68. Addy
Chapter sixty-eight
Addy
A s Monday unfurls its inevitable arrival, I stand before my closet, the afterglow of the weekend still thrumming beneath my skin. Picking out an outfit feels like armoring up for battle, except this armor is made of soft fabric and leather. I pull out a red sundress that clings and flows in all the right places, then pair it with black leather ankle booties that add an edge to the innocent cut of the dress. The cropped leather jacket Dre selected drapes over my shoulders like a dark promise, a reminder of the person I am with them—fierce and unapologetic.
The mirror reflects a transformation I hardly recognize—me, but different. It's not just the clothes; it's the way my cheeks hold a happy flush that comes from days spent wrapped in love and reckless abandon. My green eyes sparkle back at me, filled with a life that's long been missing.
Twisting this way and that, I admire the red sundress hugging my curves, the leather jacket adding a touch of wild to the softness. A small laugh escapes me because, for once, I feel like the Addy I've always wanted to be.
"Damn," Dre's voice comes from behind, laced with a mixture of pride and desire. "Going for the kill, I see," Dre murmurs from the doorway, his approving gaze tracing the lines of my chosen attire.
"Only way to start a week," I reply, spinning on my heel to face him, the skirt flaring around my thighs. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, grounding me in the reality that is us—complicated, intense, and real.
"If every Monday starts like this, I'll worship the damn calendar."
His hands slide onto my hips, a feeling so familiar yet still electric. The slight brush of his fingers sends ripples of warmth through my body, and I lean back into him, letting his presence envelop me. His lips find the tender skin of my neck, and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of being wanted, of being seen.
"Looks like someone approves of his own taste," I tease, tilting my head to grant him better access. The dress might be new, the jacket might be Dre's choice, but this moment is all us—raw and real.
"Can't help it when you make everything look this good," he answers, his breath hot against my skin as he trails kisses up to my earlobe. I can tell by the huskiness in his voice that we're both thinking about how the weekend blurred into a series of touches and whispered promises.
"Let's not give them more to talk about than they already have," I say, though my resolve wanes with another brush of his lips.
"Snowflake," he murmurs, his tone a mix of warning and promise, "they're going to talk regardless. Might as well give them a show."
I turn within his grasp to face him, meeting those ice blue eyes that never fail to see through to my soul. "They can watch all they want," I whisper back, "but they'll never know the story behind the scenes."
"Then let's write our own script, babe," he says, a smirk dancing on his lips, a challenge in his gaze that sets my heart racing with anticipation for what's to come.
The moment shatters with Saint's voice, a low rumble from the hallway that slices through the air. "Later," he says without any hint of jest. "School's not going to wait for you two to finish whatever this is."
Dre's hands still on my hips, and I lean back against his chest, turning my head to glance at Saint standing in the doorway. Despite the interruption, Dre's smirk doesn't fade. His lips brush against the sensitive skin of my neck once more before he replies.
"Fine," he drawls, the word laced with reluctance and mischief, "but we're taking the backseat."
I can't help but let out a soft laugh, the sound bubbling up despite the warning look Saint aims our way.
"Whatever you want," I say, my voice steady even if my body is still thrumming with the anticipation of Dre's touch.
We pile into Saint's car, and true to his word, Dre guides me into the back before sliding in beside me and pulling me into his lap. There's no more waiting, no more teasing—just the heat of him as he pulls me close. The windows fog up, the world outside becomes a blur, and all I can focus on is the movement of Dre's hands over my body and the feeling of being alive, wanted, and wild.
By the time we pull into the school parking lot, I'm flushed with a new kind of satisfaction, the kind only they can give me. We straighten our clothes in silence, shared glances saying everything words can't.
As I step out of the car, I square my shoulders, letting the leather jacket hug my frame like a suit of armor. Preston and Wesley are there, looming by the entrance, their stares icy and judgmental. But I'm Addy Winthrop, reborn from the ashes of my old life, and their looks can't touch me. Not anymore.
