Chapter 7
I’m in the dark. The space is tiny—the door is mere inches from my face. On the other side, I hear them and I know, I know that if I make a single noise, my punishment will be so much worse. But I want to scream. I’m desperate to scream. Beg. Let me out. Please, please, please, let me out. I know no one will.
There’s laughter from the kitchen. Cruel, evil laugher. I’m fairly certain that’s purely from my imagination, rather than my memory. My mother was never the obvious, Maleficent kind of villain. She’s cold, unfeeling, calculating. Silence is more her style than laugher. But here in my dream, I imagine the demons laughing.
And then there’s that voice over all. The voice I’m pretending I never heard, though it sent me running out of state.
It’s not like anyone will miss her.
I wake with a start, sweaty, my heart beating a thousand miles a minute.
I guess I shouldn’t have called it a dream. It’s a full-on nightmare. A recurring one, waking me up night after night.You’d think I’d be over it by now. It’s been over six years since I was last locked in the kitchen pantry—a common punishment when I put on weight. Mother deemed it appropriate: if I couldn’t stop stuffing my face with food, I might as well stay in there. For hours. Days, sometimes.Isn’t she just mother of the year?
I learned to control my weight in order to avoid those punishments when I was sixteen. Swimming, morning, noon and night. Calorie counting. Throwing up, if I had to—though I never liked it. I’m lucky I didn’t develop an eating disorder. But it didn’t matter, because when I was seventeen, and ready to buy a one-way ticket to the other side of the universe, she found another, more efficient way to make me do whatever she pleased. Part of me wonders how long she sat on the information, waiting to use it.
Mother and I have sat on opposite sides of a chessboard for years, and I’m not winning.
But I’m safe for the moment. Away from home. If only my mind had gotten the memo.
A glance across the dark room tells me I haven’t woken up Ari, which means it wasn’t so bad I screamed—this time. It probably will be eventually. Maybe that’s why I’m so accommodating of her socializing; I know I’m not the easiest roommate either.
It takes a while, but I manage to settle down and get back to sleep faster than usual, likely because I am no longer within Senator Cole’s direct reach.With a little luck, and some cunning on my part, I never will be again.
The second dream is most definitely not a nightmare, but it shocks me to the core—far more than the distressing memory.
It starts in darkness, too, and there are hands on me, touching me, pushing past my clothing. Strong hands. Defined arms. A soft shirt. A distinctive scent, warm and spicy and fucking delicious.
“Is this what you want, pervert?”
Fuck. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
The light’s suddenly on, and he’s everywhere, one hand palming my breasts, the other sliding up my skirt, that sexy mouth on my neck as he grunts and?—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I groan, reaching for my phone to turn off the alarm.
Triple fuck. That’s most definitely not cool! Sebastian’s with my super-nice, bubbly roommate. I get along with her perfectly—hell, we’re going to the ballet together. The last thing I need is to be lusting over her man.
“What time is it?” Ari grumbles sleepily, straightening up, as I get out of bed and start to make my bed.
“Six.”
“Ugh. Fucking six? In the morning?”She sounds outraged.
I wince. “Sorry, that’s just my normal alarm. I can put it on vibrate in the future.”
“Pretty please.” She leans back down, burying her head under the covers.
I’m not used to sharing my space. It never occurred to me to check with her about alarm times. I didn’t have class Monday or Tuesday, and my first one was at ten yesterday, so I didn’t bother with an alarm because I knew I’d be up a lot sooner, but typically, I’m up at six on school nights. One of her rules, but not one I mind. I’m an early bird by nature.
Glad I prepped last night, since I don’t need to make any more noise while Ari sleeps, I grab my swimming bag, and head out as silently as I can, only stopping by the bathroom to pee and take my toothbrush—I’ll use it in the gym.
I head to The Dome, and make my way to the state-of-the-art pool I haven’t had the pleasure to try yet. I booked a slot from six-thirty to seven-thirty through the club app, and to my surprise, I am completely alone.
I don’t mind swimming. It started out as a necessity, to ensure my weight remained within Loretta Cole’s acceptable range, but I actually am pretty good at it, and I miss it when I don’t do it for a while.
The university team starts at seven-thirty, so I leave them to it, although they keep a lane for club members, heading to the sauna instead. Between the library and this pool, the college is ridiculous. Although the facilities explain the tuition.
