Vivian
POV: VIVIAN
I sat in my living room.
Well, not my exact living room.
You see, I pawned everything in my Tribeca apartment, so obviously the smart choice was to install myself at The Plaza hotel, temporarily.
“Mr. Van Clyde,” I greeted him as he stepped into the chaos of my hotel suite.
I did my best to mask the disarray, but my living situation was painfully apparent.
The remnants of a life once lived in comfort surrounded me, almost a past occurrence.
With every passing day, I was running out of money and options.
My father and Darius had slashed my monthly allowance, leaving me with diminishing resources and an emptying cupboard.
I had nothing left to gamble, nothing left to sell.
“You live in a hotel, Miss Rothschild? What happened to your house?” he asked, concern threading through his voice.
“Why did I have to wait so long to have Whiskers back?” I murmured, half to myself.
“Whiskers comes with a unique set of conditions, all dictated by your grandmother, Miss Rothschild.” Mr. Van Clyde’s tone was serious but not unfriendly.
Carefully, he opened the crate, and Whiskers executed a reconnaissance lap around the room.
Then he gracefully wove his way between my legs in a silent greeting.
I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his pristine white tail swishing confidently as he claimed his territory.
Mr. Van Clyde adjusted his eyeglasses, his expression unreadable.
“This is a list I’m afraid you must follow to access Whiskers’s pet trust,” he said, pulling out a neatly folded document.
“Pet what?” My eyebrows shot up, curiosity piqued despite my reservations.
“Pet trust,” he clarified, his tone making it clear that this was more than just an ordinary arrangement. “It’s a legal framework set up by your grandmother to ensure that Whiskers is cared for in a way she deemed fitting.”
I leaned back, startled. Suddenly, I was aware that this might just be my ticket back to stability, or at the very least, to a bit of comfort in life.
“What kind of conditions?” I dared to ask.
“Ones that, if not followed, your access to him could be revoked, and with it, the benefits of being the caretaker.”
He was talking as if Whiskers was a person. “Him.”
Whiskers, my savior in furry form, perched on my lap, nonchalantly grooming his paws.
I couldn’t help but think about the ridiculous wait to regain access to him.
“Yes, of Whiskers,” he said, opening a briefcase.
“What is that?” I asked.
He cleared his throat. “The beginning of all the assets named under Prince Whiskers Christopher Chalamet Rothschild.”
~What in the world?~
“I am afraid it is a long one, Miss Rothschild. Do you have all morning? This could take a while.”
My jaw dropped.
The stakes were higher than I thought.
What had my grandmother done?
“Sure, begin,” I said.
“Starting with the Willow Winds Mansion, Highland Chateau, and the Riverside Castle.”
~Where are those estates?~
Did Sophia Rothschild have a secret fortune besides the one we knew?
Rothschild playbook: Amid uncertainty, act bored.
“What about them?” I faked disinterest.
“The caretaker must take permanent residence in all three estates. The caretaker will make the necessary planning to accommodate Whiskers to the seasonality of the following calendar,” he said, handing me a year-round calendar of the locations I must live in during the year.
I could see one of the estates was in the US, but I wasn’t sure where.
Another was in the UK, or was that Ireland?
I couldn’t see the last one because Mr. Van Clyde took it back.
“These are best for you to review later, Miss Rothschild.” Van Clyde smiled knowingly.
“First things first. Mrs. Sophia’s first wish is that the caretaker must accomplish this list daily for Whiskers’s mental health and well-being. The schedule, his diet, vitamins, grooming…”
I mean, how hard could it be to take care of a cat?
I grabbed the document, sectioned in established routine, care instructions for feeding, type of food, quantities, and feeding times.
Oh, exercise and playtime?
“Two hours by the clock?” I asked in shock. “This cat plays for two hours? Doing what?”
Van Clyde laughed with that old-money laugh. “Certainly he likes to chase things and scratch things. He has a lot of energy that must be drained,” he said.
He kept talking, and I watched as Whiskers meowed at me and then, out of the blue, scratched my leg, making me wince in pain. “Whiskers!” I exclaimed, then tried to play it cool, laughing at the cat’s sudden behavior.
“What was that for, my angel?”
The little devil looked at me as if to say, ~Yeah, listen well, you human slave~.
Chill out, Viv, it is just a cat. Wait, he. Whiskers was a he.
“Prince Whiskers should not be left alone for more than three hours at a time,” I read aloud.
Crap, that wasn’t fair. I was going to be glued to this cat for almost a year.
He kept talking, and I watched as Whiskers hissed and scratched my leg in the same spot again.
As if the creature could read my thoughts, he peed in the corner and then jumped right into my bed, planting his furry ass on my pillow.
