Loving The Enemy's Heir

EN'S

starts soon,

d me with the same flat e

there s

ding myself who I was supposed to be: the heir to Victor Montrega's empire. The boy who would one day inherit every dirty business and every bloody title. My mother had died because of

prove your aim,

'shooting practice'. Twice a week, without fail. I had n

d the g

a

ss

sound, tired of the failure

a shot from th

leep the deep and commanding voice, saturated with the same authority th

me space without arguing. I had n

ps. That was all I managed

in. Just like the

n his tone wa

rified that your precious heir won't be able to

he fight. He had

you speak to

every person in

estured for the guards to clear the space. When the door

's examine which father you mean. The one who handed his fourteen year old son over to military tr

ut

ep listing the reasons you've been a t

and. I said them anyway.

right. That isn't how the real world works, Adrien. It only exists in those pathetic songs you write. I d

ut her name in his mouth. I had once believed he still held some quiet respect for

me go. You know I never wanted this. She never wanted this for me either. Or h

vision. I doubted he even noti

toward

ds followed m

ilt with my own hands. You will take over

rstanding? Empathy? He was blinded by the same hunger for power that had

d", I said quietly, more to myself t

s younger. I never made it farther than the airport or the bus station before someone brought me back. Now the stakes were higher. If I left, Isabella would

p, looking down at the servants moving through t

ors stretched beneath a soaring ceiling. A grand staircase curved upward. A

and night, monitored even when I left for lectures. E

the tru

ed no sign