Chapter 8
I was surprised how my perspective had changed in just a few hours. Earlier in the evening before the course of my life was completely altered, I’d run into Sinclair Whitter and had almost felt faint at how charming and good looking he was.
Now, sitting next to him in the spacious limousine that felt tight and confining, I found him ugly. Not because of his face but because of his blackened heart. He was evil and cruel and the worst part was that he seemed to take sheer pleasure in being that way.
Was it money that had made him like that…or something else?
All the students at the school who’d thought of Dr. Rakhimov as Cruella de Vil had no idea what true evil was. I would be staring it in the face every day for ten years.
Once we approached Castle Rock, the traffic increased, despite the late hour, and undeveloped land began to vanish. It wasn’t long before we arrived in the thick of things, driving through the Denver Metro clump of cities all mashed together. At first, I had thought the entire urban area was Denver—but there were small signs here and there indicating that I was wrong. Apparently, Denver had gobbled up and comingled with other communities until they had become one unending casserole, foreign to a girl like me who was more familiar with life in a clearly delineated town.
Had I not been filled with such hatred for the man next to me, I would have asked all sorts of questions, my curiosity having been piqued. But I wasn’t about to give him an ounce of pleasure from having the knowledge to answer questions. I would fulfill my obligation but I wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction of any kind if I could help it.
Still, I felt overwhelmed as we continued north. There were so many lanes on the freeway and lights everywhere…tall buildings of stone and glass. The sky was pinkish and I couldn’t see a single star. And, although there weren’t lots of cars on the road, I was shocked at how many people there were driving around in the wee hours of the morning.
After some time, we approached what I knew was downtown Denver. I’d seen so many pictures of its recognizable skyline, buildings that made the state capital unique. The limousine took an exit off the freeway and soon we were driving through residential and business areas alike, densely packed humanity. The sides of the roads had cars lined up like sardines with no breaks at all and in such a short time there were so many traffic lights that I knew had already outnumbered the total in Winchester.
I was all at once overwhelmed…and in awe.
Not wanting him to know how I felt, I tried not to crane my neck or twist my head to get a better view of sights as we passed, but as we moved into an area with narrower streets, some one-way, and historic buildings, I yearned to walk along the sidewalks rather than be escorted in a vehicle, because I imagined I would see so much more. And daytime would reveal far more than the glimpses I saw now.
The farther we went, the more impressive the homes—larger, more stately—and I suspected we were getting close to the Whittier mansion. Soon, the driver turned down a side street and then turned down an alley. Because I wasn’t looking forward, it wasn’t until he pulled the limo through an open garage door that I knew we’d arrived.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t caught a glimpse of the building because of the direction we’d approached and because I’d obstinately refused to look ahead.
Once the car had been shut off, I considered opening my door—but, as much as I hated to admit it to myself, I knew I was no longer in control here. I didn’t know if it was time to get out, and, even though I was simmering with anger and defiance, I also didn’t want to incur his wrath any more until after I’d had a good night’s sleep.
I would wait.
The driver exited the car and, shortly after, opened my door, indicating I should get out. In the meantime, Whittier also stepped into the garage.
Again, I was blown away. This was unlike any garage I’d ever seen. There were five other cars inside and a riding lawnmower and other yard equipment against the far wall, and there was plenty of space between each vehicle. Why would anyone need six cars? Did these all belong to him?
As if he could sense my astonishment, Whittier said, “There’s another garage on the west side.”
I nodded but I didn’t ask if it was the same size or how many cars were in there. Already he was flaunting his wealth, no doubt to make me feel inferior.
“This way,” he said.
“What about my—”
“Gregory will bring your belongings in.”
Nodding, I followed him to a door and walked inside. We took a short flight of stairs into a wide hallway and I soon realized this was no ordinary house.
It was a mansion, thousands and thousands of square footage. The little cottage my father and I occupied could have fit inside Whittier’s home hundreds of times. As we walked past several rooms, I felt unable to get my bearings. Instead of feeling awe as I had earlier, I felt like an ant, insignificant to a degree.
But I also felt something else: I didn’t belong here.
