell Father not to give you a cent.”

I jerked my hand away, freeing myself from her grip. Then I stepped back and gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish, sister. He is all yours. Besides, I think you and he are a perfect match.” I turned around and restarted my steps.

“Stay away from Calvin or you'll regret it!” I heard her voice boom through the corridor.

She didn't seem to realize how ridiculous her threats were. I didn't respond or even glance over my shoulder. I just entered my room and closed the door behind me.

***

Two hours later, someone delivered a package from Portia—a black dress cover with my bridesmaid gown inside it. Drawing a deep breath, I placed it on the bed and unzipped it, revealing the delicate fabric. Pink—no surprise there. Not that I had anything against the color... it was the cut of the dress that bothered me. Its top was a heart-shaped bustier, enforced by an underwire. The skirt was nothing more than several layers of see-through material with slits, exposing bare legs with almost every step or turn.

As I surveyed the gown closely, I quickly found another problem: the size. It would surely accommodate Portia's nearly flat chest, but stuffing my breast into this bustier might become quite a challenge.

Muttering a curse, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and peeled off my jeans. Then I unclasped my sports bra and grabbed the pink gown. It took me ten minutes to put it on and tie the bustier without anyone's help.

Then I stepped in front of the mirror and groaned. This was a disaster. My boobs looked like they could pop out at any moment, and the rest of the dress left little for imagination.

“You look hot.”

Gasping, I turned around and saw Calvin. My ex-boyfriend was leaning against the door frame, his icy-blue eyes fixed on me. He looked almost the same as six months ago. Just like then, his light-brown hair was slightly ruffled, and those eyes sparkled with amusement. He wore a half-unbuttoned black shirt and blue jeans—nothing that could indicate millions of dollars in his family's bank account.

“What are you doing here?” I breathed out, nervously grabbing my shirt and using it to cover my cleavage.

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Is it so weird to visit my future sister-in-law?”

“It's weird and disturbing to enter anyone's room without knocking.” I glared at him. “I was getting dressed. I might have been naked, and you—”

“I've seen you naked before, remember?” A smug smirk appeared as he slowly closed the door and prowled toward me. “I'd say you look as hot as when we were together.” He ran his tongue over his lips, humming in appreciation.

My stomach roiled. “What do you want, Calvin?”

“What do I want?” he purred, his eyes roaming down to a hint of my naked thigh exposed by the slit of the skirt. “What do you think I want?”

I stepped back, reaching the wall. “How the hell should I know?” I hissed.

He inched closer, his eyes still exploring every inch of me. “You. I want you, and I know you want me, too.” Those blue eyes darkened, something feral surfacing in his expression. “With you living here in this mansion, it's like fate bringing us back together. Now I'm going to make you mine again.”