A Forgotten Promise (MERGED)

Prologue

Saar

Fifteen years old

“ S aar, I heard Corm Quinn is going to ask you to the school dance,” Arielle says.

Heat rises to my cheeks, and my pulse quickens.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I pretend-scoff, while my entire body shakes with the possibility.

“You should let him know you’re interested. Boys like him like confident girls,” Arielle chirps as we walk across the schoolyard.

“I doubt he doesn’t have a date yet.” I act bored, uninterested. Like my eyes are not searching for him among the groups of students.

“But is his date as hot as you?” She pokes my ribs.

I stop. Not this again . “What are you talking about?”

She looks at me, deadpanned.

A few weeks back, a modeling scout gave me his business card when we wandered around a mall. The card has driven a wedge between us.

Arielle didn’t even pretend to be happy for me, riddled with jealousy.

She’s been teasing me about it relentlessly. And I didn’t call the number because I didn’t want her to feel less. To feel unseen. To feel not enough.

In a world where my parents either demand from me or forget I exist, and my brothers treat me like an annoying insect, my best friend has been my harbor, my reason, my home.

But the bitter aftertaste from the mall-outing afternoon has been lingering between us.

The bell interrupts our conversation, and we run to the class.

Corm Quinn? The ‘most popular boy in my high school and three years my senior’ Corm Quinn? A boy with dark blond hair and silver eyes who is so hot, all the girls fan themselves when he enters the room.

Me and him at the dance?

As unlikely as that is, Arielle has planted the seed.

For several days, the gullible me suddenly starts noticing—or more like fantasizing about—his eyes holding mine a bit longer in the cafeteria.

Him hanging behind when his soccer game finished, right as my running practice was about to start. The almost-smile he sent in my direction when we ran into each other in front of the labs.

Only it wasn’t me his eyes were searching for. It wasn’t me the smile was for. It wasn’t me he stayed behind for.

“I already have a date. Arielle asked me, but save me a dance.” Corm winks at me before he joins his friends.

My stomach churns as I watch them leave. Before they turn the corner, he looks back and smiles. I desperately want to see regret on his gorgeous face, but he doesn’t seem sorry, his smile a pure flirt.

Why would he be sorry, you idiot? He doesn’t know he just crushed you and humiliated you. Because it wasn’t really Corm who stabbed me in the back.

My best friend did.

The tiny blood droplets seep into the white rug. The glass shards reflect light in a kaleidoscope of colors, striking the mess on the floor, almost making it beautiful.

I stretch my limbs over the cold, hard tiles of my bathroom and clutch my cut hand to my chest.

The red sweats into my white T-shirt now. For such a minor cut, the blood loss should concern me.

But I’m not concerned about it. My heart aches with the betrayal. Arielle has been my friend since we were six years old.

She was. Until today.

I turn to my side. My bones meet with the unyielding firmness of the marble. The coldness wraps around me, penetrating.

I grip my wrist and run my thumb over the cut, the warmth of my blood almost comforting on the uncomfortable floor.

The cut is on the ball of my palm. Just above my wrist. Jesus, how would this look like if someone came in?

Perhaps they would think I tried… Would they, though? Clumsy as usual … I can almost hear my mother’s voice in my head.

Fuck them. Fuck them all. Especially Arielle.

“Saar?”

My brother’s voice startles me, but I don’t move. It feels like an impossible mission. Lying here, away from the world, is uncomfortably comforting.

Being alone is what I know. It might not be welcomed, but it’s familiar. And now, with Arielle out of the picture, it’s my destiny.

I trusted her.

I stupidly trusted her.

A knock on the door makes me turn my head. “Saar, are you there? Mom is pissed, and looking for you,” Finn says.

Shit, I promised to accompany Mother to some fundraiser. Or rather, she ordered me to join her. I’m sure it’s because one of her friend’s daughters was coming. Nobody outshines Melody van den Linden.

Forgetting about the cut, I push up to sit and whimper.

“Saar? What’s going on—” Finn barges in and freezes. “Fuck.” He drops to his knees, grabbing my hand.

“Ouch.” I pull it away from him.

“What have you done, Bambi?”

He looks from my hand to the shards, and I know what he must be thinking, but the lump in my throat is too thick to talk. I don’t even berate him for the stupid nickname.

His eyes pierce through me. Questioning? Pitying? Worrying? Or all of the above, but for the first time in my life, it feels like he sees me. Like he sees my pain. Like he cares.

His attention coils around my ribs, squeezing at my heart. The lump in my throat grows painfully. And in the absence of my best—former—friend, it sets me off, and I let out a sob.

Finn quickly inspects my hand and then the rest of my body. “What happened?”

No longer the accusatory what have you done , but rather a concerned what happened . Another sob shudders through me as he lifts me and sits me on the edge of the tub.

He rinses my hand and wraps it in a hand towel. He scoops me up again and carries me out.

“I’ll take care of the mess,” he says, his eyes darting to the no-longer-white rug. “Are you okay, Saar?”

