8. Penelope
Leaving Hawthorn behind was harder than I expected it to be, but the further away the car got from him and the marina, the easier it got to breathe. Despite knowing that the only reason he had sex with me was to help break the will, I can’t quite distance myself from the way it felt to be in his arms.
My body is sore, but oddly, it’s my heart that feels the most bruised. I never expected to feel this way, but then I never expected I’d share my first time with someone like him either, and now that it’s over, I’m finding it difficult to put all of my emotions back inside the padded cell in my mind I store them in.
I learned very quickly after my great-grandfather died that I needed to harden myself in order to become who my parents expected me to be. I imagine most people would think having a list of eligible bachelors all clambering to marry you would be exciting. And for the first few months, it was. Overnight, I went from being the new girl in a school full of people who all knew each other to an heiress who could change the future of whoever she married.
Almost every boy on my list wanted me. Every girl wanted to be friends with me. Every family wanted to court me. And my parents were so incredibly proud of me.
But it didn’t take long to realize that none of them were actually interested in me. Now, nearly four years later, it’s easy to look back and see when things got out of control, but at the time, I didn’t realize how toxic everything had gotten. It’s not an excuse for what we did to Izabella, but at the time, I truly thought she was just doing what was expected of her, just like I was.
Honestly, for the longest time, I resented her for how easy her life was. All she had to think about was school. She didn’t have to spend night after night being talked about like she was an object, not a person. She didn’t have to flirt with boys, or sometimes grown men old enough to be my parent. She didn’t have to always be perfect.
After a while, I got so used to it that I became exactly who I needed to be. I became the heiress. It wasn’t until I watched my parents hurt my twin that the haze lifted, and I saw what a monster I’d become.
Nothing I do now can ever make up for all the awful things I’ve done in the last few years, but I can stop this. I can stop our parents, break this will, and maybe atone for some of my sins.
A quick Google search and three phone calls is all it takes to find a gynecologist willing to see me on short notice. As my Uber driver pulls to a stop outside of the modern skyscraper where the doctor’s office is located, I inhale slowly, trying to calm my erratically beating heart. I don’t want to be here, but I need to do this today, while my resolve is still firm and before my parents have a chance to figure out what I’m doing.
Handing the driver a tip, I climb out and head for the lobby doors. Glancing down at my outfit, I inhale sharply, wishing that I was wearing my normal clothes and not jeans and a sweater. My hair is still a little damp, drying into the natural waves that I usually straighten into oblivion before I leave the house each morning, and my skin is bare of makeup. Earlier, these clothes had made me feel excited and rebellious, but now I feel infantile and exposed without the armor of my usually flawless hair and makeup, designer dresses, and sky-high heels.
I’m no stranger to invasive procedures at doctor’s offices, but right now I feel emotionally raw and woefully unprepared for this meeting. The urge to run is pushing at my chest, but ignoring it, I push open the door and stride into the building, because if I don’t do this now, I’m not sure I’ll ever find the courage to do this again.
A security guard directs me to a bank of elevators, and I ride one to the twentieth floor before pushing open the heavy, gold-framed glass door that leads into the doctor’s reception.
“Good morning. Can I take your name?” the receptionist asks politely.
“Emerson Benedict,” I say, refusing to consider why I used Hawthorns’ surname as the fake name I registered under.
“The doctor is just with a patient at the moment, but I’ll let her know you’re here as soon as she’s finished. Please take a seat. Can I get you a drink?”
“A glass of water would be great, thank you,” I say, forcing a brittle smile to my lips as I turn and take a seat on a comfortable leather chair. Inhaling long, slow breaths, I try to calm my racing heart. Until this moment, I’ve tried to be pragmatic about this part of my “breaking the will” plan, but now that I’m here in a strange doctor’s office waiting to be examined, I start to panic.
If I had a better relationship with Izabella, or if my friends were real friends—not just girls who hope to gain something by being close to me—then I wouldn’t be here alone. But the thought of having someone whom I trusted enough to have my back at a time like this seems almost comical. There isn’t a single person in my world who cares about me and not the money.
Even my sister wants something from me. If I wasn’t the key to removing the noose around both of our necks, she wouldn’t want anything to do with me, and I wouldn’t blame her.
The longer I sit and wait, the more nervous I get. This isn’t the first time I’ve sat waiting for an exam just like the one I’m going to request in a minute, in fact, this will be the fifth one of these humiliating tests that I’ve had to endure.