Now I was completely out of my element. Like what I imagined would be how I’d feel my first time on a boat, I was disoriented and shaky. We’d already walked past more rooms than were in my house. What were they all used for?
Finally, we arrived in a room that felt familiar—a large kitchen. It was bright, mostly white, with elements of brick, thanks to the fireplace at one end, and had a rustic feel, thanks to the giant wooden table. The huge island near the appliances was no doubt a well-used workspace—and even it was bigger than my kitchen at home. I figured he probably had several staff who worked in here but I again wondered why. If he lived alone—
Then I realized I’d been assuming an awful lot. Even though he’d given the impression of being a bachelor, he might have a family living here—wife and children. And I didn’t know much about the wealthy, so I also understood that maybe all the Whittiers lived here. Even though I hadn’t seen the entire building, I already knew dozens of people could live here and perhaps go days without seeing each other.
“The help is gone for the night, but would you like anything anyway?”
The help. Yeah, that meant there were lots of people serving him—and I was about to join them. At this point, I only hoped they would be kind and helpful to me as I adjusted to this new life.
I wasn’t hungry. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of water.”
With a nod, he walked behind the island and opened a cabinet full of assorted glassware. Then he walked to the refrigerator and held the glass in a recess, pressing a button so that water flowed in, filling it quickly. I stood frozen in the center of the room, so he walked back to me with the glass. “You can help yourself to water any time you like.”
I didn’t want to say it, but the words came out of my mouth anyway. “Thank you.” With that reminder, I almost refused the water, but I was thirsty. When I began drinking it, he walked back to the cabinet and retrieved another glass, repeating his earlier motions, drinking water himself. I heard soft footsteps behind me and turned, realizing they weren’t so soft after all. They were echoing in the hallway and soon Gregory walked past the kitchen, his arms full of the things I’d brought with me.
“It’s late, but I’ll show you around enough that you don’t get lost in the morning.”
As I finished the water, I considered reminding him that it was already morning and decided against it. I was so tired that I knew I couldn’t be trusted. Any more snark left in me needed to wait until I’d slept. As an afterthought, he said, “Breakfast is served at seven. If you drink coffee, it’s usually available by six.” Again, I bit my tongue. I could always make my own coffee—if I were given permission to do so.
“Where should I put my glass?”
“Did you get enough?”
“Yes.”
“Just leave it on the table. Edna will take care of it in the morning.”
I placed my empty glass next to his and followed him out of the room. As we entered the hallway again, he pointed to the left. “The dining room is there.” I couldn’t see it, though, because the lights were off, as were most of them in the mansion. The hallway light was bright enough that it spilled into many of the rooms we passed, but I still couldn’t make out what was in them. Tomorrow might be different—but I didn’t know how comfortable I’d feel exploring.
Then again, there was the question of my job. Maybe I’d see all these rooms on a regular basis.
We entered a wide open space that curved into another area that I couldn’t see. It wasn’t a ballroom although it seemed big enough to be one. Instead, there was one pedestal I could see with a beautiful large black vase holding a luscious green plant, its leaves spilling over the sides. Ahead was an enormous staircase, and I followed him up the white marble steps, again feeling down to my bones that I was a stranger in a strange land.
I didn’t belong here.
Most of my life, I’d found myself feeling uncomfortable to a degree in most situations—but it was a sensation I’d gotten used to. What I felt now was far different, and I knew it was because I didn’t have a home to go back to. This was where I’d be living—sleeping, eating, bathing, breathing—and nothing could happen that would make me feel okay about it.
When we arrived at the top of the stairs, I took in everything I could. From this vantage point, I could see down, and the cavernous space below was what I would soon learn they called the antechamber . It was a term I thought I’d read before but I really didn’t know what it was. The space was bigger than the house back in Winchester and it was mostly empty. Even from up here and bathed in shadow, the white floor gleamed. But most impressive was the lovely chandelier that hung from the ceiling above this floor. If it had been on the floor and I’d stood next to it, I would have been dwarfed.
I had to stop staring because Whittier continued walking. Up here, large paintings adorned the walls. The hallway followed the wall and connected another staircase on the right at what appeared to be the front of the house, but he led me to the left.
I could easily get lost in this place.
