Chapter 2
TWO
“Home, sweet home,” I whisper sarcastically, barely audible over the bustling crowd that swarms around me.
Stepping out of the airport, the familiar British air hits my face with a chilling embrace. It smells like rain and broken dreams, a bittersweet reminder of everything I’ve left behind.
I try to steel myself, repeating the mantra I’ve been clinging to throughout the flight.
I would have come here anyway.
For August.
But the truth is, I would have had a flight booked back to Seattle.
Now, I don’t.
August promised to pick me up from Heathrow, but when I scan the waiting zone, he’s nowhere to be found.
It’s eight a.m., and I desperately need a shower and a nap, but I haven’t even asked where we’ll go from here.
I was too nervous, too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions that have been tormenting me since I left Seattle.
The journey was absolute torture. First, everything was delayed. Then, the ten-hour flight was a relentless parade of discomfort made worse by my own thoughts.
I spent at least half the time trying to keep myself from pulling my hair.
And it only worked so well.
I’m still wearing Grey’s sweats and hoodie, and even after the long journey, his scent lingers, reminding me of what I’ve left behind.
What they made me leave behind.
I couldn’t bring myself to change at the airport, needing that small comfort to make it this far. It’s absurd, really, how a simple piece of clothing can anchor you to a person, moment, or feeling.
The feeling of not being so alone.
While I continue to search for August and think about turning my phone back on, my mother’s driver approaches me instead. His familiar smile is a beacon in this sea of strangers, and for a moment, I feel a tiny spark of relief.
The staff always felt more like family than my family ever did.
“Miss Stanley,” he greets me with a nod. “I hope you had a good journey.”
“Wilfred. It’s so nice to see you,” I smile as he takes my bag from my shoulder to put it over his own. “Thank you. As good as it could be. August said he was going to pick me up. Is everything all right?”
“Of course, he’s waiting at the mansion for you. Mrs. Stanley was adamant about me picking you up.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine at his words. “He’s at the mansion?”
“He didn’t inform you? He’s back residing full-time,” Wilfred replies carefully.
“Since when? What about Abigail and the girls?” I press, feeling a knot forming in my stomach as he puts my bag in the back of the car and opens the backdoor for me.
“It would be best for you to ask that of young Mr. Stanley yourself,” Wilfred says diplomatically.
“Of course,” I say, sliding into my seat.
I’m so going to give him hell for this.
I look out of the window as we drive to the estate, watching the raindrops slide down on the outside of the pane. It feels as if no time has passed since Wilfred brought me to the airport two years ago.
Did those two years even happen?
Or was it all just a beautiful, painful dream?
“We’ve missed you, Miss Stanley,” Wilfred says, his warm tone breaking through my reverie as he glances back at me through the rearview mirror.
“I told you so many times to call me Amelia,” I remind him with a smile.
He chuckles. “We missed you, Miss Amelia. All the staff has. But I must warn you, the mood in the mansion is… well, it’s even worse than before you left.”
I nod, steeling myself for what’s to come.
Nothing can be as bad as what I’ve left behind in Seattle.
At least my parents were and are always forward and open with what they think of me. I know exactly where I stand with them.
My mind drifts back to the guys and the betrayal that led me here.
I can’t hate them, not really. They’re not bad people, at least not at heart.
But they got caught up in their project, willing to go to any lengths to achieve their goals.
And I was just collateral damage, an easily persuaded, na?ve girl they could use.
The lonely target.
The only one I really have to blame is myself. I knew it would end like this from the start. I knew I was the one who would be hurt coming out of this, with them becoming bigger and better, while I’m left lost, hurt, and forgotten again.
I should probably fight, go to the police, bring them down.
But I’m not like that.
I will not end their careers because I was na?ve.
I will not ruin them just because I love them, and they don’t love me back.
What I will do is be everywhere they look but nowhere to be found, and that will be my revenge.
Let them be successful with their project, maybe even with mine.
They’ll forever know who was part of bringing them there. And I hope it will haunt them.
Pulling up to the mansion, I brace myself for the cold reunion that awaits. The grand facade of the estate looms ahead, its opulence so different from the emptiness I feel inside.
Wilfred gets out and opens the car door for me before he takes my bag, escorting me to the front door and opening it for me.
