Chapter 37
Brody wakes me up in the best way possible, his weight pressing me into the mattress before my eyes even open. His dick sliding in and out of me, causing me to arch my back. The sun's barely crawling through the window. My body responds before my brain catches up.
"Good morning, baby. I have to leave for practice soon." His voice is rough against my neck.
He keeps his rhythm steady, deliberate, like he's got all the time in the world even though we both know he doesn't. When he finishes, he presses a kiss to my inner thigh. "See you later today."
Before he leaves he grabs my cheeks. "No more fucking games, Duchess."
I smile, nodding. I grab his cock. "No more games."
He kisses my lips and then puts his clothes on.
The door clicks shut behind him.
Kiah rolls over in her bed, eyes still closed but grinning. "That was really hot, girl." She burrows deeper into her blankets, probably back in whatever dream she was having. I laugh, too awake now to even try sleeping.
I drag myself out of bed, muscles pleasantly sore, and dig through my closet for something that screams 'responsible adult who deserves three million dollars.' I settle on a black pencil skirt and blazer I bought for orchestra performances. My reflection looks like someone playing dress-up.
The bank meeting looms over me. What happens if I don't sign? Does the money just sit there? Knowing my mom, she'd find some way to get her hands on it. That's probably why she's suddenly decided I exist again.
The Uber drops me off in front of the bank fifteen minutes early. October wind whips down the street as I stand there like an idiot, staring at the brass handles of the locked doors. My shoes pinch—I bought them used from a consignment shop. Ten minutes until they open.
"Lola."
Everything in me goes cold. That voice. I'd know it anywhere—it's the voice that promised to come back, promised to get clean, promised a thousand things that never happened.
I turn around.
"Hey, mom." I watch her closely. She’s wearing nice clothes and a practiced smile on her face. I ask, "What're you doing here?"
"I'm here for the meeting, sweetheart." She says it like this is just another day.
She walks toward me, movements steady. No shaking hands, no darting eyes. When she pulls me into a hug, she smells like department store perfume instead of stale cigarettes. Something's off. I can feel it in my gut.
"Did they ask you to be here too?" I ask.
She nods, brushing her hair back. It's clean, styled even. "Of course."
"But I'm an adult," I say. The words come out quicker than I meant them to, sounding defensive.
She shrugs, adjusting her purse strap. "It's not just yours, Lola."
The bank doors unlock with a heavy click. I stand there, studying her like sheet music I can't quite read. She seems almost... normal. Like whatever cocktail of meds they gave her at that facility was to keep her from being normal. She has no twitching, no scattered thoughts, no desperation leaking through the cracks. She’s actually… put together. Which is why my gut sinks even more.
I follow her into the bank, watching her walk behind the person who unlocked the doors. She says, "We're here to see Daniel Rothschild."
My stomach drops. She shouldn't know that name.
"Right this way," the person says, leading us down a hallway that has a fake plant at the end.
The office they take us to is all dark wood and leather chairs. A man in an expensive suit sits behind the desk, but something about his smile doesn't reach his eyes. Warning bells go off in my head like wrong notes in a familiar piece.
I shouldn't be here. We shouldn't be here.
"Let's get this started." Rothschild leans back in his chair, leather creaking. His suit probably costs more than my cello. "I've prepped everything for you, Lola. All you have to do is sign your life away." He chuckles, all white teeth and expensive haircut. "I'm kidding. After this, your life may never be the same."
The words hit me like dead notes. $1.5 million dollars. Blood money. My father's final joke.
"But first, the letter," he says.
"Oh, right." My mom straightens in her chair. "There's a letter."
"So sorry, Mrs. Kemper." Rothschild's tone shifts, professional courtesy hardening into something else. "It's only for Lola."
"Only me?" The question comes out small. I stop myself from glancing at my mom. She’s only here for the money, so I can’t turn to her for comfort right now. It doesn’t matter how normal she seems in this moment, she’s here for her own reasons, of which does not include me.
He nods, then looks pointedly at my mom. "Could you give her a minute?"
"Sure." She's still playing nice, still wearing that annoying fake smile. The door clicks behind her, leaving us in silence.
Rothschild slides an envelope across the polished desk. Heavy paper, my name written in unfamiliar handwriting. Rick Kemper's last words. I can’t believe he left me anything. I don’t deserve. I don’t even know him. This isn’t sitting right in my stomach.
The envelope trembles in my hands as I open it. I’m expecting a lengthy explanation, maybe an apology, but as I unfold it, there’s a few sentences in the center of the page. My gut twists.
