20. Addy
Chapter twenty
Addy
T he moment my foot crosses the threshold, a shiver of unease snakes up my spine. The house is too still, the air too charged. I slip my phone from my pocket and fire off a quick text to Gen, my thumbs flying over the screen with practiced ease.
Safely inside, thanks for everything. -A
Barely have I hit send when I lift my gaze and freeze. Cheryl and William are perched on the edge of the living room sofa like twin statues carved from ice, their expressions so livid it's almost palpable. Wesley leans against the wall, arms folded, his sneer as sharp as a blade.
"Adelaide," Cheryl begins, her voice a hiss of disapproval.
"Home at last," William adds, each word weighed down with cold fury.
"Mother, Father," I say, keeping my voice level. My heart thunders in my chest, but I will not let them see how they make me quake inside. "Wesley." I nod to my adoptive brother, offering him a tight smile that doesn't reach my eyes.
"Where have you been?" Wesley asks, his tone laced with mockery.
"Out with friends," I reply simply, shrugging off my coat and hanging it with deliberate slowness. The fabric brushes against my skin, a whisper-soft touch compared to the sting of their stares.
"Care to elaborate?" William's voice is sharp, cutting through the tension in the room. “Because, last I checked you were told to come straight home. No socializing.”
"Does it matter?" I challenge, meeting his gaze head-on. I learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more attacks. They can't know about the silent screams that echo in my mind, or the way my soul feels tattered at the edges.
Of course, compliance is a big part of this. And, usually I know how to ride the line perfectly. But I can't seem to muster up the energy to play dress up right now.
"Of course, it matters," Cheryl says, rising to her feet. Her movements are graceful, yet there's a rigidity to her posture that tells of barely restrained anger.
"Everything you do reflects on this family," William adds, standing beside her. They're a united front, always.
"Then perhaps I'm just reflecting what I've learned," I retort, my voice cool as frost. I won't let them see the pain; I'll hide it beneath layers of indifference. Wesley scoffs, and I ignore him, focusing instead on maintaining my composure.
I've always played the doting and dutiful daughter. I just don't have it in me today, not after everything I've been through in the last 24 hours.
"Enough," snaps William, and for a moment, the room seems to shrink, the walls pressing in. "We expect better from you."
"Understood," I say, though the words taste like ash on my tongue. I keep my face an emotionless mask, even as my insides churn with resentment. I am Adelaide Winthrop, forged by fire and unyielding as steel. They will not break me.
The air is thick with the scent of polished wood and judgment as Cheryl's voice slices through it, "We've discussed this, Adelaide. Your conduct in public is... unacceptable."
"Your slutty behavior has consequences," William says, his words like a whip-crack in the silence that follows. Of course it does. But Wesley's sure doesn't. I know for a fact that he slept with four different girls at the last party he attended, two at the same time.
I fight to keep my breath steady, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. It’s a familiar dance, their accusations and my deflections. Each word they hurl feels like a stone aimed at a glass house I’ve painstakingly built around myself.
"Genevieve Whitman invited me out," I cut in, my voice steady despite the storm brewing within. "Her cousin and friends joined us." I pause, watching as they process this. "It was just a meal after school."
"Genevieve Whitman?" William's tone shifts, a note of interest now threading through the disapproval.
"Considering the deal you're working on with her father, I thought it prudent to accept her invitation." My heart hammers against my ribcage, but I let none of it show. "To make nice," I add, almost innocently.
Cheryl's lips tighten, and I can see the gears turning in her head, weighing the social chess game we're perennially entangled in. My statement hangs there, a lifeline thrown into tumultuous waters.
The room is a battlefield, and I stand my ground, my own armor forged from years of navigating treacherous emotional landscapes. The walls, adorned with portraits of stern ancestors I share no blood with, seem to watch in silent anticipation.
The air, thick with tension, parts like a curtain as William's face undergoes a startling transformation. His eyes, which had narrowed into slits of disapproval moments ago, now widen with the gleam of opportunity. The rigid set of his shoulders relaxes and a smile, sly and calculating, breaks across his face.
"Genevieve Whitman, you say?" His words curl around my name, drawing me closer into an intricate dance I never asked to join.
"Indeed," I affirm, my voice a soft chime amidst the brewing storm. It's a delicate balance, aligning myself with their ambitions without losing my footing.
"Adelaide," he begins, and there's a warmth in his tone I don't trust, "that was quick thinking on your part." He takes a step forward, and I resist the urge to recoil. "It's important to maintain good relations with the Whitmans. Very strategic."
"Thank you," I murmur, the words taste like ash on my tongue.
"Whatever Genevieve or her cousin want," he continues, his voice buoyant with newfound approval, "you accommodate them. Understand?"
"Absolutely." I nod, the action automatic, a puppet responding to its strings. The praise feels like another shackle, a reminder that my worth to them hinges on my usefulness.
Cheryl's gaze lingers on me, cool and assessing, and for a moment I wonder if she sees through my facade. But then she nods, a silent endorsement of William's command.
" Anything ," William repeats with emphasis.
"What do I do about Preston, then?"
"His father's been dragging his feet in his end of things. I think it's time he realizes I'm not someone to fuck with," William's menacing smile grows as the gears start turning.
"We need a relationship with Mason Whitman. It's far more important than the deal with Montgomery," he continues. "We'll have to push harder. Whatever they want, Adelaide. If they tell you to jump, you ask how high. That boy is hardly up to our standard, but he could be our ticket to Mason. Just... keep it behind closed doors, Adelaide. Your reputation is our reputation after all."
I stiffen at that. He's always pushed for purity... outside of the dirty, disgusting things he does to me in the darkness of my room, of course. Is he... is he asking me to whore myself out for this deal?
"Is that a problem, Adelaide?" William's voice turns to ice as he steps closer to me. "You are my property. Mine. As in mine to rent out to whomever I please, whenever I please. Until I finally sell you off to the highest bidder, of course. What use are you to me if I can't use you to get what I want?"
"None," Cheryl smiles that Cheshire smile. "The fat little slut might do us some good after all. Maybe we won't have to toss her back to the gutter we found her in."
“Just a prime cut of beef,” Wesley sneers.
"Do. You. Understand, Adelaide?"
"Yes, Father."
"Good girl," William says, and every syllable is steeped in the poison of patronization.
I am the good girl, I remind myself, the mantra a shield against the bitterness welling up inside. The obedient daughter. The impeccable student. The perfect pawn in their ceaseless game of power and influence.
"Of course," I reply, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear—a nervous tic I can't quite suppress.
Wesley leans against the doorframe, his sneer a permanent fixture on his handsome face. "Playing the saint again, Addy?" he drawls, and the barb strikes closer to home than he knows.
"Someone has to," I shoot back, my composure, a fortress I've built and rebuilt countless times, slipping. I won't let him see the cracks. I am a saint. I have to be.
"Enough," William interjects, a clear warning. "We have plans to make."
Plans that involve me as little more than a token, a chess piece moved at their discretion. I swallow hard, tasting the metallic tang of fear mixed with defiance.
As they turn away, plotting their next move in hushed tones, I stand rooted to the spot. My mind races, a whirlwind of thoughts and strategies. How long can I play their game before I lose myself entirely?
For now, I survive, but survival isn't living. And deep within, where no one else can see, a rebellion stirs. One day, I'll break free from their gilded cage. One day, I'll rewrite the rules of their game.
And, what if that day is now?
Those boys peddle in secrets. Oh, the things I've been privy to. I know things that could topple empires. Let the new game begin.