Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
A stranger in my own skin.
That’s what I am as I once again stand in the grand entrance hall. My long navy dress hugs my meager curves and its slit reveal more leg than I’m comfortable with. My hair cascades down my back in soft waves, and I feel the weight of my smoky eye makeup.
When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror earlier, I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me. Pretty, yes, but someone else entirely.
I fidget with the décolletage of my dress, trying to pull it up a bit more, but it’s no use.
The fabric clings stubbornly to my breasts, and I can’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that comes with it.
I’ve been here for almost fifteen minutes, faking polite smiles while guest after guest walked past me into the ballroom.
It’s the night of the annual charity gala my parents host for the British Heart Foundation at the start of October. It’s a cause that’s undeniably important, but the irony isn’t lost on me.
My parents hosting a charity for a heart foundation when they seem to lack one themselves.
The superficial smiles, the idle chit-chat, the way everyone seems to be wearing a mask, I fucking loathe it.
But I have to attend, at least to try and talk to August. I haven’t seen him properly since our hike, just shared quick glances and words in passing since Father keeps him in meetings at all hours.
I looked for him over the security feed, but he was never around.
I even called Abigail to see if she had any luck catching him and she hasn’t.
Never a chance to actually talk.
With each minute that ticks by, my anxiety grows.
What if he doesn’t come?
Then I’m stuck here all night, forced to engage in mindless conversations for nothing.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
Thankfully, I catch sight of him stepping into the hall, looking almost like Father in his suit.
His eyes scan the room, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s looking for me too.
But when his gaze finds mine, his posture gets defensive, and as he approaches, he’s already making excuses. “Come on. We’re already late.”
Is he bloody serious?
I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Where have you been all this time, Auggie? I came here for you. You wanted me here, but we’ve hardly talked or seen each other. You’re always off with Father.”
He laughs, but it’s a dry, hollow sound. “That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?”
He’s right, but he’s still acting like an arse.
“Well, Abigail had time to talk to me, and we figured out a solution. We’ve planned a new life for you in the US. All you have to do is agree and come with us.” My heart races as I speak, hoping against hope that he’ll see reason.
“You did what?” August’s face falls, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “I told you—”
“And I told you that I won’t sit by and watch you ruin your life.”
“It’s not that easy, Meelie. We can’t abandon everything like that.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I see the fatigue in his eyes.
But I can’t step back now.
“You can,” I insist, trying to keep my voice down. “And you should.” My desperation creeps into my tone, but I don’t care.
This might be the only chance I get to persuade him.
“They’re our parents,” he argues weakly, his eyes pleading with me to understand.
I feel a surge of anger, white-hot and all-consuming.
“That didn’t stop them from verbally abusing me for years.
” The words taste bitter on my tongue, but it feels oddly cathartic to finally say them out loud.
His eyes widen in shock, and I scoff. “Don’t look at me like you didn’t know.
You knew.” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling exposed in more ways than one.
“I… I suspected,” he admits. The guilt in his eyes is palpable, and for a moment, I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
“And you didn’t do anything,” I accuse, my words sharp with years of pent-up hurt. “You thought a day or two out of the house would suffice for a life in Hell instead of stepping up for me.”
Where is this coming from all of a sudden?
He was my escape. It’s as if he’s failed me now.
“I tried,” he protests weakly, but even he doesn’t seem convinced by his own words.
“And now I’m trying. I’m ready to step up for you,” I counter. “You wanted me here, you wanted my help. So take it.” I reach out, grabbing his arm, willing him to understand.
August’s expression softens, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the brother I used to know. “Meelie—”
Before he can finish, Father’s voice booms down the hallway, calling for him, the sound making me flinch involuntarily.
August reaches out, squeezing my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says, heavy with regret. “For everything. And for this.”
He lets go of my shoulder, loosening my hold on his arm. Then he turns, and the click of his polished shoes on the marble floor echoes in my ears, each step taking him farther away from me and what I’m offering.
I stand there, trembling from all the pent-up emotions that just burst out of me, feeling utterly alone. My heart aches with pain so sharp it’s almost physical, and I’m about to retreat into myself when Daniel’s voice startles me out of my thoughts.