Lola Kemper, if you are reading this. Take this money and run very far. Trust no one.
Ice spreads through my chest. He knew. The bastard knew he was going to be murdered and now—now what? I'm next? The money isn't a gift. It's a target. Why would he want to give it to me? Is this a sick fucking joke?
I fold the paper with numb fingers, too aware of the closed door, of my mother waiting outside like a spider. I place the letter back in the envelope, not meeting Mr. Rothschild’s eyes. I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
"Your mother can come back in now," Rothschild says, watching me too closely.
I close the envelope and ask, "Did you invite her here?" The words barely make it past my lips.
His expression doesn't change.
"Tell me the truth, Mr. Rothschild. Did you?"
"I did not, Miss Kemper." Something in his eyes tells me he understands exactly what I'm asking.
"Leave her out there then." I force steel into my voice. "Let me sign this paperwork and get this over with. How long will it take?"
"Just a few minutes." He starts pulling out documents, both of us pretending we don't hear my mother's heels clicking past the door for the third time.
After five signatures, I ask, "Is there another exit in the back like an employee exit?"
"Are you asking––"
I stop him, heart racing. "I would rather ask this of you instead of asking security to escort her out." I glare at him, hoping he knows what I mean.
He nods. "Sure thing, Miss Kemper. Your father was… quite the force. I’m sorry for your loss."
"Thanks," I mutter, not really feeling a loss. I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s still out there, and she is. She’s still pacing. My heart’s racing again as he points at another place to sign.
"Okay, just one more signature. You will have a standing account with us. Your money will be accessible within the next few hours."
I request an Uber as I nod. He slides over a card.
"Activate it right now before you leave," he says, glancing at my impatient mother. "Call the number and set up the pin."
I do as he says, and it’s done in less than a minute.
He nods over his shoulder, and I notice the employee door behind him.
"Can you handle my mom?" I pause at the exit door, hand on the cold metal push bar.
"Of course." Rothschild adjusts his tie. "I'll tell her you had to take another exit for security purposes. Standard procedure for new accounts of this size." Then he pauses like he wants to say something but doesn’t.
"What is it?" I ask. "Just say it."
He whispers, "Off the record, Rich always knew she would be after his money."
My face twists as I glare at him. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
"I’m sorry for your loss. Here’s my business card if you need anything, okay?"
I nod.
"You’re one of the good ones."
I ignore that, pushing through the door into the morning air. The Uber's already waiting, exactly where the app showed it would be. Behind me, I hear Rothschild's shoes clicking back down the hallway, returning to deal with my mother. He has no idea what he’s talking about. I’m not as good as he thinks I am, but I guess I’m not as off the rocker like my mother.
The Uber’s interior smells like pine air freshener. I sink into the back seat, clutching my purse with the letter inside. As we pull away, I catch a glimpse of my mother through the bank's front windows. She's standing at the reception desk, that fake smile cracking at the edges.
"Back to campus?" The driver glances in his rearview mirror.
I nod, already pulling out my phone. I need to text Brody. I need to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with $1.5 million dollars and a dead man's warning.
But first, I need to make sure I have access to the account. I pull up my banking app, hands shaking as I type in the new account information. I have to move fast before she figures out a way to get her hands on it and blows it on drugs and alcohol.
My father's written words echo in my head. Take this money and run very far. Trust no one.
But how far is far enough?
The music building smells like always—wood polish and anxiety. Amanda drops into the seat next to me in class, her coffee sloshing dangerously close to her sheet music. For a moment, everything feels stupidly normal, like I don't have over a million dollars sitting in a new bank account.
"So, the Halloween party this weekend is going to be insane." Amanda pulls out her laptop, showing me pictures from last year. "So, everyone dresses up. You have to come with me." Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself nodding along.
"Yeah, I’ll come. Let’s get ready together."
One by one, students take their turns at the piano. The familiar nerves of performance class settle over the room. Amanda's up next, and I watch her wipe her palms on her jeans before approaching the keys. She's gotten better—her Bach isn't perfect, but there's feeling there now. The sunlight through the practice room windows catches her hair as she plays, and for a second I forget about everything else.
I text Brody before I forget.
Lola: Meet me for dinner tonight?
Brody: Yeah
Walking back across campus, reality crashes back. The crisp air carries fallen leaves across the sidewalk, and each step feels heavier than the last. $1.5 million dollars. My mother's fake smile at the bank. The warning letter crinkles in my jacket pocket with every movement.
"Lola!"
My blood turns to ice. Amanda stops mid-sentence about Halloween costumes, turning to the parking lot.