Soon, he stopped at an open doorway. “This will be your room.” He waved me into the space. The lights were already on so my eyes could take it all in. The large queen size bed was what I focused on first. The posts were of rich wood with a light burgundy-and-white canopy and a short headboard. There was a handsome polished dresser on one side; on the other were two doors, one to a bathroom. My belongings were set in front of the other door. And there were lots of windows covered in beautiful drapes that matched the canopy of the bed. On the other side of the room was a sofa and coffee table. The polished wood floor was partially covered by two expensive-looking rugs, one under the bed area and the other under the sofa area. There were several antique lamps around the room and a ceiling fan in the center.
And, like the hallways, there were oil paintings on every eggshell wall.
It was striking and, like everything else in this mansion, large.
But it wasn’t a place I belonged.
“The door locks so you can have your privacy, and you have your own bathroom. Greg brought up your things, but it’s possible you forgot something. If there’s something you need, you can let me know in the morning.” I simply nodded, because I had no words. “I do expect to see you at seven in the kitchen, at which time I will give you your assignment for the day.”
Ugh. After the long night, he wasn’t even going to let me get decent sleep. But I suspected that would be low on the torture scale he’d be subjecting me to over the next several years.
And I would die before I’d ask him for something.
So I nodded again, already feeling submissive—and, had I not been so exhausted, I would have been furious at how quickly I’d become a docile doe. I’d probably not be much better after only a few hours of sleep.
“Get some rest.” With that, he exited the room and closed the door behind him.
I didn’t waste any time locking it before turning back around, my back resting on the door for a moment as if to give me strength. I knew I should hang up my clothes but that felt like I’d be admitting defeat all too soon. And even though this room didn’t really feel like mine, I explored it a bit anyway. Behind the closed door was a walk-in closet, not huge, but bigger than my closet at home. It was far more than my small bags warranted, but I tucked them all in there and closed the door again.
Then I peeked out of one of the windows next to the bed. Although it was dark outside, I could see a large yard with trees shading most of the glow of a streetlight. I planned to look out there again first thing in the morning.
Fetching my phone out of the business jacket I was still wearing, I sat on the sofa and sent a text message to my dad. We made it to Denver and I have my own bedroom with a door that locks. I’m being treated okay. I just don’t know what my job will be yet. I’ll let you know more in the morning.
I didn’t want to tell him about the mansion. This family had seen to it that my father was penniless when what he’d done obviously hadn’t taken much from them.
Even though my mind was racing, I had to get some sleep. I took one of the suitcases from the closet, realizing I’d put it away too soon, and set it on the bed, pulling out my toothbrush and toothpaste along with my favorite nightgown, a Hello Kitty pink cotton oversized sleep shirt. The bathroom was simple but elegant in its own way, with its wooden floor and ceramic fixtures.
Soon I was in my pajamas, my teeth freshly brushed, my face scrubbed clean of the day’s grime, my feet grateful to be out of the heels I’d been wearing all day. I returned to the closet and put my dirty laundry in the hamper. That was one question I had already—where would I wash my laundry? There were too many questions right now but the answers would have to wait.
Before I tackled the bed, I thought about my phone again. This time of night, I would ordinarily set the phone on the nightstand so my alarm would wake me up in the morning. During the summer, I’d been sleeping in until seven or eight, depending on what my day looked like, but I’d need to set an earlier alarm—and thinking about that made me realize that I had forgotten something very important: my phone charger.
It still had forty-percent of its battery power, but it would need to be plugged in sometime tomorrow. I chided myself for forgetting, because this phone was my only means of communicating with my father. And that was the one thing I would need to keep myself sane during this imprisonment.
A message from my dad lit up the screen. Princess, I’m so sorry about all this. I feel awful, because I’m the one responsible for all this.
There was no stopping the tears when I saw those words. The last thing I wanted was my father feeling guilty about something these…these entitled rich people had been responsible for. All my father had wanted was for Winchester’s environment to be protected and, in the process, to remain lovely, unscarred. But all the Whittiers cared about was money—money to ensure they maintained this disgusting lavish lifestyle I was surrounded by.
It made me resolve again to make Sinclair Whittier’s life as difficult as he was going to make mine.