Chapter 18 Willow
WILLOW
The day of the engagement party comes so much faster than I’m ready for it to—especially since it means the wedding isn’t far off either. I have a pit in my stomach the whole morning, making it hard for me to eat or focus on anything else.
In the late afternoon, I get ready to head over to Olivia’s house. She wants me to prep for the party there so that she can oversee all of it and make sure I look perfect, everything done according to her standards.
As much as I’m dreading it, that’s a good thing, really. It’s been a couple days since I last went over to her house, and hopefully I’ll have another chance to snoop around today.
I’ve managed to snap pictures of several more files and documents in her office and send them to the guys, but after poring over them to see if they relate to previous jobs they’ve done for X, they couldn’t find anything that looked promising.
And with the countdown seeming to tick by faster every day, I have to keep digging.
My phone buzzes as I’m about to walk out the door, and I frown as I pick it up, my brow furrowing as I read the text message that just came through.
APRIL: Hey Willow. I heard about your engagement, congrats! We miss you at school.
I blink, making a face. Back when I was still going to school at Wayne State, April and her followers dedicated a lot of time to making my life miserable, so this message from her makes absolutely no sense.
She’s acting like we’re old friends, as if she didn’t spend an entire semester bullying me and mocking me for being poor.
But I guess that explains it, right there.
I’m not poor anymore. And even though she was still willing to mock me behind my back after she found out I was Olivia’s granddaughter, now that my engagement to Troy has been announced publicly, I’ll be tied to yet another wealthy family in Detroit.
The only way April measures a person’s worth is by their money and status, so she’s probably hoping that if she kisses my ass now, I’ll help her advance her social standing after Troy and I are married.
I wonder if she knows that my supposed fiancé is a sick fucking creep. Would it change her opinion if she knew? Somehow, I doubt it.
Well, fuck April. And fuck Troy too.
Fuck all of this.
Instead of bothering to text her back, I gather my things and let Jerome drive me to my grandmother’s house.
As soon as I walk in the large front door of her mansion, Olivia descends on me. I’m not late, but she’s in control freak mode, prodding me up the stairs and to a bedroom where a professional stylist is waiting.
“I’m so pleased to have this opportunity, Mrs. Stanton,” the woman says, practically gushing.
“Yes, well, I just want my granddaughter to look perfect for her big night.” Olivia’s smile is as fake as she is, but the stylist doesn’t seem to notice.
The woman ushers me into a seat and starts fussing over me, talking about colors and curlers and whatever else. I’m barely listening as she and Olivia confer, sitting there like a doll while my hair is brushed out and different colors of foundation are tried against my skin.
“Not that one,” Olivia says at one point, shaking her head. “It needs to look more natural.”
“Oh, of course,” the stylist agrees. “I was just thinking that with her… features…”
She trails off when Olivia gives her an arch look and then replaces the makeup she had been about to use.
I can imagine what she meant by ‘features.’ It’s her impulse to want to hide my scars.
And I doubt that Olivia vetoing the stylist’s choice isn’t because my grandmother thinks I look fine just as I am.
She just doesn’t want me to be caked in makeup for this party.
Either way, no one cares what I want, so I keep my mouth shut, letting them get on with it. I tilt and turn my face where the woman’s soft fingers guide me, closing my eyes and pursing my lips and doing whatever she says, just to get this over with.
After a while, Olivia makes an impatient noise, and I open my eyes to see her frowning at her phone.
“The caterer, again,” she mutters. “I don’t understand how hard it is to get this right.”
She answers the call, sounding brusque and annoyed, and I don’t envy the poor person on the other end of the line. Olivia walks out to deal with whatever the issue is, and my pulse jumps as I realize this might be my best chance.
It has to be now, while she’s distracted.
“Um,” I say, straightening up a little. “I’m sorry, but I really need to use the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”
The stylist blinks, surprised, and I give her an apologetic smile as I slip out of my chair and quickly leave the bedroom.
