72. Cassian
72
Cassian
T he student bar at Abernethy College was small. It acted as a social hub, a place to hang out when the cafeteria closed. I rarely came here. If I wanted a drink, I preferred to crack open some booze in our apartment, away from people who didn’t know me and wouldn’t hesitate to take photos and sell them to the media.
Never being able to relax in public was a curse. When I was younger, I hadn’t cared much about the photographers who followed us around, eager to snap photos of me and my friends. I’d grown up living my life in the public eye. Dragged to social events with my parents, paraded as the handsome, blue-eyed only son of Lucian Forsyth.
It wasn’t until the press turned against me and my private life ended up splashed all over the world’s media that I learned not all publicity is good publicity.
Since then, I’d kept my nose mostly clean, and unless mandated by my father, I didn’t venture out in public.
But tonight, I needed a change of scenery. The atmosphere in our apartment had changed since Dario’s arrival. A black cloud of toxic anger followed him wherever he went, and it was suffocating.
Each time he and Kyril crossed paths, one of them tried to provoke the other. The constant dick measuring and posturing was exhausting, and I was sick of it. As far as I was concerned, they needed to have it out. Preferably at the fight club, where I didn’t have to pay someone to clean up the blood.
It was quiet in the bar this evening. Hardly unexpected given the holidays were almost upon us and most people were trying to get assignments completed before they headed home. I had a couple of outstanding essays to write, but nothing I couldn’t handle.
Knowing Thea, she had a ton of work to do, but she never seemed concerned about college work. I’d overheard one of our professors calling her out on a late essay. She’d shrugged and said she’d send it in the morning. If I submitted work late, my father would have my head on a platter.
I guessed her family didn’t hold her to the same high standards as mine did me. She was lucky.
“Sit down and I’ll fetch us some drinks,” I told her when we walked in. From the annoyed look she threw me, she wanted to argue, but thankfully she kept her mouth shut for once. I wasn’t in the mood for her sass.
Not after listening to my father’s bullshit. He had a whole calendar of social activities planned for me over the festive holidays. Lots of events where he expected me to squire Camilla around and pretend to be excited about the prospect of making her my wife.
I wanted to vomit.
Since vomiting in a public place was uncouth, alcohol was the answer.
Lots of alcohol.
But I couldn’t drink alone. That would raise too many questions. Drinking with Thea would also trigger gossip, but since she and I were working together on a joint project, I had a ready-made excuse.
Back in the 1800s, this building housed animals. At least that was the story I’d been told when I first arrived.
It made sense. The place still felt like a barn. In summer, the floor-to-ceiling oak doors stayed open to allow air to circulate, but this time of year, they remained bolted shut, secured by cast-iron latches.
An open fireplace at one end of the room provided heat, which, given how thick the walls were, worked well enough.
While Thea took a seat near the fire, I ordered us both whiskeys. It was a cheaper brand than I was used to, but I didn’t care. Alcohol was alcohol. If it got me buzzed enough to forget about my father’s machinations, that was all that mattered.
Olivia stood propping up the bar with one of her girlfriends. She threw me a flirty glance while I waited for the bartender to ring up my order.
“Hey baby, are you looking for some company?” she asked, twirling her hair.
“No.” From the way her smile faltered, she didn’t appreciate my instant dismissal, but as was typical for her, she carried on regardless.
A few months ago, I might have gone along with her flirting, willing to overlook her personality if it scored me a blowjob, but not anymore. I couldn’t afford to have any photos of me with another woman pop up on social media. Not ones that might damage my engagement, at least.
“Well if you change your mind,” Olivia purred, trailing her fingers down my chest while biting her lip. I’d thought we were past this stupid circus. The last few times our paths had crossed, Olivia had mostly ignored me. But it was late, and she was likely drunk, so her inhibitions were lower than usual.
Drunk Olivia never had any boundaries. I almost smirked when I recalled how she’d let Xavier and Raff tag-team her last year, only to cry rape when a video appeared on social media.