Another one of the clauses in my great-grandfather’s will is that I not only have to be a virgin, but I have to prove it in a yearly exam. The first time it happened, I was fourteen years old, and the doctor my parents took me to was a man. A shudder of revulsion cascades through me when I think about that day. Mom made me go into the room alone, at fourteen years old, so a fifty-year-old male doctor could hook my legs into stirrups and confirm that I was in fact a virgin. Even now, years later, I can still remember how scared I was and how ashamed I felt after it was over.
“Miss Benedict, if you’d like to come through,” a female voice says, jolting me from my thoughts.
Rising from my seat, I follow the smiling nurse. Opening a door halfway down a hallway, she gestures for me to enter first, then follows me inside, closing the door behind her and picking up a clipboard from the counter.
“Miss Benedict—” she starts.
“My name is actually Penelope Rhodes,” I say, interrupting her. “I apologize for the subterfuge, but I need to make sure that no one knows I’m here. My situation is a little delicate,” I say, forcing a polite smile.
“Oh, err, okay,” the nurse says, her eyes widening a little. “Well, the doctor will be in to speak to you shortly. There’s a gown on the bed, so if you could get changed, then fill out these patient forms for me, please.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for the clipboard, then waiting for her to leave before quickly undressing and pulling on the blue paper gown. Climbing onto the end of the examination table, I lift the clipboard up and start to fill in the form, wondering how much information I can leave blank if I’m paying cash.
A decisive knock on the door draws my attention, and I lift my head just as the handle turns and a woman enters the room. “Hello, Miss Rhodes, I’m Dr. Nestor, what can I help you with today?”
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I say, lowering the clipboard to my lap. “I have a somewhat unorthodox problem that I’m hoping you might be able to help me with.”
The doctor laughs. “Trust me, I doubt there’s anything you can ask that I haven’t heard before.”
A scoff falls from my lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Pulling in a breath, I start to explain about the will and its stipulations. I don’t tell her everything, just enough that she gets the gist. “So, I’m here today because I need you to examine me.”
“To confirm you remain a virgin?” the doctor asks, her brow furrowed.
“No, to confirm that I’m not a virgin anymore.”
To her credit, the doctor’s only reaction is a raise of a single eyebrow.
“I need written confirmation that my hymen is no longer intact. I need something that I can give to the lawyers as evidence,” I say, unable to meet her eyes now.
“You want me to write a letter to confirm you’re no longer a virgin?” she asks slowly.
Lifting my chin, I swallow thickly. “I know this all sounds insane. Trust me, I feel insane.” I laugh, and it sounds as broken as I feel. “Dr. Nestor, I don’t want this money. You might not understand that, I’m sure most people wouldn’t turn down an inheritance, especially not a billion-dollar one. But for nearly four years, I’ve lived every single moment of my life following someone else’s rules. I don’t want to be a dead man’s puppet anymore, but the will’s clauses keep me bound to this life until I’m twenty-five, unless I find a way to break them and set myself free. This is the only way out. So, you can call me crazy, or you can help me.” Wiping away the tear that’s escaped while I was speaking, I look the doctor in the eye. “Please help me.”
Her nod is slow and unsure to start off with, then becomes more decisive. “Yes, I can help. With your permission, I’m going to ask my colleague to witness the exam, and then she can also provide a written confirmation, two independent statements will be beyond question.”
A gasp of relieved breath bursts from me. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
From then on, she’s all business. She leaves the room for a moment, returning with another slightly older female doctor. Both women are polite and professional, and the exam only takes a moment. Once it’s over, they leave me to get dressed, and the nurse from earlier collects me and leads me into the doctor’s office. Taking a seat in the chair in front of her desk, I sit and wait.
“Miss Rhodes,” Doctor Nester greets, pushing open the door and striding confidently into the room. Instead of sitting behind her desk, she sinks down into the chair next to mine, inhaling sharply as she smiles. “Here are the letters that you require. I can’t say that I completely understand the complexities of your situation, but I understand fear and desperation, and Penelope, I see both of those things in you. There are agencies and people in place to help?—”
“I appreciate your concern,” I say, cutting her off. “But this letter is all I need at the moment. Thank you for your help today.” Lifting my hand, I hold it out, waiting for her to give me the envelope with the paperwork that will change my life.
With a sigh, she passes it over, and I quickly pull the letters free and scan the words. Tears fill my eyes as I read, and I squeeze them shut, refusing to cry anymore. “Thank you,” I say, smiling shakily.