Thursdays are mostly my actual law classes, which means that I want to poke my eyeball with my pencil through it all, but thankfully, studying comes easy to me. I take extensive notes, to ensure I retain the stupid information I don’t want to know in the first place.
I only have an hour for lunch so I try the cafeteria, rather than losing myself in the library again. The buffet’s better than an average gastronomic restaurant, but there’s also an a la carte menu completely included in the meal plan. Naturally.
I check my phone through the meal, to have something to do.
Tanya confirms she’s booked two tickets for me, and tells me to request them at the box office.
Me: You’re the best. Break a leg. Or don’t. You kinda need those for dancing.
It’s her first show with this company; I know she’s stressing out.
Tanya: Wait for me after? I’ll take, like, twenty minutes to get changed, and there’s a bar.
Me: You bet. We can celebrate your success!
Tanya: Or commiserate, one of the two.
I smile at my phone. I know she’s going to be spectacular, but I know better than to insist. Voicing my high expectations will only fuck with her anxiety.
“Tia, right?”
A tray joins mine on the square table, and a tall, tanned guy slumps down opposite me.
“That’s right. Ben?”
“Yep. Ma called me Benjamin, ’cause I was supposed to be the last kid, then she popped out three more.”
I blink. “Oh wow! How many siblings do you have?”
“Five,” he says, attacking his lasagna with gusto. “Ari’s the eldest, then there’s Vince, then me, you met Lawrence, and then there’s the twins, Natalie and Victor.”
I whistle. “Your parents keep busy.”
He laughs. “You can say that again. We all have different dads. Well, except the twins. I think. They’re fraternal, so who knows.”
I snort. “You know, cats can actually carry litters with different dads.”
“There you go. Ma’s probably the first human to manage that.” He says it affectionately, I think, and with humor, so he’s not too bothered about his mother’s bedhopping habits.
“And you all get along?” I ask, finding it hard to imagine having that many people around.
Ben shrugs. “When we’re not trying to murder each other. You know. Siblings.”
I don’t know, actually.
“You have some?” he asks.
I hesitate before I nod. “Yeah. Two brothers.”
Back home, I would never have said that. I would have said yes, I have one brother that everyone knows about. Caleb Cole, multimillionaire founder and CEO of Eros And Co, to my mother’s endless irritation.
I clear my throat. “Caleb’s eleven years older.”
“That’s a big gap. There’s only eight years between Ari and the twins.”
“He was the oops baby from college, you see,” I explain. “My parents got married, and I was the one they planned.”
“Ah. Well, I guess if there’s over a decade between you, you don’t really get the whole Fight Club thing we have going on in the house sometimes.”
“No, Caleb enjoys spoiling me, and he’s protective. He went to boarding school, so he was practically out of the house when I was born.”
“It’s more like a cousin than a brother, then. How about the other one? You said you had two brothers.”
I regret the impulse now. It felt good to say it, to claim André, when I usually can’t.
“André’s my father’s child,” I say. “I only learned about his existence when I was seventeen. He…was kicked out of his house. Social services reached out to my mother—my father was dead by then.”
“Wait, wait. He’s your father’s kid, not your mother’s? So, like, Daddy fucked around?”
“Yep.” I make the p pop. “André’s gay, and his mom might not be against fucking married man, but homosexuality is simply too far for her.” I roll my eyes. “So anyway, he was on the street, and doesn’t have other close relatives. He stayed with us for a while.”
I leave it at that. I don’t explain the part where André’s now attending the best music college in the country, happy, cared for, wanting for nothing.
So long as I do as I’m told.
Three years, five months. That’s when I turn twenty-five. That’s when I inherit my trust, according to the terms of my great-grandfather’s will.
And then, I’m free.
There’s only one hiccup: I have to avoid being married off before then, because if I do marry? That money will belong to my dear husband, not me.
My mother’s fully aware of the deadline, and we’re both fighting for the finish line, in different ways. She’s done her best to “change,” to show me that the life she planned for me isn’t so bad, the last few years. And I played the part of the content, happy daughter for all it’s worth. But we both know things are going to get really ugly closer to the time.
She’s a Cole by marriage. Dad willed her some properties, a few businesses, whatever he could cut from my inheritance. I’m the one getting seven fat billions, currently accruing sinful amounts of interest.
And I’ll make sure she doesn’t get a single cent if it’s the last thing I do.
Which it might be.