Fortunately for the guys, the video showed her enthusiastically consenting. Didn’t stop her bad-mouthing them, though. If she’d had her way, they would have been kicked out of college, but common sense prevailed and eventually, the gossip train moved on.
Her friend, Helena, looked uncomfortable. They both knew I was engaged, and the fact Olivia willfully chose to ignore that said a lot about Olivia’s morals. Or lack thereof.
“I won’t,” I replied, grasping Olivia’s hand and shoving her backward, not minding one bit when she stumbled in her ridiculous heels.
Thea rolled her eyes when I sat down across from her and passed her a drink. From the way the back of my neck burned, I guessed Olivia was kicking off at the bar. Knowing her, she was telling everyone who’d listen it was only a matter of time before I gave into the inevitable and accepted her as my future wife.
Yep. The silly bitch had delusion down to a fine art. Even more so than Camilla.
“I’m lucky my clothes aren’t flammable,” Thea muttered. “Or I’d be a pile of ash right now.”
“Ignore her,” I advised, sipping my single-malt. “She’s just a nasty, jealous bitch.”
Thea coughed as she swallowed some of her whiskey. “Tell it like it is,” she chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “So why are we here again?” She gazed around at the thick stone walls and fairy lights strung everywhere. No Christmas tree yet, though. Still, it wouldn’t be long now. No doubt the college would look like Santa’s Grotto within a few days, ready for the Christmas Gala on the last Saturday before the Christmas holidays.
“Because I decided we both needed something stronger than coffee.”
The fire blazed behind me, warming my back nicely. A group of juniors sat nearby huddled together laughing about something, and in the corner, a couple looked like they were considering moving their date to a bedroom.
I ought to spend more time in here. It had a cozy, relaxed vibe, comfortable sofas, and the bar staff gave no shits about any of us. They served drinks, cleaned up spills, and then kicked us out when things got too raucous, or it was time to close.
“I’m not usually a whiskey drinker,” Thea said, “but this isn’t bad. So I’ll forgive you for not letting me choose my drink.”
“Your round next time,” I winked. “But make sure mine’s a whiskey.”
“Noted.”
Some of the tension left my shoulders, and as the heat from the fire sank into my bones, I slowly relaxed. Tomorrow was soon enough to think about the long list of bullshit tasks my father expected me to complete.
He was fond of testing my loyalty. Mostly because he believed I was like him: cunning and traitorous.
I was nothing like him. Whereas my father would happily sell his soul to the devil in return for money and power - and probably had at some point - I cared little for those things. Sure, it was nice having a credit card with zero limit and all the many advantages that came from being born a Forsyth, but none of those things made up for the lack of love I’d endured since birth.
My mother loved me, but she was incapable of protecting me from my father. She’d lost any backbone she might once have had. Probably around the time she exchanged vows with my father. These days, her solution to the horror show that was marriage to Lucian Forsyth was to pop as many pills as was humanly possible.
My father enabled her addictions. In fact, he likely caused them. He seemed to take great pleasure in sending her away to various rehab facilities the moment she started to wake up from her fog of chemical dependence. He also paid for the nurses who watched over her and controlled everything she did.
My home life was a toxic mess.
I had a feeling Thea could relate. Maybe that’s why I was drawn to her.
She had a darkness in her. Not just the fact she was comfortable with murder and mayhem, a bit like Kyril. It ran deeper than that.
Sometimes, when she thought nobody was looking, she seemed so sad and lost. Like there was no way to escape her shit life.
Again, highly relatable.
And not just for me. Landon’s life was no picnic either, despite the fuckboy persona he liked to show the world. His father used him in ways that were even more twisted. The only difference between him and I was he wasn’t being ordered to marry a woman he hated.
Not yet, at least.
But I had a plan, and one day soon, it would come to fruition.
Then we’d all be free.