“Good luck, Penelope. I hope everything works out for you. And if you do find yourself in need of that help, please don’t hesitate to call me.” Lifting her hand, she passes me a small rectangle card. Taking it, I glance down and find a handwritten cell phone number scrawled onto the back of a thick business card.
“Thank you,” I say again, rising from the chair with the letter and business cards gripped tightly in my hand. After paying the bill, I ride the elevator down to the lobby, sliding the letter and card into my purse alongside the video camera.
Warm sunlight heats my skin when I step outside, and I tip my head back and allow myself a second to enjoy the feeling. For a moment, the weight of the day settles over me, and the wave of exhaustion that hits feels almost overwhelming. A part of me wants to just curl into a ball and hide, but I won’t because I’m almost done. It’s almost over.
Opening the app, I request an Uber, climbing in and settling into the back seat the moment it arrives. My cell buzzes in my purse, but I ignore it, because I refuse to look at all of the missed calls and texts from my parents. I turned off the GPS tracking on my cell the moment I left their house last night, and an odd sense of dark humor fills me when I think about how much they must be losing their minds wondering where I am.
If they had any clue what I planned to do today, I’ve no doubt they would have found a way to stop me. But for the past three and a half years, I’ve done exactly what they asked of me, and even now, I doubt they’d ever expect me to step out of line.
The only time I’ve ever deviated from their plans for me was the day I should have gone to dinner at Gulliver’s house. I’m not an idiot. My parents may have wanted and plotted to arrange an alliance between me and Gulliver, but I knew he, more than any of the other guys on the list, didn’t want me.
The morning of the dinner, Mom came into my room and told me that she and Dad expected me to do whatever it took to please Gulliver. She gave me a book on giving the perfect blowjob and a dildo to practice on. Then she said that getting on my knees was a small price to pay to secure the perfect fiancé.
It was the first time she’d ordered me to do anything beyond flirting with someone. Over the years, she coached me in teasing and toying. She taught me how to be a perfectly innocent slut, but she always said not to take things any further.
For months, I’ve felt the almost stifling weight of graduation, knowing that my parents planned for me to be engaged before I left for college, but knowing that she expected me to suck the dick of a boy who so openly loathed me just to curry favor with him, had still surprised me.
The night before, we’d been at an event, and the cute bartender had given me his number and asked if he could take me out. After Mom had left me that morning with an idiot’s guide to sucking dick and a sex toy, I’d texted him and arranged to meet him at a club. Stupidly, I’d thought that he liked me, that he wanted me, just Penelope, but in the end, he’d known about the money and was hoping to use me as his meal ticket.
When I got home that night, I’d been terrified that my mom would lose her mind. Instead, she’d laughed at my misery. She’d reminded me that the only reason I was useful to anyone was because my name was on that will, and that if I stepped out of line again, my identical twin was more than capable of taking my place.
Since I woke up and saw how truly terrible my parents are, I sometimes try to decide if it’s me or them who is the biggest monster. Instead of waiting to inherit when my grandfather died, my dad was completely overlooked and forgotten in favor of me. And a part of me can almost understand my parents being willing to do whatever it took to get access to the money, even if it meant using me and my sister. But am I really any different from them? I did exactly what was asked of me for years without ever questioning how morally reprehensible it was. It wasn’t until they crossed my metaphorical line in the sand that I realized how fucked up everything was. But if they hadn’t hurt Izabella, would I have just done what was expected of me? Would I have ever woken up and seen how awful I was?
Although it’s hard for me to admit, even to myself, I know that I’m the truly evil one, because even though I was a child when all of this started, I still did things that I knew deep down were wrong. I wasn’t blinded by greed or need; I’ve never gone without anything in my entire life. I don’t have any way of excusing my behavior, because there is no excuse, I’m just bad, just a really bad person.
I wish I could say that what I’m doing now is truly selfless and that everything I’ve done today was solely to release my sister from the shackles of obligation, but that would be a lie. Trying not to ruin her life any more than I already have is definitely part of it—something inside of me wants to help her—but the biggest part of my motivation is to save myself.
When Gulliver announced his engagement to my sister, my parents freaked out and immediately moved on to plan B and the next most desirable boy on the husband wish list. Only he’s not a boy. Geoffrey Bancroft is business-mindedly brilliant, rich, and successful. He’s also a predatory, disgusting thirty-five-year-old man, who is bisexual with a penchant for barely legal prostitutes of either sex.
