Wicked Love | √

Prologue

WHEN I was a little girl all of my friends would pretend they were princesses and that their obscenely large mansions were castles in a magical kingdom.

But I wasn't a princess.

I was named after my grandfather, my father's father. Jameson. Kids made fun of my name because to them it was a boy's name, and I was a frail little girl. But I loved my name. It belonged to our family, and it held a strength I wanted to one day emulate. A strength that King's ruled with, not princesses.

When my mother was pregnant with me the doctor told my family that I was a boy. I was never truly in a position during the ultrasounds to see my gender during my mother's entire pregnancy. Apparently the doctor read the monitor wrong, and out I came into the world with one less appendage. A girl, not a boy, and not what my father wanted.

But he didn't let go of that dream of having a little boy. A son. An heir. He still named me after his father, and I think apart of him thought that if he treated me like a boy I would magically turn into one. My baby pictures are filled with me dressed in blue tones, pants, never pinks and never dresses.

Then a year later my brother was born. To the very day. It's as if my father couldn't wait to try again, to get it right this time.

Years passed and I noticed the difference in how my father treated Aiden, my younger brother. I noticed the way he paid him extra attention, how he cheered for him at games where as he stayed quiet at mine, held him close, and brought him into his study. A place I was forbidden from.

I knew every room of my kingdom, but not that one. I wasn't allowed. My mother wasn't allowed. Only my father and only my brother.

I had always known there was something about me that my father didn't like, that rubbed him the wrong way, that didn't click.

All my friends were daddy's little girls, and anytime I was around my father there was this disconnect. Like he couldn't get away from me fast enough. Like I disappointed him when I had done nothing wrong.

It wasn't until I was around the age of ten though that I understood where that disconnect came from. That I understood why he loved my younger brother more than me.

I remember pressing my ear against the dark hardwood of the door, something I frequently did to know what my father and brother were speaking about in the room I was never allowed in.

"I want to be a lawyer just like you," my brother's sweet voice rang out from behind the dark mahogany doors.

"You will be Aiden," my father's deep timbre assured him. I'd never liked my father's voice. It's rough and comes across mean most of the time.

"I will?" Aiden questioned back.

"Of course, you will attend my school and when the time comes take over the firm," he told my younger brother as if it was written in stone since the day he was born. As if this was his birthright.

"But what about James, she's older than me," Aiden said with a touch of hesitancy. He'd always looked up to me. I'd always been the person he ran to when he was hurt or angry much to our father's despise.

"James may be older but she isn't right for this line of work like you are," my father told Aiden. The words hit me in the heart with a force so strong it almost took my breath away. My grandfather died when I was six, but I still remember being in such awe of him. His legacy, and the firm was a part of that legacy. And my father was going to give it to my younger brother no questions asked.

"Why's that?" Aiden asked his words laced with a confusion that mirrored my own.

I could hear the crystal clink and I knew my father had poured himself a drink. Gin. My nose scrunched because I hated the smell of it on his breath. "She isn't strong enough," he stated, as it's some known fact.

"And I am?" Aiden's innocent voice inquired.

"You will be," my father stated with assurance.

Everything twisted and broke within me as I ran away from the door with silent tears streaming down my face. I ran until two hands landed on my shoulders, and stopped me in my tracks.

"Jamie," my mother's proper voice called out above me as she used the nickname I hated. She liked to use it to make me sound more feminine. But I loved my name, my real name. "What's wrong?" my mother asked with a slight tilt of her head.

"I heard dad and Aiden talking," I said as tears slid down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away. My mother wasn't one for tears.

"Jameson," she chastised using my full name to let me know she was serious. "You shouldn't be eavesdropping," she told me pointedly.

My shoulders lifted. "I didn't mean to," I whined.

"What did you hear?" she asked obviously interested in what had me all fussy.

"That Aiden is taking over the firm one day," I said while my arms crossed over my chest.

"And?" she questioned with raised brows not surprised by my words.

"Why can't I?" I asked confused as to why I was not the one father was grooming. "I'm the oldest," I stated.

"Oh, Jamie," she sighed. "I know you're the oldest but that's a job your father wants your brother to do," she said.

"But why?" I pushed needing a better answer. Needing to know why I was not good enough.

"Not everything needs an answer," my mother told me. It was what she always said when she didn't want to give me an answer. I realized then that maybe she just doesn't know the answer. That maybe adults didn't know everything like they were supposed to.

My mother patted my head and walked away with one last glance at me. And in that look I could read it all. Even without her fully answering me. I was a girl, and that was why I wasn't enough in my father eyes.

That was why he favored Aiden.

But I was Jameson Davenport, named after my grandfather. Named after the only man my father had ever feared, looked up to, and had been actually intimated by.

And from that moment at the tender age of ten I knew I would have to step up. I would have to be stronger. Stronger and smarter than the men who so easily got what I wanted.

What I worked just as hard for.

In that moment I decided I would make them fear me.