7. Elodie
Chapter 7
Elodie
M y alarm blared from my phone, jolting me back to reality. My Uber had arrived, and if I didn’t leave now, I’d be stranded.
“I have to go,” I said, pulling away from Keaton.
“What?” He looked at me, his expression caught between confusion and something deeper. His eyes lingered on my lips, which still tingled from his kiss.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, stepping back. My stomach growled, but the food on the table was the last thing on my mind.
“A name,” he demanded, his hand grabbing my arm again. “Give me a name.”
I hesitated, heart pounding in my chest. Just as I was about to speak, the door swung open. Lola stood there, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene.
"There you are," she snapped at Keaton, moving towards him.
I tried to dodge her in order to reach the door.
“Watch it,” Lola snapped as I bumped into her while trying to leave.
But I barely registered her words. My feet carried me forward, past her icy presence and out of the room. My freedom was waiting outside in the form of an Uber, and I wasn’t going to miss it for anything.
My mask slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor, but I didn’t have time to retrieve it. I stepped out of the room and into the throng of partygoers, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me.
My eyes darted around, searching for a path through the crowd. I nearly collided with my stepsisters, Stephanie and Annabelle, who were giggling about something undoubtedly trivial.
Stephanie’s eyes flicked in my direction, her laughter stopping abruptly. She did a double take, recognition sparking in her gaze.
Panic surged through me. I ducked behind a couple engrossed in their conversation, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure it would give me away. That was too close.
Peering around the couple’s shoulders, I saw Stephanie scanning the crowd. Annabelle tugged at her arm, impatient to move on. They turned away after a moment that felt like an eternity.
I let out a shaky breath, slipping further into the sea of faces. Each step took me closer to the exit and away from their scrutinizing eyes.
I stepped out of the room, heart still racing, and nearly collided with my stepmother, Marion. She was deep in conversation with two men, gesturing animatedly.
"With your investment," she said, her voice dripping with false charm, "we can ensure a profitable return within the first quarter."
The men nodded, clearly interested.
I couldn't let her see me. Not without my mask. I had no idea why she was talking to those men when she had no money to offer and a simple cleaning business, but it must have to do with her affiliation with William.
I turned sharply, my mind racing. If Marion was here, it meant they’d be leaving soon. I had to get back home before them or face the inevitable punishment. The thought of their wrath made my stomach churn.
Keeping my head down, I navigated through the crowd, aiming for a hallway that led to a side exit. The hallway was dimly lit and mostly empty—my best chance of slipping away unnoticed.
The cold air hit me like a slap when I stepped outside. I shivered but welcomed the chill; it was better than the oppressive heat inside. The Uber app on my phone showed the driver waiting around the corner of the hotel.
Grateful for my decision to wear flats, I hurried around the building. The pavement was slick from an earlier rain, and I had to watch my step to avoid slipping.
Each breath sent plumes of mist into the night air as I rounded the corner. There it was—the black sedan idling by the curb. Freedom.
I quickened my pace, glancing over my shoulder one last time to make sure no one had followed me. I slid into the backseat, shutting the door quickly behind me. The car pulled away just as I glanced back through the rear window. My stepmother and stepsisters stepped out of the building, their laughter echoing in the cold night air.
“Good evening,” the driver greeted me, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. He was middle-aged with kind eyes that crinkled when he smiled.
“Evening,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
“You coming from a party?” he asked, steering us onto the main road.
“Yeah,” I said, turning to look out the window. My eyes kept darting back to see if Marion, Stephanie, or Annabelle were in pursuit.
“You must be tired,” he continued, his tone conversational.
I nodded absently, still peering out the rear window. “Just a bit.”
“You know, it’s funny,” he said with a chuckle. “You look like you’re in a fairy tale with that dress.”
I forced a smile, my mind not really registering his words. “Thanks.”
The driver glanced at me again. “You all right?”
“Just tired,” I practically screeched, startling myself with the sharpness of my voice.
He seemed taken aback but didn’t push further. The drive felt like forever, each minute dragging as we moved through the quiet streets. The rhythmic hum of the tires against the asphalt did little to calm my racing thoughts.
