Chapter Thirteen
I’ve never considered myself clingy, but even as that thought forms, a shudder runs through the arms I’ve got wrapped tight around Harper’s middle.
My face presses deeper into the hollow of her neck, a move she’ll inevitably mistake for dread.
It’s a sensible assumption. We’re heading directly into the pits of hell, aka my childhood home, after I confessed all I know about my mother on the jet ride over.
Admittedly, it’s not much. I didn’t care to keep tabs on the woman who left me behind. But it isn’t dread. It’s anger.
How have I missed something that should have been obvious?
Why can I still not make the connections?
What was Harper doing in a house connected to my mother, and how in the living fuck am I supposed to keep her safe around my father now?
I blame Clayton for this stupid idea more than I blame Dickerson for putting us in this predicament.
He was weak, easily persuaded and blackmailed.
I’m content with the fact that he won’t last five seconds in jail, yet as we approach the wrought iron gates crested with my family, I’m wondering who’s really being shackled in chains. Spoiler alert, it’s me.
Instinctively, Harper tightens her hold on my forearms as we pull to a stop, waiting for the gates to slide open.
Clayton stretches his legs across the limousine cab, rolling his neck as if he’s preparing for battle.
I, on the other hand, shrink inwards. I hate this place, hate what it does to me.
I’m not Rhys Waversea, the Campus King, out here.
I’m Rhys Nobody, the dirt of the bottom of his father’s dress shoe.
The driver pulls forward, sinking us into the seemingly open landscape if you ignore the ten-foot stone wall, topped with jagged, metal spikes that encapsulates it.
Clayton wasn’t wrong about this place being fortified.
I spent years staring through the windows, counting those spikes, memorizing the pattern, praying for a way out that didn’t come until I was already dead inside.
And here I am, willingly re-entering the cage, re-awakening old ghosts.
Harper leans back into me as we roll up the steady incline, rounding the fountain dividing the driveway.
It’s a replica of the one in the academy courtyard, arcs of water catching the sunlight like a spray of diamonds.
The main house comes into view, all pristine white stone and towering columns, the kind of architectural boasting that screams of stolen money and undeserving power.
Both Harper and Clayton lean towards the windows, the soft intake of breath filtering through the cab.
I don’t blame them. To outsiders, the tall arched doorway against the marble entrance steps is a sight to behold.
Unfortunately for me, grandeur doesn’t soften the pain which has been inflicted within, and I’m certain the only way to erase those memories will be to burn it to the ground.
The limo rolls to a stop, the driver coming around to open the door.
Harper hesitates before stepping out, and I realise she’s waiting for me, checking I’m ready with the light press of her shoulder against mine.
She’s smiling softly, but there’s no happiness there.
How quickly the tables have turned from me attending to her, the roles reversing within the space of a day.
I nod, following her out but averting my eyes to the smooth tarmac of the driveway.
Ahead of us, the door is opened from within, a maid greeting us halfway.
“Master Waversea, we weren’t expecting you or your…company.” She hesitates as Clayton steps into Harper’s side, linking his fingers with her whilst my arm is secured around her waist. What a sight it must be, but I understand his reluctance to let her too far out of arm’s reach just yet.
“I didn’t realise I needed an invitation to return to my own house, Fiona,” I shoot back tensely.
She straightens and drops her head into submission.
It’s not her fault I’m particularly stressed right now, but it’s also not a bad idea to keep up appearances.
I’m the spoilt heir, might as well act the part.
“Prepare two of the guest bedrooms, and keep me informed of my father’s schedule. ”
“Just two bedrooms?” Fiona asks as I start to lead Harper inside. I freeze in place, narrowing my gaze in her direction.
“Did I stutter?” I raise a brow. Fiona shakes her head and apologises. I take my cue to step over the threshold, holding Harper tightly as my heart compresses in my ribs. She leans into my grasp, frowning in a way I wish her beautiful face didn’t know how to do.
“Why guest bedrooms? Don’t you have your own?
” Harper blinks innocently, reminding me that I’m the one wearing the mic clip since Clayton is adamant he’s going to learn sign language.
Despite the white noise starting to fill my head, the cold grasp of anxiety leaking in, I manage a bitter laugh under my breath.
