WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 15 | STRANGERS CAN'T LOVE STRANGERS

LOVEY

⚘

WHEN DID I START LETTING MEN TELL ME WHAT TO DO?

First Percy, now William. They were always shutting doors in my face, telling me I had to be one thing, say one thing, follow their rules, and follow them. Those ignorant sods. Those idiot sods. Those sods.

My eyes haven't left the door. My fingers are tapping against my thigh anxiously. The walls seem smaller. My chest feels tighter and my throat feels closed. William just walked out of it, and it felt like he'd snapped the last strand of my sanity.

What the bloody hell was happening to me? To my life?

Everything was perfect last week, and now everything is crumbling. My ex-boyfriend is apparently a serial gambler, who would trade my life to cover his expenses. I've seen someone killed. I've been shot at. The man who's supposed to protect me just left me alone.

I'm so tired of it.

I'm tired of having to deal with men's messes. I'm tired of them underestimating me. I'm tired of having to pretend everything's okay, even though I've had to uproot my life and watch it fall apart before me.

Well not anymore.

My vision was clouded by anger as I threw open the door, stalking down the narrow hallway, into the complex lobby, and out of the building. The cold air twinged against my skin like a pinch.

I looked towards my right, the bustling street gleaming with allure. I was still wearing yesterday's clothes, my hair was uncombed, and my makeup was smudged. But no, it wasn't embarrassing. It gave me the strength to run. It made me uncomfortable, and it made people stare. It made me feel powerful. I was daring to do what no one else was doing.

God, I felt free.

Pacing through the streets, I hurdled past people of all kinds. I didn't know where I was going, but I had a hunger for risk. Is this what they call 'the crazy ex-girlfriend'? A woman who becomes so outlandishly wild, that a male-dominated society decides that there's no way she could skip crying over a man—so she has to be insane.

Thinking about William made my stomach hurt. I refused to let it deter me. Instead, I used it as fuel to keep me going. I was going to finally break free from the binds that held me back.

But first, I'm going to take a proper shower. I deserve it.

The knowledge of Paris streets was still unknown to me, but I managed to find my way back to the Coeur de Paris. I doubted Percy ever canceled the hotel room he got for me. The only issue was that I didn't have my key.

Much to my distaste, I found myself wondering what William would do in this situation.

He'd probably kick the door down. He'd pick the lock. He'd flirt with a Room Attendant and nick the master keys from her apron. God, no, don't think about him flirting with someone else. Fine. Whatever. I can't do any of those things, but I can do something similar.

The Room Attendant is a good idea. It took me a few moments to come up with a plan, but it was fully formed by the time I strode into the hotel lobby.

Some people—mainly rich guests—eyed me in disgust, but I ignored them. They were the least of my problems, and I had a mission on my mind. Making a beeline for one of the lobby phones, I sat down in a velvet chair and picked up the receiver from next to me.

I dialed the front desk and watched a man answer.

"Coeur de Paris," he said dully, "Comment puis-je vous aider?"