On the one and only evening I spent in his company, he told me that he “likes his girls young” and that “he can’t wait to break me in.” When I told my parents, they’d chuckled. They laughed like selling me to a man like that was amusing to them.
Before my great-grandfather died, Izabella and I rarely saw our parents. They spent the majority of our childhood traveling under the guise of working, and their two children brought nothing but inconvenience to the lavish lifestyle they preferred. And that was okay. Izabella and I were raised by a series of nannies and tutors. I’m sure we weren’t the first rich kids to have absentee parents, and we won’t be the last.
But after the will was read and my great-grandfather’s wishes were revealed, everything changed. The parents I barely knew were suddenly intimately involved in every aspect of my life. They went from having practically forgotten Izabella and I existed to orchestrating every move I made. Overnight, Mom had an opinion on everything. The length and color of my hair, the way I spoke, how my makeup looked, the clothes I wore, and the people I associated with.
Looking back now, I’m ashamed to admit how easily I allowed my parents to manipulate me. Perhaps if I’d grown up differently, I’d have seen their actions for what they were—controlling. But to a fourteen-year-old girl who had gone from seeing her parents three or four times a year to suddenly having them there every day, doting on me, it was invigorating.
Back then, I was so excited to be the center of their attention. I loved that they were only interested in me and not Izabella. Because for the first time in my entire life, I was the important one, and it didn’t matter that she was smarter, more poised, and more beautiful with her strange purple eyes. I was the heiress. It was my name on that will and not hers.
Now I see it for what it really was. I was so incredibly jealous of my sister that I jumped at the first opportunity to feel like I was more than her. If I had even a shred of decency left in me, I’d be ashamed of myself, but I think I’ve become so deadened inside that I don’t really feel anything anymore, least of all shame or remorse.
Another text message notification pops up on my screen, but I ignore it. It’s been hours since I fled from my parents’ home, and they must have figured out something was up, but I’m starting to consider that my parents are conceited enough to believe I’d never truly oppose them. They’ve gotten to a point where I think they honestly believe that they’re untouchable, that my inheritance will protect them from the consequences of their behavior. For the past nearly four years, they’ve simply used money and the promise of power and influence to manipulate everyone around them—including me.
A wry scoff falls from my lips, and I notice my Uber driver glance at me in the rearview mirror. If I could have just gotten one D on a test or an assignment, all of this would have been over by now. I wouldn’t have had to resort to desperate measures, to begging a boy who despises me to have sex with me. But my insane parents have paid off every single member of the faculty at GAA and made it impossible for me to fail, no matter how much I try.
A tremor ripples through me as memories of Hawthorn and me together play like a film reel through my mind. I almost wish I was repulsed by the things he did to me; it’d be easier than admitting that if I close my eyes, I can still feel his hands on me. I can hear his low, gruff voice in my ear and feel the pain-filled pleasure he gave to me.
My eyes drop to my purse in my lap. No one would know if I pulled out the video camera and watched the footage. Hawthorn watched it. He got to relive every touch, every moan, every orgasm. It’s only fair that I get to watch it too.
Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I bite down on my lip, using the pain to banish all thoughts of Hawthorn. This morning wasn’t about a lover’s embrace, it was nothing more than the mechanics of intimacy between two people, and no matter how much my memories want to romanticize what we shared, I can’t allow myself to forget that it was just an act, just sex.
When my car slows to a stop, I exhale slowly, then open my eyes, looking out the window at the brownstone that holds the offices of Stanton, Stanton, and Kingston Attorneys at Law. The last time I came here changed my life, and I’m about to change it all over again, only this time instead of inheriting a fortune, I’m going to officially walk away from it.
I haven’t called ahead, but I don’t plan on leaving until they agree to see me. I just hope they don’t contact my parents the moment I walk through the door. But no matter what they do, today I’ll end it all, one way or another.
Dragging in a deep breath, I pull back my shoulders, lift my chin, and with my resolve firm, I climb the steps and press the buzzer.
“Stanton, Stanton, and Kingston,” a voice says through the speaker.
“Penelope Rhodes to see Mr. Kingston please.”
There’s a pause, then the speaker crackles a second before there’s a click, and the door lock disengages. Wrapping my fingers around the cool brass handle, I push the door open and step into the dark-wood-paneled hall, following the same route I took almost four years ago.
The last time I was here, I didn’t realize how monumental my visit would be, but this time I’m completely aware that the outcome of today’s meeting will change the trajectory of my future entirely. I’m scared but determined, and that’s what pushes me forward and into the small waiting room that houses an antique desk with a stern-faced man in round, horn-rimmed glasses sitting behind it.