It’s blessedly quiet in the massive house, and I move quickly, darting downstairs and into the office.
As usual, I start a countdown in my head, scared to give myself more than five minutes or so to look.
I haven’t gotten caught rifling through my grandmother’s office yet, and I can’t afford to get sloppy now.
As I ease the heavy wooden door closed behind me, my gaze darts around the room, scanning the walls, shelves, and file cabinets.
I’ve looked in every one of the file drawers by now, and I’ve even managed to open every drawer in the big desk.
Where else would she keep valuable documents and stuff?
I know she has stake in a few different companies, but I don’t think she has an office outside her house.
And even if she did, I would’ve expected her to keep anything potentially incriminating close to home, where it’s easier to keep hidden.
So where the fuck is it?
My eyes scan the bookshelves again, my fingers tapping my thigh in a more agitated and less rhythmic version of what Vic does. Would she keep things hidden behind the books? Inside the books?
Maybe the most important documents are upstairs in her bedroom. Maybe they’re—
I freeze, my gaze snagging on one of the paintings on the wall.
It’s a portrait of Olivia and the man I’m guessing must’ve been my grandfather, along with a boy who looks to be about ten.
Olivia is obviously younger in the painting, and I try to ignore the way that this more youthful version of her bears an even stronger resemblance to me.
Instead, I focus on what caught my eye in the first place.
The painting is slightly crooked.
In any other house, that wouldn’t mean anything, but for Olivia? For the most exacting, viciously controlling person I know? It’s weird.
It’s already been at least thirty seconds since I entered the room, and I have to give myself extra time to get back upstairs, so I step forward quickly, making a beeline toward the large painting.
I don’t know what I’m looking for, exactly, but I feel around the edges of it, putting my face up against the wall and trying to see behind it.
When I give a soft tug on the frame, it pops away from the wall, and I have to stifle my yelp of shock. For a second, I’m terrified that I’ve accidentally knocked the painting off the wall and it’s about to come crashing down, drawing Olivia and every member of her house staff.
But instead of falling, the portrait swings outward, revealing a large safe set into the wall.
My heart lurches again, excitement filling me as I stare at it.
Then I shake myself and snatch my phone from my pocket, holding it up and taking several pictures of the safe.
I make sure to snap a photo of the keypad on the front as well as the embossed text identifying the brand name, and once I think I have enough, I swing the painting back into place.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to get inside the safe right now. I have no idea how to crack one, and I only have a minute or two left before I have to get back upstairs. So I pull up Vic’s contact on my phone and text all the pictures to him, sending along a message right after.
ME: Just found this. Do you know how to open it?
My hand shakes a little as I shove my phone back into my pocket, and I crack the office door to make sure no one’s coming before darting back into the hallway.
I take the stairs two at a time, giving myself half a second to calm my breathing before I re-enter the bedroom where the stylist is waiting for me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, offering an apologetic smile as I settle back into the chair. “Too much coffee this morning.”
She nods politely and gets back to work.
By the time Olivia walks back into the room, the stylist is setting curlers into my hair, and my grandmother examines my face with a critical eye.
“Lovely,” she says, nodding. “With the curls and the dress, she’ll be passable.”
Passable. Fantastic.
After over two hours of primping and prodding, Olivia finally declares me ready to go. I don’t even feel like myself, and every time I glance in the mirror, I have to stare.
If circumstances were different, it might be nice to be so dressed up, with my hair falling around my shoulders in soft, voluminous curls. I might even enjoy the chance to go out in a beautiful dress and have a good night.
But instead, it feels like being led to an execution. All I can think of is how Troy will leer at me, and the engagement ring that Olivia unceremoniously shoved onto my finger after the stylist finished up feels like a heavy weight dragging me down.
Olivia got herself dressed and made up while the stylist was busy with me, and the two of us slide into an expensive looking town car to head to the event.
I haven’t been involved in the planning at all, so I have no idea what to expect when we pull up outside a large building and walk up a wide set of stairs—but of course, the place is opulent as fuck. Olivia and Troy’s family have clearly spared no expense for the occasion.