“Time’s ticking,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes, though something darker lingers beneath it, making my skin crawl.
I whirl around to face him. “What do you want, Daniel?” The words come out brittle with raw emotion.
He laughs, stepping closer, invading my personal space with a confidence that borders on arrogance. “I just wanted to check on you. That sounded bad.”
“That was a private conversation,” I say, taking a step back, but he just follows until my back is to the wall.
“It was pretty in the open for being private,” he murmurs, his body so close to mine I can feel the heat radiating from him. “You know, we could end that problem in an instant. Just say yes so we can get out of this fucking charade.”
“My yes would only start that charade,” I hiss.
“One you obviously would have some gains from too.” He chuckles, nodding in the direction August walked off. Then his hand reaches out, grasping my chin firmly to make me look at him again, his touch invasive.
I push his hand away, disgust rising in my throat like bile. “Don’t touch me.” But Daniel doesn’t back down. Instead, he moves even closer, effectively trapping me against the wall like a butterfly pinned to a board. My heart races, panic rising in my chest, threatening to choke me. “Let me out.”
“God, you’re beautiful like this.” He smirks, a smile playing on his lips when I narrow my eyes. “You’re overreacting, darling. Don’t make a scene, Mummy wouldn’t approve.”
That’s even more reason to make one.
“Step back,” I hiss, pushing my hands against his chest, but he doesn’t budge.
“Or what?” Daniel challenges with amusement, leaning in closer, his breath hot on my face.
The next second, he’s ripped away from me with such force that I gasp.
Oliver appears out of nowhere, hair polished and dressed in a black suit, but that doesn’t stop him from slamming Daniel against the wall next to me and holding him there with a forearm on his throat.
The hatred in Oliver’s eyes is something I’ve never seen before, and his jaw is clenched so tight I fear his teeth might shatter.
The sight triggers a brief flash of Oliver pinning Hendricks down in my apartment after the attack, and the anxiety I felt then from having been robbed surges up to mix with my fear now, even if my rational brain knows that Oliver will make sure I’m fine.
“Or…” Grey’s cold voice cuts through the tension as he steps up to us, looking dashing as well. “Oliver’s going to kick your pompous ass.”
They’re going to make sure I’m fine.
Relief washes over me in a dizzying wave, but it’s quickly replaced by an overwhelming tide of shame that threatens to drown me.
I can’t stand to see the concern in Oliver’s eyes or the smug defiance in Daniel’s.
Without a word, I flee across the hallway into the large guest bathroom, ripping the door open before slamming it shut with more force than necessary, fumbling with the lock until I hear it click.
My legs give out like they’re made of jelly, and I slide down the door, my back pressed against it as if I could melt into the wood itself. My hands find the back of my head, gripping my hair tightly, pulling until it hurts.
There’s a ringing in my ears, high-pitched and insistent, drowning out everything else. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the world, to disappear into the darkness behind my eyelids.
Shit.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
The incessant ringing in my ears suddenly cuts off when Grey’s yelling cuts through the door. “Amelia! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
Before I can muster up the strength to respond, I recognize the sound of flowing water that stops abruptly.
The next second, Misha is crouching in front of me, his warm, still-damp hands cupping my cheeks, shocking me out of the haze.
His dark eyes search my face, then scan my body, concern etched in every line of his features.
“Bug, you’re all right?” I manage a weak nod, my throat feeling too tight to speak. Misha calls out louder, “She’s okay, at least physically.”
Then, despite the suit he’s wearing, he settles down next to me on the cold tile floor and pulls me across his lap. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, and breathe in deeply, the familiar scent of rain enveloping me.
“What happened?” he asks softly, his breath tickling my ear as he starts to stroke my back.
When I don’t answer, Grey’s voice filters through the door. “The dickhead got handsy.”
Misha tenses beneath me, and he takes a deep breath.
I whisper into his ear, trying to soothe him, “He didn’t hurt me. I promise.” Then, I realize he’s inside the bathroom with me.
What the?