Stepping inside, the familiar chill of the Stanley mansion washes over me. My eyes immediately lock onto my mother’s figure in the entrance hall. She’s engaged in conversation with a young girl I’ve never seen before, but she’s wearing the crisp, starched uniform of our housemaids.
Mother’s voice, sharp as ever, cuts through the air like a knife, “Make sure to trim the stems at a forty-five-degree angle before placing them in the vase. And use the crystal water to keep them fresh. I want the lilies and the roses arranged alternately… precision is key. Each bloom should be visible and perfectly spaced. This arrangement is for the foyer. It must be impeccable to greet our guests.”
Just behind her, August towers over them. He’s just as tall as our father, with the same brown hair and blue eyes as mine. But he looks thinner than he did before, tired.
His eyes meet mine first, and I see a flicker of relief cross his face. “Meelie,” he calls out, his entire demeanor brightening as he strides toward me. Before I can react, he pulls me into a fierce embrace, his familiar scent enveloping me.
Home.
“I’m so glad to have you back,” he murmurs into my hair.
The only person who really cares.
I feel the telltale prickle of tears at the corners of my eyes, but I swallow hard, wrangling them back.
This is no place for vulnerability.
“Amelia Charlotte, what in the world are you wearing?” My mother’s harsh words make me stiffen in his arms.
August lets go of me, turning to face her. “She had to take a ten-hour flight in the middle of the night, Mother. Of course, she wanted to feel comfortable.”
“This is unacceptable,” my mother continues, her disapproval palpable.
“We have to keep up appearances, and your American casual style is nothing I want to see you in. Go up and take a shower. I’m going to have Betty iron out a dress for you for dinner later.
And I want to see your hair in something that is not a bird’s nest.”
With that, she sweeps out of the room, leaving a chill in her wake that seeps into my bones.
The maid I don’t recognize comes to grab my bag from Wilfred, smiling shyly before she walks off with it.
I feel a pang of guilt for not asking for her name, but then again, Mother’s staff turnover is notoriously high. She might not be here in two weeks.
Wait, will I be?
“Why are we here? You didn’t say we would be here,” I hiss at August as he puts an arm around my shoulder and walks me to the stairs.
“Long story,” he says, and I would love to punch him as casually as he just shrugged.
My hands even twitch at the thought, but I somehow restrain myself.
He’s the only ally I have in this house of horrors.
“You’ve got time until dinner before I consider whether I’d rather try my luck as a hitchhiker toward Turkey,” I mutter darkly.
The fact that I’m planning my escape after being here for not even five minutes should be telling.
“Why Turkey?” August asks, smiling. His eyebrows raise in his infuriatingly calm way.
“I heard they have Twizzlers.” In my hasty departure, I forgot to pack some and regret it already.
He laughs heartily, but as we climb the stairs, each step feels like I’m ascending to my own personal purgatory, and I’m not sure I have the strength to face whatever awaits me at the top.
Morgan bursts through the door, her breath ragged and her red hair a fiery halo around her face. She’s holding her phone to her ear, her eyes darting between us. “I’m there now,” she says as she puts the call on speaker.
“Good,” Grandpa’s familiar voice crackles through, calm but heavy with concern.
“Thank you for coming,” I tell her, and she gives me a small smile. “Did you check the bookstore downtown on your way over?”
“I did,” Morgan responds, her voice tinged with frustration. “But she wasn’t there. I don’t know where else to look. Do you have any other ideas? Anything at all?”
“Maybe she’s at Denny Park, by the piano?” Grandpa suggests. “She mentioned she sometimes played there, right?”
Grey grunts from his perch at the kitchen island, not bothering to look up from his laptop. “Already checked there,” he mutters, his scowl deepening. “No sign of her.”
“Has anyone considered she might have gone back to London?” Grandpa asks, his voice carrying a note of hesitation.
My heart plummets, a cold dread seeping through my veins. I shake my head vehemently, even though Grandpa can’t see me. “No, I don’t think so. Her family… they’re awful. She wouldn’t go back willingly.”
“Why is she even gone? You said something happened, but what exactly? Did you have a fight?” Morgan looks between us, confusion etched on her face. “Knowing what I do of her temperament, what would make her leave this soon after being robbed? Wouldn’t she want to stay close?”
I exchange guilty glances with Grey and Misha, the weight of our secret hanging heavy in the room.
The moment of truth has come.