A Fake Heiress’s Guide to Love and Power novel Chapter 142

“York.”

No one had ever called him by that name before–he almost didn’t realize she meant him.

“Are you hungry? How about I make you something nice to eat?”

York wanted to act tough, but his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl.

He hadn’t eaten since last night, hadn’t managed much sleep either. The more he thought about things that morning, the worse he felt, and he’d slipped out without breakfast. He’d tried hiding out in a fast food place, but after the staff ke

where his parents were, he’d taken off again.

ing

The city sidewalks were packed, but he had nowhere to go. He flagged down a cab, and by the time he got out, he’d somehow wandered near this

neighborhood–following half–remembered directions from a previous visit. By some stroke of luck, he actually found the house.

“I… I want some pound cake.” York mumbled, not meeting Karen’s eyes.

Karen noticed how red his ears were and bit back a smile, nodding before realizing

he couldn’t see her.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’ll whip one up right now. You just sit tight.” She turned her

attention to Ivan.

“Ivan, be nice to York, okay? I’m going to make some cake for you boys. Play in your room, no running around, and no fighting.”

ute for

Ivan nodded. Karen still looked a little uneasy, but headed off to the kitchen.

Left alone, the two boys ignored each other.

Ivan walked to his desk, set out his paints, and started working on a canvas. York, bored, wandered around the little room–really just one space divided in two–trailing after the family dog as if he were on patrol.

“Is Alessia really alright in the head?” York muttered, scowling, hands behind his back like a little old man. “She could be living at the estate, but insists on

squeezing into this shoebox.”

“No wonder Aaron says women are impossible to figure out.”

He grumbled to himself, but Ivan paid him no mind, quietly filling his canvas with

color, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.

With no one to bicker with, York soon grew restless. Eyes darting mischievously, he shuffled over to Ivan’s side and sat down.

“What are you painting?” He squinted at the canvas, frowning at the heavy reds and

blacks.

Ivan ignored him, focusing on his work.

York barely lasted two seconds before fidgeting again. He grabbed a book from the paint cabinet and started flipping through it. It was full of colorful illustrations, but he lost interest quickly.

He was about to put it back when Ivan caught the movement out of the his eye.

ner of

York suddenly felt sheepish, clutching the book to his chest and forgetting to return

1. it.

“Wh–what?” York swallowed, trying to sound casual.

Ivan didn’t answer. He reached over to take the book, but York instinctively raised it out of reach. Ivan’s eyes locked on York’s, full of silent accusation.

Ivan put down his paintbrush and stretched out his hand. York, grinning mischievously, jumped to his feet, holding the book even higher.

“Come on, can’t have it! Too slow!” York teased, waving the book just out of Ivan’s

grasp.

Ivan stood up, reaching again. York moved the book higher. Ivan pulled his hand back, so York lowered it, dangling it temptingly. Back and forth they went, York egging him on with a smug grin.

Finally, Ivan, panting, lunged at York. York stumbled back, and as he tried to catch himself, he grabbed Ivan’s reaching hand. But Ivan caught the book instead.

With a ripping sound, York fell to the floor–and the book tore in two.