"Let them glare," I whisper under my breath, a smile tugging at my lips as I catch Dre's eye. He winks at me, a silent pact between us.
We pass them without so much as a flicker of acknowledgment, their disapproval bouncing off me like pebbles against steel. I've embraced the girl in the mirror, the one with life dancing in her green eyes, and there's no space left in my heart for the poison of their contempt.
"Princess," Saint murmurs as we walk, his hand finding mine, "they're nothing."
"Less than," I agree, tightening my grip on his hand. Together, we head toward the day ahead, leaving whispers and scandalized looks in our wake.
??????
The bell rings, slicing through the chatter of the room like a clean cut, and I'm already up from my seat. Chess is waiting for me by the door, his hazel eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief.
"Ready to make some noise, Addy?" he teases, his voice a low hum that sends a thrill down my spine.
"Only if it's your name I'm screaming," I fire back, my cheeks flushed with excitement and the remnants of this morning's escapades.
"Oh, I can definitely make that happen."
We slip away from the noisy hallway, unnoticed in the shuffle as students pour out of the doors and into various classrooms. The computer lab is deserted as usual, the hum of machines a soft chorus in the background. Chess guides me inside, shutting the door with a soft click that feels final, the precursor to something momentous.
Saint and Dre are already there. No Gen today. I wonder if the boys have her out with the masses to see the reaction in real-time when they pull the trigger.
Today is the day after all. Preston and Wesley are going down.
We share a quiet meal—sandwiches and chips from brown paper bags today—and I savor the simplicity of it all.
Chess finishes his sandwich and wipes his hands, his gaze locking with mine. "Time to bring down the pretender kings," he says, the edge in his voice sharp enough to cut.
"Show me," I say, my heart hammering in anticipation.
I slide onto his lap, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. He wraps one arm around me, his breath hot on my neck as he leans in. His other hand moves with precision, clicking and tapping, orchestrating our digital coup with the grace of a maestro.
"Watch closely," he murmurs, and then he clicks 'Enter.'
The screen comes alive with a flurry of notifications, a cascade of data streaming across the monitor. Every device connected to their app is receiving the payload—a barrage of incriminating evidence against Preston and Wesley. Photos, texts, emails—all the ammunition they've gathered over weeks of careful planning.
"Let the games begin," Chess whispers, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips.
The room hums with our shared exhilaration. Chess's chest rumbles against my back with silent laughter, his grip on me both possessive and protective. I'm floating in a sea of triumph, waves of vindication lapping at my senses.
"Looks like they're starting to panic," Chess says, nodding towards the stream of notifications. "Check out those frantic messages popping up."
I lean forward, eager to witness the fallout, but a flicker at the edge of the screen snags my attention. A message bubble from Gen, inconspicuous yet glaringly out of place. My fingers tense on Chess's thigh, the digital whisper beckoning me closer. Squinting, I discern the lines of text meant for my eyes—words I had sent earlier, now staring back at me from Chess's monitor.
"Wait, what's this?" My voice is a thread, unraveling the fabric of our joyous atmosphere.
Chess's body stiffens beneath me, his breath hitching. "What's what?"
My heart is beginning to pound a rhythm of impending dread.
I can't wait for answers; my hand darts out like a serpent striking, seizing the mouse and dragging the cursor to the window. Click—a silent explosion, fragments of my reality scattering as I absorb the contents of the screen.
"Addy, hold on—" Chess's voice is distant, a fading echo as I plunge into the abyss.
But it's too late. The world distorts, sounds warping into static as I uncover the extent of the betrayal. My conversations with Gen, laid bare in pixels and bytes. Every photo, every message I ever sent or received—all splayed out like a grotesque exhibition. The phone—the one they gave me, the one that was meant to be a lifeline—was just an easy way to spy. Though they clearly had no problem spying on my old phone either.