"Shit," I breathe, glancing at my mom. This can’t be good. "It's my mom."
Amanda's face lights up—she doesn't know better. "Oh, how nice of her to visit! I'll see you later." She waves, completely oblivious to the way my hands have started shaking.
If only she knew…
My mother stands between two oak trees, wearing that calculated smile like a mask. She's still playing normal, still pretending. Students stream past us, laughing, heading to class, no idea that I'm terrified of what happens next.
"What're you doing here?" I ask.
"Get in the car, Lola." She gestures to a black sedan idling nearby. Tinted windows. Running engine.
I shake my head, taking a step back. "No."
The mask slips. Her face twists into something familiar—the mother I grew up with, the one who threw plates and didn’t give a fuck about me. "Get in the fucking car."
I start to turn, to run, but hit something solid. Her supposed boyfriend towers over me, reeking of cigarettes and cheap cologne. The look he exchanges with my mother tells me everything.
His hand clamps over my mouth before I can scream. The parking lot is emptying—everyone's in class now. He drags me toward the car as I kick, my bag falling to the sidewalk. Books and papers scatter across the concrete.
The door opens and they shove me in, catching my legs as they slam it. Pain shoots up my thighs. I lunge for the door handle, but the child lock is on. The window controls don't respond.
My mother slides into the front seat as the car peels away from the curb. "You ungrateful little bitch," she snarls, all pretense gone now. "Did you think you could just walk out of the bank with all that money and run away from me?"
Her boyfriend throws my shit on my mom’s lap, not leaving evidence that I’ve been kidnapped right on school grounds.
Through the window, I watch the campus grow in the distance. This place was supposed to be my fresh start, the start of a new life. And somehow, my life is very far from that.
"Mom!" My voice bounces off the car's interior, too loud in the confined space. The boyfriend takes a sharp turn, throwing me against the door.
She whips around, mascara already smearing at the corners of her eyes. "Don't fucking talk to me in that tone, Lola! I have to do this because you're a spoiled brat! The money is mine!"
The car speeds past campus buildings, past students who have no idea what's happening behind the tinted windows. My heart pounds against my ribs. "Mom, where are you taking me?"
"Middle of fucking nowhere!" She's bouncing in her seat now, that familiar manic energy crackling off her. Her fingers drum against the dashboard—tap tap tap—like counting out doses.
I press back against the leather seat, trying to put distance between us. "Why do you need the money, mom?"
She turns around fully now, knees on the passenger seat. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown wide. "You don't know the promises I made. I’ve been waiting for that motherfucker to die!"
The boyfriend takes another turn too fast. Trees replace buildings outside the window. We're heading out of town.
I’ve had many instances where I had to remain calm, be the cool one, or she’ll lose her goddamn mind. Right now it’s not any different from when she was getting high. I need to keep my composure.
"Okay, what kind of promises?" My hand touches the bank card in my pocket. I could give it to her, tell her the PIN, and get this over with. Let her waste it on drugs.
"Don't even pretend you're willing to help me now, Lola." Her laugh comes out sharp, hysteric. "I know you... you don't give a shit about me."
"Mom..." The word catches in my throat. That hurts. I visited her every week. Of course I give a shit about her. Through the windshield, I can see we're heading toward the state forest. "People are going to notice that I'm gone."
"Let them call the cops." She runs her hands through her hair, messing up the careful styling from earlier. The mask is completely gone now. "I need that fucking money, Lola, and if you’re not going to give it to me willingly, then I need to beat it out of you."
The way she says need makes my skin crawl. This isn't about greed. This is about survival—hers, maybe mine. The letter in my pocket feels heavier with each mile marker we pass. She needs drugs. She needs men. She never needed me, she only needed the leverage she could from me. I’ve never known anyone more fucking selfish.
I hold up the card. "You want this, mom? You want this that fucking bad? It’s yours."
She reaches for it, but I pull it out of her reach.
"Then tell me what the fuck you’re going to do with the money!" I demand.
"It’s not your money, Lola! It’s mine!" She lunges over the seats, pulling my hair. Little does she know that I endured some torturing by my boyfriend, and I can take a hit. She tugs my head closer to her, shouting at me.
"Let me go!" I scream.
"Give me the fucking card!"
Her boyfriend reaches his hand to my face. He finds my neck and starts squeezing as I flail around, trying to hit him. His hold is strong, so now I’m pulling at his wrist, trying not to pass out. But I can’t fucking breath.
I have no strength to keep fighting, and my world turns black.