There are chandeliers dripping with crystal, and honest to god ice sculptures on a couple of the refreshment tables. Waiters in tailored black uniforms circle the room, holding out fancy little hors d’oeuvres on trays, and an orchestra in one corner plays music over the whole affair.
I can’t even imagine how much money was spent on this. Probably more than I’ve made in my entire life.
There are already tons of guests, a huge crowd of people milling around, eating the food and sipping champagne and expensive wine while they schmooze with each other.
A few faces stand out, people I recognize from school whose families were influential enough to snag invites to this party.
I scan the room, and my gaze lands on Colin DeVry, standing with people who look like his parents.
My heart lurches in my chest, a sudden rush of memories washing over me.
He was so nice to me once, going out of his way to invite me to a party, to make me feel like I was welcome at a school where so many people treated me like an outsider and a pariah.
But then it turned out that he only wanted to fuck me because I was a virgin and he thought I would be easy.
I watch as he struggles to hold his champagne glass, his hand shaking slightly. None of the easy confidence I remember him having is present as he tries to avoid spilling it all over his mother, and she shoots him an irritated glance.
Something savage and fierce rises up inside me, a dark sort of satisfaction that floods my chest before I can try to convince myself that it’s wrong. Maybe it is wrong, but I can’t help being glad to see that his hands haven’t completely healed, or that they haven’t healed well.
Malice broke every single one of Colin’s fingers because of what he did to me, and it’s clear that he’s still dealing with the fallout from that.
Part of me wants to keep looking at Colin until he glances my way, but I decide he’s not worth the time. So I make my way slowly through the crowd in a different direction as Olivia greets several of the guests, the mask she wears in public firmly in place.
Ignoring the waiters and their trays of food, I swivel my head, scanning the crowd to see if I recognize anyone else that my grandmother invited to this sham of a party.
When my gaze lands on three familiar figures, I have to do a double-take, shocked and unsure if I’m actually seeing Malice, Ransom, and Victor standing among the guests or if it’s just some kind of illusion brought on by wishful thinking.
But even after I blink twice, they’re still there, standing together, dressed in the same suits they wore to the museum gala. Malice’s face still bears marks from the fight last week, although the bruises and cuts on his face are healing.
They’re here.
Malice is glaring in Colin’s direction, but I couldn’t care less about that right now. My feet are already moving, carrying me toward them as if I’m being pulled by some invisible tether to their side, my eyes wide.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss, my heart pounding in agitation as I reach them. “Did you crash my engagement party?”
The consequences of that would be… bad. Really bad. Olivia wants this to be perfect, and as much as I know the Voronin brothers don’t want me to marry someone else or have to go through with this, I didn’t think they’d do something as risky as showing up to my engagement party.
Before any of them can answer me, someone clears their throat sharply behind me, and I turn to see Olivia coming up to stand with us.
All three of the brothers immediately level glares at her, but my grandmother doesn’t even seem to notice, let alone care. She gives me a tight smile and nods to them.
“I invited them,” she says. “They were a last minute addition to the guest list.”
It takes a good few seconds for that information to be processed in my head, and even when it penetrates, I can’t quite believe it.
“Why would you do that?” I ask her, stunned.
Her eyes narrow a little, her expression serious. “Much like your father, you have a tendency to be… unruly. Given our conversation in my car the other night, I thought you could use a little reminder of why you’re doing this.”
Do you love them? Because it’s clear they love you.
Her words echo through my mind, and I can feel myself going pale, the blood draining out of my face.
She invited the three brothers to give me a visceral, immediate reminder of the threat she holds over them.
If I don’t do this, if I step out of line or say the wrong thing in front of her guests, she’ll have them sent to prison, and I’ll probably never see them again.
“You understand, then,” Olivia says, smiling as she takes in my expression. “Good. Now come along. There are actual guests you need to meet.”
With that, she takes my arm, sweeping me away before I can say another word.