“Miss Rhodes, do you have an appointment?” he asks brusquely.
“I don’t, but I’m confident Mr. Kingston will make time to talk with me once you let him know that I’m here,” I tell him, using the tone of voice my etiquette coach spent years forcing me to perfect. It’s the tone that says I’m better than you, richer than you, and more powerful than you. It’s the tone that gets a person whatever they want in life. It’s the tone my mother always uses, the tone she taught me to use, the tone I’ve never heard coming from my sister’s mouth, and the tone that will make sure this man doesn’t refuse me.
Just like I knew he would, he lifts the phone on his desk to his ear, presses a button, and then speaks quietly into the receiver. A moment later, he lowers the phone back into the cradle and stands. “Let me show you to Mr. Kingston’s office.”
“Thank you,” I say politely, and follow as he leads me out of the reception area and toward the offices.
The lawyer’s office is identical to how I remember it, and a horrible sense of déjà vu hits me. Nerves make my legs feel shaky, but I keep moving, wishing once again that I was in my normal clothes and not jeans and sneakers. But regardless of my inappropriate attire, I keep moving because this is the right thing to do. The only thing to do, and for the first time in my life, I need to grow a pair of balls and stop being such a coward.
It would be so easy to just do what my parents want me to do. I could marry Geoffrey, have a baby, graduate from college, and become a billionaire. I could become my mother, willing to do whatever it takes to get my hands on all that power. But now that I’ve seen a glimpse of what my life could look like if I were the one in charge of my own future, it’s impossible for me to go back to blind obedience.
The moment my father’s fist struck my twin sister’s face, the blinders I’d been wearing for nearly four years fell away, and I haven’t been able to mindlessly follow orders since. I’m no longer asleep. I’m startlingly, painfully awake, and I can clearly see the evil, soulless monsters we’ve become.
“Miss Rhodes, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Mr. Kingston says, stepping out from behind his desk the moment I enter the room.
“Hello, Mr. Kingston, thank you for making time to see me,” I say politely, shaking his hand when he offers it.
“Of course, Miss Rhodes, you’re welcome to speak with me whenever you need to. Are your parents meeting us too?”
“No, sir, what I want to talk to you about doesn’t concern my parents,” I say confidently.
“Of course. Please take a seat. Can I get you a drink, coffee, tea, soda?” he offers, circling back behind his desk and lowering himself into his huge leather library chair.
“I’m fine, thank you. I’d rather just get straight to business, if that’s okay?”
His laugh is condescending and indulgent, like I’m an amusing child, and I have to clench my teeth together to stop myself from calling him on his obnoxious behavior.
“Business,” he chuckles. “How official. Are your parents aware that you’ve come to see me today?”
Pressing my lips into a hard line, I stare at the lawyer through narrowed eyes. “As you may or may not be aware, I recently turned eighteen. I neither want nor need my parents to act as a chaperone in a meeting with a law firm who, as my great-grandfathers sole heir, works for me.”
To the lawyer’s credit, he straightens in his chair, his body language instantly becoming professional. “Of course, Miss Rhodes. My apologies, how can I be of help?”
My hand trembles slightly as I reach into my purse and pull out the envelope containing the doctor’s examination report. “Mr. Kingston, as I’m sure you’re aware, my great-grandfather’s will had a lot of clauses and stipulations that I was required to adhere to in order to inherit.”
“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “It was an unusual bequest, but those were Reginald’s wishes.”
“I understand,” I say patiently. “But I’m here to inform you that I am no longer in a position to inherit.”
Mr. Kingston’s eyebrows shoot up so quickly that it’s almost comical. “I see,” he says, clearing his throat again.
“Here is a letter confirming my ineligibility,” I say, placing the envelope on the desk and pushing it toward him. The lawyer looks at the envelope like it’s going to jump up and bite him, but eventually he pulls it the rest of the distance toward him, removes the letter, and reads it.
Folding my hands together in my lap, I wait silently as he reads the paperwork that confirms I’m no longer a virgin. The idea that I’m having to prove something that should be personal and confidential to a complete stranger is mortifying, but I refuse to show him how much this is affecting me. Instead of looking away, I keep my gaze fixed firmly on him, watching him while he reads and then rereads the letter.