Every time we stopped at a red light or slowed for traffic, my heart pounded in my chest. The possibility of seeing my stepmother’s car in our wake made me sick with worry. I kept checking behind us, half-expecting to see Marion’s stern face peering through another windshield.
The city lights blurred past as we continued driving. I tried to focus on anything but my rising panic—the neon signs flashing by, pedestrians huddling against the cold—but it was no use.
Finally, we turned onto a quieter street leading toward home. The tension in my shoulders began to ease just a fraction. Each familiar landmark brought me closer to safety and further from the party’s oppressive atmosphere.
The driver pulled up in front of my house and glanced back at me one last time. “Take care,” he said kindly.
I nodded gratefully before stepping out into the night air once more.
I rushed to the back of the house, my breath visible in the cold night air. My hands fumbled with the gate latch, slick with moisture and trembling from adrenaline. Finally, it clicked open, and I slipped inside, shutting it behind me with a quiet thud.
I took out my keys. They were slippery in my hands, and I cursed under my breath as they slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the ground. I quickly bent down, scooping them up with shaking fingers. My heart pounded as I inserted the key into the lock of the backdoor and turned it. The door creaked open, and I stepped inside, carefully closing and locking it behind me.
I darted up the stairs, my footsteps light but hurried. The familiar creaks of the old wooden steps seemed louder in the quiet house. Just as I reached my room, I heard the front door swing open. Panic surged through me.
No time to change.
I dove under my covers, yanking out the bun that held my hair tightly against my scalp. The strands cascaded around my face just as I closed my eyes. My heart still raced when the door to my room burst open, Annabelle and Stephanie pouring in like a flood.
"See?" Annabelle's voice was smug. "I told you she was here. Where would she even go?"
I forced myself to pretend to wake up slowly, blinking groggily at them.
"Stephanie? Annabelle? What time is it?" My voice came out hoarse, as if I'd been asleep for hours.
Stephanie crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at me. "You've been here the whole time?"
Annabelle glanced at her sister before adding, "She doesn't have friends, Steph."
"How was it?" I asked, rubbing my eyes for effect. "The masquerade?"
"Fine." Stephanie raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "Don't think you're off the hook for tomorrow’s chores. If anything, expect to do double since I'm sure we'll be sleeping in."
"Of course," I murmured, sinking back into the pillows.
Annabelle turned on her heel first, pulling Stephanie with her. "Come on," she said dismissively. "I still didn't tell you about Damien's tongue down my throat."
"Damien Sinclaire? That is such bullshit, Annabelle."
As they exited and shut the door behind them, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Safe for now.
I waited a few more minutes, listening to the muffled sounds of Annabelle and Stephanie retreating to their rooms. The house settled into its usual quiet, the faint hum of distant traffic filtering through the walls.
Slowly, I crawled out of bed and tiptoed to my closet. I slipped out of my dress, careful not to make any noise. Hanging up my mother’s dress with gentle hands, I placed it at the back, hidden behind my everyday clothes. It felt like a small act of defiance, a secret piece of beauty in an otherwise gray existence.
I changed into my pajamas, the familiar fabric a comfort against my skin. As I crawled back under the covers, I let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the evening with it.
My thoughts wandered to the party—the glittering lights, the laughter, and the delicious smell of food that had made my stomach rumble. But more than anything, my mind kept circling back to Keaton.
I touched my lips, still tingling from the kiss. My first kiss. And with Keaton Douglas of all people.
What had I been thinking? He was probably used to kissing girls at parties like it meant nothing. To him, it was just another fleeting moment in a life filled with countless others.
But for me… gosh, it had felt so real. So unexpected.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the thought. There was no way he could have been serious about his proposal. A part of me scoffed at the very idea—Keaton Douglas wanting anything with someone like me? Ridiculous. He didn't even know me.
Then again, it didn't seem like he cared.
Yet another part of me wished he had been serious. The thought was absurd but intoxicating in its impossibility.