My jaw dropped. He did not just do that!
“Well, he is already getting comfortable,” Van Clyde said in relief.
“Sure, he is. Silly cat.”
“Careful, Whiskers must be treated with high respect and honor,” Mr. Van Clyde said, passing me the Prince Whiskers Christopher Chalamet Rothschild’s rules.
I could read my name as caretaker of the pet fund.
Caretaker? I couldn’t even take care of a cactus.
I looked at the white fluff ball in my bed, and he looked back, those blue eyes unbothered. I knew what he was thinking: I was his slave, and if I didn’t pull through, he was leaving me on the streets.
“I assure you, I only have love for dear Whiskers here.”
Whiskers meowed something that sounded like ~Yeah right~.
“So, back to the conditions of the trus—”
“Wait, what is the list you just read?”
“Oh, these are your daily responsibilities, but the late Mrs. Rothschild left you a letter with specific instructions on the three conditions you need to fulfill in the space of ten months so you can become the permanent caregiver of Whiskers’s pet fund,” he said.
He handed me the envelope, my grandmother’s handwriting on it.
Without thinking, I took it and brought it to my chest, as if hugging an envelope would bring me closer to her.
I missed her. I missed her every day.
“I have clear instructions left by your grandmother. You must fulfill the conditions she left on the basis that she deems acceptable.” I scanned it quickly, only reading the first condition, which sent me right into a loop.
~What does that even mean?~
“Is everything all right?” Van Clyde asked, leaning back in his chair as he prepared to list the remaining assets under the damn cat.
“Or will these requirements be a problem to achieve?”
“Oh, not at all,” I replied, rising from my seat. “Come here, Whiskers.”
Whiskers, however, had other ideas. He tucked his tail and flattened his ears, hissing at me before emitting a deep, growling rumble from within.
~Oh no!~
Van Clyde immediately stood up. “I will leave you two alone so you can start the bonding process. Tomorrow, I’ll check on him and introduce you to his former caretaker, who will supervise the transition.”
“Supervise?” I echoed, a knot tightening in my stomach.
“Indeed. Everything regarding Prince Whiskers Chalamet will be strictly managed for his safety and well-being.”
Shit. If I wanted to keep Whiskers—and the last remnants of my dignity—I had to navigate this labyrinth of rules by the book?
Just then, William Lund barged into my hotel suite without permission, as if he owned the place.
“Finally, I have found my runaway bride,” he said mockingly.
I crossed my arms, watching as Whiskers immediately scurried under a thick curtain.
The sight was adorable, his cute little ears poking out and a fraction of his tail visible.
“Lund, give up already,” I shot back, trying to maintain some semblance of control.
“How is my beautiful bride-to-be not wearing her engagement ring?” he taunted.
“Oh, I don’t know, I gambled it away,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Regret washed over me as I remembered Mr. Van Clyde was still in the room.
“Miss Rothschild,” he interjected calmly, “may I remind you that if you ever put dear Whiskers in danger, or if you ever bet him, you would be bound by law and charged with a felony equivalent to trafficking a human being.”
I bristled, indignant. “I’m offended you would think I would be capable of that.”
Van Clyde left the room, and in a second, William Lund was getting closer to me.
“Darling,” he said, with those deep, dark eyes. “What happened? I thought we hit it off well in Hawaii.”
We did. That was the whole point. He made me believe he liked me for me, and I let him…
Damn it, I had let him have me. Have my body. I was so stupid.
I shut my eyes, remembering our night together.
“The arrangement has been made publicly, I am afraid,” Lund said, stroking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Our wedding is at the end of this year. I would hate to see my bride unprepared, or even worse…unwilling.”
Was he threatening me? I knew William won bets by threatening people, yet he hadn’t done anything like that to me, ~yet~, but I knew the rumors…
I was ~H~ and we were both victorious in this game, until my father and cousin disowned me, and I lost my confidence, and with that…
I started losing.
Losing everything.
Even my reputation as H.
I lost everything but ~Whiskers~.
Lund took out his wallet and placed a black card on the table. Little Whiskers poked his head out of the curtain for a peek.
“Change yourself to a better room, will you?” he said. Then he took a ring from his pocket. The same style of ring. “Please do continue losing them. You are actually making me win more by the day.”
He smiled so widely and brightly.
Damn it, he knew gambling was all about confidence, and now I had none.
“Take care of this little creature, darling,” he said, stomping his foot with a sound that scared Whiskers. Whiskers dropped flat onto his belly, lost his balance, and hid himself in a new spot—one I could never reach to grab him, even if I tried.
Great.
And with that, William Lund was out of my room, and I was left alone with the hidden Prince Whiskers, frightened and defenseless, just like me.