Eventually, he clears his throat yet again, twitches uncomfortably, and frowns before he sighs and lifts his gaze from the paper and up to me. “Miss Rhodes, are you sure—” he begins.
“Mr. Kingston,” I say, interrupting him. “My great-grandfather’s will is the most toxic thing that has ever happened to my family. I’m not entirely sure what his hope was when he wrote it, but I can confidently say that it hasn’t done what he intended it to. His stipulations and the rules he insisted I abide by haven’t made me an honorable person of upstanding moral fortitude like he assumed they would. In fact, all that his many rules have done is given me and my parents an excuse to justify our reprehensible and quite honestly, at times, appalling behavior by pretending it was in line with his wishes and in pursuit of this inheritance.”
The older man’s eyes widen, but I keep speaking, needing him to understand, at least a little, why I’m here.
“If there was the option for me to be able to choose to walk away from this money, I’d take it in a heartbeat. But my great-grandfather didn’t want me to be able to choose, he wanted to choose for me, and his will has forced me into a position where I’m tied to the life he wants me to live until I’m twenty-five. I’m confident when I say that if I continue to live for the next seven years the way I have been for the last four, there will be nothing redeemable about me left. I’ve already become a monster chasing this money, I truly dread to imagine what I’d find myself willing to do if I’m forced to live this life any longer. I want to break this will. I want to be free to try to put my life back together again in some semblance of a way where I can live with myself, and I can’t do that until this money is as far away from me as physically possible. I assure you, Mr. Kingston, that letter is real, and I have more proof should I need it, but I’m hoping that I won’t. I’m hoping that you won’t let the value of his estate sway you, and you’ll find your own moral fortitude and help me.”
Once I stop speaking, I wait for him to argue. I knew I might face some resistance from him and that there’s a chance he’s on my parents’ payroll with all of my teachers. But instead, Mr. Kingston stares at me, his lips downturned, his expression sad and then he nods—just one single, silent movement that says nothing and everything all at once.
Relief, blinding and overwhelming, hits me like a Mack Truck and I suck in a shaky gasp as tears flood my eyes.
Lifting his phone from his desk, Mr. Kingston brings the receiver to his ear and speaks. “Could you ask Neville to come to my office, please? I need something notarized.”
* * *
Sliding the key card into my newly acquired hotel room door lock, I push inside and close the door behind me.
It’s done.
It’s over.
Dropping my purse on the couch, I fall down after it, my legs giving way as the bravado and adrenaline I’ve been running on all day starts to dissolve. I’m dimly aware of the softness of the cushions beneath me, but I can barely focus on it as my body starts to shake so intensely my teeth chatter and my muscles jerk violently.
What the hell did I just do?
I just ruined mine and my entire family’s futures. I just gave up a fortune. My parents will never forgive me. Or maybe they will. A tiny glimmer of hope inside of me wonders if it’s possible that now that it’s over, they’ll be pleased. That maybe they’re as disgusted by everything we’ve done, as I am.
No. Not even I’m na?ve enough to think they won’t hate me for destroying the future they’ve so meticulously plotted and schemed for. But what I did today needed to happen, even if the fallout of my choices will ruin me, my parents, and maybe even Izabella. I just changed all of our lives, the same way that envelope full of papers did all those years ago.
Desolation consumes me as I try to imagine what my future will look like now. I chose to change everything, but I forgot to consider that in my new future, I’ll be alone. I haven’t been alone for nearly four years. I haven’t taken a step or spoken a single word that wasn’t thought about, considered, and discussed. My parents waltzed back into my world and took over my every waking moment. What will they do now? What will I do now? Izabella has Gulliver and…Hawthorn and their friends. She has a whole new family, and I have…me. Just me.
A single tear slides from my eye, rolling down my cheek and falling to my knee. With shaking fingers, I touch it, rubbing the moisture between my thumb and forefinger. My mind threatens to swirl out of control, but the day isn’t over yet, it isn’t the time to fall apart. Focusing all of my energy, I stare at my fingers. The tears are gone, the wetness absorbed into the fabric of my jeans, but I don’t look away. I center my thoughts on the tear, on the simple movement of my fingertips rubbing together, and I pray it’s enough to keep me whole for a little while longer.
Pulling in a deep, shuddering breath, I sit up straighter. Every choice I made today was the right one. The first right decisions I’ve made in a really long time. Now I need to wash my face, get dressed, and go to my sister’s engagement party. Because she deserves better than everything I’ve put her through. She deserves to be happy and in love, and breaking the will sets her free. I just hope that she gets at least a few happy moments with her fiancé before everything goes to hell.