My fingers brushed over my lips again as if trying to capture some lingering trace of his touch. It was foolish to even entertain the notion that it meant anything beyond a momentary lapse in judgment on his part.
With a sigh, I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, willing myself to stop thinking about him. Keaton’s world was light years away from mine, filled with power and privilege I could never understand or belong to.
And yet…
No. I couldn’t let myself go down that path. It would only lead to heartache and disappointment.
But as much as I tried to push him from my mind, Keaton’s face lingered in my thoughts long after I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
I jolted awake, the morning light already streaming through the curtains. My heart sank as I glanced at the clock. Nearly nine. I bolted upright, my mind racing. I had overslept.
Scrambling out of bed, I quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, my fingers fumbling with the buttons in my haste. My stepmother would not be pleased.
I rushed downstairs, skipping steps two at a time, hoping against hope that they were still asleep. The kitchen was blissfully empty when I arrived, and I exhaled in relief. Maybe luck was on my side today.
Moving quickly, I began pulling out ingredients for breakfast: eggs, bread, cheese. The familiar routine helped calm my nerves a bit as I set about making omelets.
"Well, well," came a voice from the doorway.
I jumped, nearly dropping the skillet. Marion stood there, her arms crossed and a sardonic smile playing on her lips.
"You're up," she said, stepping into the kitchen.
"Yes," I replied, trying to keep my focus on the food sizzling in front of me.
"You know I like my breakfast at eight," Marion continued, her voice like ice. "And yet, it's nearly nine. For someone home alone, why did you sleep in? What gave you the idea you could?"
"I thought you guys would be home late and wouldn't want breakfast until later," I said quickly, flipping the omelet with a practiced motion.
Marion's eyes narrowed as she watched me work. "Convenient excuse."
I kept my head down, concentrating on getting the food onto plates. "It won't happen again."
She snorted softly but didn't respond immediately. Instead, she walked over to the table and sat down, drumming her fingers on the wooden surface.
The silence stretched between us as I finished cooking and brought the plates over to her. As soon as the food was in front of her, Marion's critical eye softened slightly.
"It better not," she said finally before picking up her fork and digging in.
I stood there for a moment longer before turning back to clean up the kitchen, trying to steady my breathing. One more morning survived.
“Is that makeup?” Marion's voice cut through the quiet like a knife. “Why would you be wearing makeup?”
My heart hammered in my chest, my mind scrambling for an excuse. Nothing came.
“Do you really think it makes you pretty?” she continued, her tone dripping with contempt. “Pathetic. You look just like your mother.”
I lifted my chin, fighting the urge to shrink under her gaze. “Thank you,” I said firmly.
Marion’s scowl deepened. “William will be by today,” she announced, leaning back in her chair. “He wants to spend time with you.”
“I have to study?—”
“Of course, I said you would love to,” she interrupted, her eyes glittering as she picked up a fork. “I already have a couple of investors lined up once his payment goes through. He wants to marry very soon.”
My stomach churned at her words.
“What? No thank you?” She asked, taking a bite of her omelet. “You wouldn’t have any other prospects if it weren’t for me. I’ve ensured you don’t die alone.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You’ve ensured you clean up your debts.”
“Tomato, toe-mah-toe,” she replied with a shrug. “Now, go shower. You reek. I don’t want you to dissuade William from this marriage before it even happens.”
She waved me away dismissively, and I turned on my heel, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.
In the privacy of my room, I allowed myself a moment of weakness. The tears came fast and hot, streaking down my face and smudging the makeup I forgot about from last night that had earned Marion’s scorn. I wiped them away angrily and gathered myself.
A shower would help clear my head and wash away the remnants of Marion’s cruel words.
In the bathroom, I turned on the water as hot as I could stand it and stepped under the stream. The warmth enveloped me, soothing my frayed nerves if only for a moment.
I couldn’t escape William’s visit or Marion’s plans for me, but I could face them on my own terms—quietly determined to find a way out of this life they’d trapped me in.
Stepping out of the shower, I dressed quickly and looked at myself in the mirror, water still dripping from my hair.
No more tears today.
With a deep breath, I left the bathroom and prepared to face whatever came next.