And there it is again, a genuine concern. He even omits his stupid nickname and uses my real name—something he hasn’t done in ages.

It all swirls inside me, and the dam breaks. I bawl, burying my head in the crook of his neck.

I try to talk, but among the sobs, I hardly make any sense. “A dance… I shouldn’t have… I believed her… Corm… and now…” Even I don’t understand my incoherent word vomit.

“Corm? Cormac Quinn? What the fuck did he do to you?”

That’s what he got from it? I need to explain, but just the mere mention of Corm’s name causes another wave of tears.

I let Finn carry me to my bed. He stays by my side until I fall asleep. And all the heartache and tears make me fall asleep before I explain it’s not Corm who is the villain in this pathetic story.

“I think we should tell Dad,” Cal whispers.

“Do you want them to lock her in some institution?” Finn argues.

That makes me snap my eyes open.

My brothers stand side by side, looking out of the window, their backs to me. Their legs apart, their hands in their pockets. They ooze confidence. Will I ever be like them?

They have been taking turns sitting by my side and plotting Corm Quinn’s demise for two days.

I have never corrected Finn’s assumptions. I haven’t told him the glass broke because it slipped from my hand. I haven’t told him Arielle is to blame for my pain.

I haven’t corrected his assumptions because I’d lose their attention. The minute they would find out the truth, they would shake their heads and leave. And I really don’t want to be alone.

Not yet.

The wound is still too raw. Not the one on my palm that looks like an insignificant scratch now. The one in my heart, though?

Arielle told me to be brave, to be assertive, and ask for what I want. And I did. Confident like a Van den Linden. Like my brothers.

“Don’t tell Dad.” My voice is raspy.

My brothers turn in unison.

“Bambi, you’re up. How are you feeling?” Finn comes over and ruffles my hair.

“I just want to be alone.”

“What did that asshole do to you?” Cal snaps.

“Shut up,” Finn berates him, but his eyes search mine, hoping for some answers. But he doesn’t press. And I’m grateful for that.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

It’s true, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to relive it. I know they would roll their eyes. I don’t want to be the pathetic girl.

“Do you want to play GTA?” Cal asks.

My eyes widen. They have never let me play with them. “Really?”

“Only if you promise to go back to school on Monday. If you hide here any longer, Dad will find out,” Finn says.

I nod, and Cal whisks me out of the bed, throwing me over his shoulder, drawing a laugh from me. It feels good to laugh.

I don’t go to school for another week, faking sickness. I’m not ready to deal with Arielle. Or anyone else. Not that anyone else knows about her betrayal, but I feel like it’s written all over my face.

Like it’s commemorated by the faint scar on my palm.

I should have gone to school the day after Finn found me. It would have been easier. But with each passing day, my overreaction becomes more and more obvious to me.

Arielle must know she hurt me badly by now, and since I didn’t face her right away, it’s getting harder and harder now. How did I let things spiral like this?

At least my parents are too busy to notice. But that illusion tumbles when Mother floats into my room, her dress billowing behind her.

“We found you a perfect school in Switzerland.” Her facial muscles are frozen, but I think there is a sparkle in her eyes.

She must have had her Botox injection earlier today. Are her eyes smiling?

Does sending me away bring her joy?

I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and sit up. “You want me to go to Switzerland?”

She huffs, hiking her shoulders, like explaining herself is annoying. “Well, it would be best under the circumstances.”

“Under the circumstances?” I parrot.

She rolls her eyes, which looks scary and comedic, given the rest of her face isn’t moving.

“Saar, don’t you think for a moment that I don’t know what’s going on in this house. You’re clearly unstable.”

She shivers like the word caused her indigestion. Or maybe it’s the idea of a daughter who, instead of attending a fundraiser, cried in her room.

And if she, like my brothers, assumed the broken glass wasn’t an accident, why hasn’t she come to check on me?

Is sending me away from home her way of showing she cares?

I hate the tears that brim around the crevices of my eyes. Van den Lindens don’t show weakness. Perhaps that’s why she’s sending me away.

“Okay.” I swallow. “Do I finish the school year here?”

“Your father thinks it’s best you move now.” She turns on her heels but pauses at my door. “It’s for your own good.”

For my own good.

Her placating parting words shouldn’t make me feel better, but they do. Even though I know Melody van den Linden is only concerned about her reputation, somehow, I cling to those words, telling myself she cares about me.

And somehow, on the long flight to Switzerland, I make myself believe they sent me away for a better education, and I vow to never cry.

Not because of a backstabbing friend. Not for a boy who probably has no idea he hurt me. Not because I’m alone.

Somehow, I blend into a routine similar to the one I had back home. Somehow, it’s easier to be this new, confident person around people who don’t know me.

Somehow, I become the popular girl because my brothers come to visit me, and their brief presence on the campus draws all the girls into my orbit.

I ignore the fact they want me for my hot siblings. I don’t want to get too close to them anyway.

But somehow, their friendly pretense helps me rebuild my confidence. Funny how people’s attention, even under false motivation, can make you feel invincible.

Enough to finally call the modeling scout.