“You’ll realize very quickly that I don’t exist here, Babygirl. For the man who supposedly has everything, I have nothing that is truly mine.”
Flicking a glance at Clayton, I see that the irony isn’t lost on either of us.
Even in my personal life, I managed to pick a girl whom I ultimately have to share.
I should be used to it, rather than dragging my feet and trying to bully him into stepping aside.
In fact, he already has, twice, and I still couldn’t convince Harper to be solely mine.
She’s deemed this an all-or-nothing situation, yet that thought doesn’t infuriate me as much as it used to.
Carefully extracting my arm from her waist, I step aside to let Harper explore, living through her eyes.
She takes it all in with carefully concealed wonder.
The double staircase wrapping the entrance lobby, the tall windows gleaming with the late-afternoon sun, the immaculate gardens beyond, sculpted into a maze of sorts.
High above us, a crystal chandelier watches over the gray marble flooring that splits the downstairs of the manor into three routes.
The offices and entertaining halls to the left, the living space and games rooms to the right, the kitchens and cloakrooms straight ahead.
The knot in my chest loosens ever so slightly as I realize what she’s doing. Withholding her initial reactions, keeping her face impassive for my benefit. Clayton isn’t as subtle as he steps out from beside her, whistling low beneath his breath.
“Jesus, Wavershit. You didn’t tell us you were raised in a Bond villain’s lair. No wonder you turned out so—” Harper elbows him in the ribs, the ghost of a grin lighting up her face as she finishes that sentence herself.
“So humble, handsome and happy,” she winks, a blush tinting her cheeks as she lies straight through her teeth. I bark a laugh, slinging my arm over her shoulders.
“You know I’m only one of those things.” Beneath my hold, Harper sobers in an instant. I swear her green eyes turn glassy in an instant, her head tilting up to me in a way that threatens to crack my heart. She knows my ego well enough to know which of those three options I would have chosen.
“You’re not happy?” she frowns as if the thought of me being otherwise physically wounds her.
Aware of our audience in Clayton, Fiona and the driver who have carried our bags in, and the butlers who always linger too close to be coy, I tug Harper towards the kitchen.
Swallowing against the mic clip, I guide her to a stool at the island and turn towards the window.
“I…” I huff out a breath. “It’s not that you don’t make me happy.
It’s just…” I lick at the healing scar where my lip ring used to be, my mind stalling.
Maybe I should just make her a coffee and distract her from this conversation, but then her arms wind around my middle, just like I did to her in the limo.
Just like she did to me on my porch the first time she told me I’m hers. That she wants me the way I am.
Twisting in her arms, I pull her in close and press her cheek to my chest as if my heartbeat can explain what my mouth can’t.
“People like me don’t deserve to be happy, Harp.
The things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt.
I thought perhaps with you, I’d finally have the chance at redemption, far away from my demons.
” I laugh to myself, though there’s no humor to it, my head shaking.
“But somehow, they found you. You’re caught up in my trauma, and I don’t know how to get you out. ”
Harper’s hands slide up my torso, passing over the burn scars on my ribs. I shudder, keeping my eyes locked on the clock hanging above the open archway.
“Look at me,” she demands, but I can’t. Or more rather, I won’t, because I know she’s going to tell me something I won’t be able to accept.
Continuing upwards, her fingers slide into my hair and she tugs my head down until I’m consumed by her dazzling green eyes.
Just as I expected, they’re filled with sincerity so raw, it cracks a fissure through my chest. “None of this is your fault. I’ve suffered before, so I know the importance of riding the waves, taking joy wherever you can, and not feeling guilty for it. ”
“You can’t tell me you can find any joy here,” I scoff, reaching up to release her hold from my head and standing straighter.
“This house holds nothing but greed and selfishness. There’s no happiness here.
” Returning her hands to my waist, Harper places a single kiss over my heart, and I swear my knees waver.
Don’t you dare crumble for a single kiss, you sappy bastard. Harper smiles up at me knowingly.
“I’m happy whenever I’m with you and Clay. I can see how much it pains you to be back here, and it means the world that you’re enduring it anyway. As a special thank you, maybe I can help you rewrite some of those memories you’re struggling with.”