* * *
Two hours later, I smooth down the fabric of my dress, lifting my head and catching a glimpse of my reflection in the long mirror that’s attached to the closet door. All of my clothes are at my parents’ house, but it only took a single phone call to have a gown couriered to me at the hotel. My dress is black, cocktail length, with a corseted bodice and a narrow skirt that clings to me like a second skin, giving the illusion of curves that I don’t actually have. The color is more suited to a funeral than a party, but this is an ending of sorts, so it seems fitting.
Instead of leaving my hair loose in my signature style, I twist it up into a severe bun, lining my eyes with dark liner, and coating my lips in a nude gloss. Sliding my feet into simple black pumps, I check my texts and see that the town car I ordered is here. Grabbing my purse, I double check that I have everything I need before I slip from the room.
Striding into the ballroom where my sister’s engagement party is being held, I glance around the busy room spotting lots of familiar faces, but not Izabella or Gulliver, the only two people I’m here to see.
Working my way through the groups of partygoers, I offer polite smiles and nods of acknowledgment to everyone who catches my eye, but I don’t stop to speak. Before I have a chance to find my sister, my gaze lands on my mom. The moment she sees me, she pushes her way through the crowd, an expression of pure rage hardening her already cosmetically altered face until she appears to be almost like an angry porcelain doll.
Despite her being in her mid-forties, Mom’s had enough work done that she has the body and skin of a twenty-year-old, but her eyes belie her age. Or maybe that’s just the evil demon inside of her that’s trying to get out.
Fighting the urge to turn and run in the opposite direction, I sigh as silently as I can muster and school my expression, twisting my lips into an enigmatic smile, the way my mother helped me perfect. It feels almost poetic to be using the skills she taught me against her now, although I doubt she’ll see the irony of it.
“Penelope,” she snarls, as her fingers wrap tightly around my wrist, her nails digging into my skin just hard enough for her to exert control over me.
“Mother,” I reply cordially. “You look lovely.”
“Where the hell have you been?” she snarls, leaning in to me. “What happened last night? The video wasn’t there.”
Inhaling slowly, I let my eyes fall shut for the briefest of moments before a broken, bitter laugh falls from my lips. I might be evil, but this woman is the devil. Who would I have become if I’d just said no to all the fucked-up things she’s had me do since the will was read? Would I just be a normal teenager thinking about prom and college, or have I always been destined to become the calculated, conniving bitch I am now?
“Penelope,” Mom hisses, her nails digging deeper into my skin and dragging me from my thoughts and back to the present.
“Do you ever sit back and consider your actions?” I ask quietly.
“What?”
“Do you ever wonder who you’d be…who we’d all be if the money had just been left to grandfather like it should have been?”
“What are you talking about? Have you been drinking? How dare you put me in this position, child? What happened last night? I assumed when you didn’t come down for dinner, things were going according to our plan. But then this morning when I checked the footage, there wasn’t any.” Her hold on my wrist tightens, and the pain of her nails puncturing my skin flares hot, but I don’t say anything or allow my discomfort to show on my face. She’s trained me better than that. “You had a job to do, Penelope. Surely not even you are dumb enough to mess up such a simple request that would have set everything that’s gone wrong in the last few weeks right,” Mom says, her tone scathing and, oh, so familiar.
“You’re asking me where the recording of me drugging and raping my sister’s fiancé is?” I ask a little too casually.
Her lips curl into a menacing smile, and she tips her head slightly to the side. “Goodness, perhaps we should have allowed you to take that performing arts class. It would have been nice for you to have at least one class that you were capable of passing on your own.”
Her words strike me exactly as she intends, and her smile turns wolfish when she feels me jolt back. “Now, if we could refrain from the amateur dramatics, all you were doing last night was correcting a mistake. Gulliver was always intended to be yours, and yesterday you rectified that problem. Now where is the video?”
“There isn’t a video, mother,” I tell her with a smirk, knowing I shouldn’t be provoking her like this, but not able to help myself.
“What did you do?” she hisses.
“Do you consider yourself evil? Because I do,” I tell her, watching and waiting for some sign of recognition, like somehow she sees how despicable we’ve become. “I think me, you, and Dad have become monsters,” I whisper.
Blinking slowly, her mouth spreads into a wide, practiced smile. “I’m not evil or a monster,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes like I’m ridiculous. “I’m motivated. I’m doing what any mother would do to secure her daughter’s future.”
