BOUND BY HATRED | TOM KAULITZ

CHAPTER ELEVEN | TYRA KÄUTNER |

TYRA KÄUTNER

My husband spends the night in the emergency room. I guess that strawberry allergy was pretty serious after all. It doesn't make up for the weeks Hunter spent at the hospital, or the months
of rehab and the loss of his basketball season, but it's something at least.

It also allows me to skip out on the farce of the wedding photos, the dinner, the dancing, and all the other nonsense in which I wanted no part. It was bad enough having to spout off all those lies in a church, in front of a priest. I'm not religious, but that didn't make it any better.

The pious nonsense was the cherry on the bullshit sundae. Tom and I were supposed to go to the Four Seasons to consummate our union, but that's another thing that doesn't end up happening.

Instead I go up to the honeymoon suite alone to kick off my shoes, ditch the itchy lace dress, and order up enough room service that the concierge sounds very concerned when I tell her I only need one fork.

All in all, it's a pretty glorious night. I try every kind of cake on the menu, while watching old episodes of Law and Order and Project Runway.
The morning isn't quite as cheerful.

I have to pack up my bag and drive over to the Kaulitz's mansion on the lake. Because that's where I'll be living now. That's my new home.
I feel deeply bitter toward my father and brothers as I climb in the cab.

They're at home in the house I was born in, the place I've lived every day of my life. They get to stay there, surrounded by family, while I have to march right into the lion's den. I have to live in the middle of my enemies for the rest of my life.

Surrounded by people who hate and distrust me.
Never truly comfortable. Never really safe.
The Kaulitz mansion looks gleaming and formidable as I pull up the drive.

I hate the perfectly manicured lawn and the sparkling windows. I hate how everything in their lives has to be so perfect, so soulless. Where are the overgrown trees, or the bushes you plant because you love the way the flowers smell?

If you told me their garden was full of plastic plants, I wouldn't be surprised. Everything they do is for appearance, nothing more.

Like how Simone Kaulitz stands in the doorway to greet me. I know she doesn't give a shit about me, except for how I'm going to help promote her son's career, and maybe provide her with grandchildren.

Sure enough, as soon as I'm inside, the mask drops.

"That was some stunt you pulled," she says through pale lips. "I assume you knew he was allergic."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

"Don't insult me." Her eyes bore into mine, alight with blue fire. "You could have killed him."

"Look," I say, "I didn't know he was allergic. I don't know anything about him. We're strangers, remember? We might be married today, but I feel the same as yesterday—like I barely know you people at all."

"Well here's something you should know about me," Simone says, her voice sharper than the ladies of the Country Club have ever heard it. "As long as you're part of this family, I will help you and protect you. But everyone here pulls their weight. We work together, for the betterment of our empire. If you threaten what we're building, or if you endanger any of the family, when you lay your head down that night, you'll never lift it up again. Do you understand me?"