In a parallel universe, the Guardian might have counted as attractive. He was almost taller than Agnar, his shoulders wide and tapering into a narrow waist. The smooth black fabric of his perfectly tailored suit hugged his bulging pecs and fell effortlessly over his bulky body. He didn’t even bother to get up, he only narrowed his cold blue eyes at me, lips set in a thin line and framed by a perfectly manicured salt-and-pepper beard. A silver fox, I’d read that in a book once, a romance novel centring around an older guy hooking up with a young woman. The description came to me and it fit. Not because the Guardian was hot. He was sly, ruthless, only caring for himself and his own benefits.
“So, you’re back, witch.“ His cold voice rang across the nearly empty warehouse, and despite knowing that he didn’t care, despite knowing what he’d done to me, it hurt that he didn’t even call me by my name.
I’d always been the witch or the witch girl for my jailor. Agnar had tried to make me understand, but the small, terrified girl, tiny Faye with her red braids and the ruffly dresses, had still clung to the possibility that he cared.
My parents had appointed him my guardian, and he had seamlessly taken over taking care of my imprisonment. He had people move into our house, a modest one in spite of all the money I knew they’d had. It would be long gone, all of it. He’d spent it on carers for me and funnelled the rest into his shady business, I was sure I wouldn’t be seeing a single penny of the wealth they had amassed.
Then again, I still wasn’t sure how to feel about my parents. They had begun all this, had lain the groundwork for my sad excuse for a life. Or at least what it had been until Agnar had taken me from the house.
“Don’t you want to get closer to greet me, witch girl?“ the guardian said silkily. “You are as ungrateful as ever.“ I saw his knuckles tighten briefly on the armrests of his high-end office chair. The words inked across them stand out in sharp relief. HATE. CASH. The two things above all the Guardian tended meticulously.
“No, thanks,“ I managed to grit out between my clenched teeth. I wished Agnar was here, somewhere behind me, armed and ready to tear the Guardian’s head off. He would have protected me, but I had left him. And I couldn’t go back, couldn’t have him risk his life for me, or spend the rest of his days on his toes because the Guardian might swoop in to try and take me back. To hurt Agnar.