Every secret, every vulnerability, collected and cataloged by someone I trusted. The realization is a physical blow, leaving me winded and disoriented. My pulse screams in my ears, a rapid staccato that drowns out everything else.
"Addy, talk to me." Chess's voice finally pierces the fog of my shock, his concern evident even through the haze of my disbelief.
I can hear Saint and Dre's voices in the background demanding my attention, demanding I listen.
"Everything," I manage to gasp out, my voice barely audible. "You have everything."
"Addy, it's not—"
But no explanation can unring the bell. No words can unsee the truth. With each click, each revelation, the foundation of trust I had let them lay begins to crumble.
I can't find words, just a silent scream building in my chest as I look at his hazel eyes, so often full of mischief, now clouded with concern. My mind races, trying to piece together a puzzle I never wanted to solve. My hands push against his chest, seeking freedom from the grip that's not just physical but emotional, too.
"Listen to us, Addy," Chess implores, the desperation in his voice slicing through my fog of betrayal. "There's a reason for all this."
His arm bands around my waist, keeping me in place. I can feel the panic building in my chest at being restrained against my will.
"Let me go!" The words finally burst from me, a raw and ragged plea as I struggle against the arms that once promised safety.
"Please, Addy..." Chess's hold tightens for a moment, the plea in his voice almost breaking through my resolve. But it's too late; the trust is shattered, scattered like shards of glass around us.
"Let me go!" This time my scream is primal, filled with the hurt of a thousand little cuts to my heart.
Instantly, Chess releases me, an abrupt surrender that sends me tumbling to the floor. My ass hits the ground hard, the impact jarring but nothing compared to the turmoil inside me.
"Snowflake!" Saint and Dre move as one, closing in to offer help I no longer want.
"Don't touch me," I spit out, venom lacing my voice as I scramble up, away from their outstretched hands. They freeze, their faces etched with shock and something else—fear? Guilt?
"Addy, we can explain," Saint starts, but the words are empty, falling flat against the walls I’ve rebuilt in an instant.
"Save it." My words cut through the tension, a clear signal that the girl they knew, the girl who trusted them, is gone. I'm on my feet now, standing on shaky legs but with a newfound resolve.
"Please," Chess whispers, the single word heavy with unspoken apologies.
But apologies won't rebuild trust. And right now, I don't know if anything can.
Clutching my bag to my chest, I bolt from the computer lab, ignoring the stunned faces of classmates who blur into the periphery of my vision. My footsteps echo off the linoleum as I weave through hallways that suddenly feel like a labyrinth designed to trap me with my own thoughts. The school's exit looms ahead and without hesitation, I push through the doors, out into the freedom of open space.
The air is cool against my skin, but I barely notice it; my mind races as aimlessly as my feet on the pavement. Saint, Dre, Chess—they’ll be coming after me, their footsteps a haunting rhythm in the back of my mind. But for now, I'm alone, and that's all I need.
I wander, letting my instincts guide me until I find myself at the edge of a nearby park, empty save for a solitary bench that looks out over a small pond. It’s quiet here, the only sound is the distant hum of traffic and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. I make my way over to the bench and collapse onto it, the weight of everything crashing down onto my shoulders like a physical force.
"Get it together, Addy," I mutter to myself, spinning the engagement ring around my finger—a glittering symbol of false promises and hidden agendas. My heart feels like it's been hollowed out, yet I can't afford to crumble. Not now.
They think they're using me, but two can play this game. Let them believe I'm still the naive girl wrapped around their fingers, while I plot my next move.
I'll continue this charade, endure their deceitful caresses and whispered lies because I need their resources, their connections. They’re my ticket out of this suffocating town, away from that nightmare of a fucking house.
"Saint will sign that contract," I say aloud, trying the words for size. "He'll give me everything he promised—college, freedom, a future." The thought steels my resolve, even as the taste of betrayal lingers bitter on my tongue.
I just need one more thing. It's time.