Lost in a Reverie 18+ Only (Book 1 of Lastor Series) ['23/'24 EDIT]

Chapter 30: Frederick

We stopped somewhere in Upper East Side where upscale townhouses and exclusive residential buildings were lined up along the street. Angel parked the car in front of an opulent grey brick mansion, rising above five stories and resembling a cathedral, standing out as a daunting figure in the night. I stared at the absurd home in disbelief.

"You own this place?" I muttered as I got out of the car.

"Uh-huh."

I found myself laughing. "Then why were you squatting at a church?"

"I never buy more than one real estate property in one place, and Jude and I already have joint ownership of our apartment building."

"Wait. You two own the building you're living in?" I said, incredulous.

"Technically, we inherited it from our grandfather."

"Semantics."

She shrugged dismissively and leapt over the short fence. I rolled my eyes and opened the gate, following behind her. As we entered, an immaculately dressed man greeted us at the foyer.

I remembered him to be Jude's so-called aide who's been a constant fixture within his shadow since I've known him.

"Miss Lastor," he said to Angel, bowing his head lightly before turning to me. "Sir Frederick."

"Hello, Luis," I greeted, offering a hand. "I didn't see you at the party."

He accepted my hand with a forced smile. "I had some business to attend to."

"That's a shame. You should really take it-"

"The hell are you doing here?" Angel cut in sharply.

"Master Jude instructed me to assist you during your stay," he answered politely.

She scoffed. "Of course he did."

She walked past him and, with grace, he swiftly slipped Angel's coat off without causing a hitch in her step. He followed her down the hall, picking up her shoes as she kicked them off along the way.

She stopped at a wall and Luis pressed a button, a section of the wall pulling back and revealing an elevator. I followed them in and shifted in discomfort as Angel stripped her dress off, letting it fall.

Luis snatched the dress with ease before it hit the floor, not even blinking an eyelid as she stood there in a tightly laced corset with an assortment of knives strapped to her thighs and back.

No wonder she declined the gun, she didn't need it. She was a walking arsenal.

She caught me looking at her and she shrugged. "I have crippling anxiety," she explained simply. "Keeps me calm."

"There's a pill for that."

She snorted. "In order to get a prescription, I'll have to be diagnosed. In order for me to be diagnosed, I'll have to allow a half-witted shrink fuck with my head three times a week." She glanced at me, smirking. "I'd rather bear with the debilitating panic constantly seeping into the crevices of my consciousness than subject myself to a series of attempts by a blubbering charlatan to understand my insanity."

"You're not insane."

"Give it time," she quipped with a wink.

The lift stopped at the top floor and we stepped out, my eyes widening at the sight of the soaring high ceilings and crystal chandelier. Paintings covered the expansive walls, making the place seem more like a gallery than a hallway.

I caught sight of one painting. A little girl, sitting on a swing, a crown of flowers set atop her head and her long red hair sweeping at the ground like a veil. A bright smile lit up her face as she swung up in the air, her eyes filled with a kind of innocence and joy that only a child could possess.