I laugh, the sound cold and harsh. “Because it’s all about me,” I drawl sarcastically.
“What are you talking about?” she snaps.
“It’s over.”
“What’s over?” Her tone turns suspicious, and her eyes dart from side to side, like she’s expecting someone to jump out at her.
“It’s all over.” I laugh, yanking my arm from her grip, ignoring the blood that’s dripping from the crescent-shaped wounds.
“Penelope,” Mom whisper-yells, but I ignore her, striding away and using the crowd of people to hide from her view as everyone turns to the stage as my sister and Gulliver make their entrance.
Izabella looks stunning in a deep red gown, and Gulliver looks as handsome as ever in a classic fitted suit, but it’s the way they’re looking at each other that makes an ache start in my chest. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on between them, I know they’re having sex, but until the other day, I honestly thought it was all just an act. Looking at them tonight, it’s obvious it’s not.
Gulliver’s arm is around Izabella’s waist, holding her close like he’s terrified she might leave and he can’t bear to be without her. He keeps looking down at her, like she’s the only thing keeping him sane, and that look is filled with more love than I thought it was possible to give another person. But it’s not all him, she’s smiling too, leaning her back against his chest, knowing that he’s there, that he wouldn’t let her go.
There’s a contentment in her expression that I’ve never seen before. I’ve known for years that my sister was nothing like me, but I’ve never seen it more evident than it is right now. She’s full of light, her smile is only for him, and even though she’s clinging to his jacket, she’s not holding him to her or tying him down, she just wants to be close to him because she loves him.
I wonder if I should look away. If by seeing them this way, I’m accidentally prying into a private moment, but I’m not spying on them. I haven’t caught them in an intimate interlude. The way they’re behaving is just an innocent touch between two people who are so in love they can’t help but show it to the world.
Love…I don’t understand it. Why does she love him? Why does he love her? How do they know?
I don’t think I’m capable of an emotion with as much depth as love, in fact, I’m pretty sure I’m not. But if that’s true, why am I jealous? I don’t care that it’s my sister standing with Gulliver and not me. I’m not jealous of her choice of fiancé, I’m jealous that she found someone to love and who will love her back. And it’s not about money, or power, or influence. It’s just about…love
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Winslow says, calling everyone’s attention as he speaks into a microphone at the front of the stage. “I’m sure you’ll all agree that love is a truly wonderful thing. Tonight is all about celebrating the love between my son and my beautiful, soon-to-be daughter-in-law. Please raise your glasses and join me in congratulating the future Mr. and Mrs. Gulliver and Izabella Winslow.”
Taking a champagne flute from a passing waiter, I raise my glass and join in, toasting my sister and her not-so-fake fiancé. Suddenly my chest feels lighter, and the envelope in my clutch that felt like it was so heavy I could barely carry it, now feels weightless.
“Penelope, we have not finished talking about your behavior,” my mother hisses, her hand gripping my upper arm to prevent me from walking away from her again.
Sighing, I spin around to face her, my glass of champagne held aloft in one hand, rivulets of dried blood making a macabre bracelet around my wrist. “I agree, we’re not finished. But I think this is a family matter, so perhaps you, Dad, Izabella, Gulliver, and I should discuss this together.”
Before she has a chance to argue, I drain the rest of my champagne and deposit the glass on the tray of yet another passing waiter. Swapping my clutch to my now empty hand, I curl my fingers around her wrist and start to walk, towing her along behind me. I don’t dig my nails into her skin the way she did to me, I just weave in and out of groups of people, leading us toward the stage and hopefully my sister.
“Penelope,” Mom whisper-yells, but I ignore her, smiling politely at people as we pass.
Gulliver’s body language instantly changes from happy and soft to alert and on guard the moment he spots me marching across the room toward him. His arm circles my sister’s waist, pulling her to his side and slightly behind him. I barely get a glimpse of Izabella’s shocked eyes before she’s hidden from my view, his body creating a physical barrier between me and her.
Stopping when I reach them, I smile sweetly to the older man who is congratulating them, but he must sense the tension as he quickly leaves.
“Are you okay?” Izabella asks, peering around Gulliver’s body so she can look at me, but not bothering to glance in our mother’s direction.
“I will be,” I tell her, trying to assure her that everything is going to be okay.
She nods, but doesn’t speak again, and we all fall silent.
“Mom, perhaps you could give Dad a call and ask him to come here so we can all have a lovely family chat,” I suggest, releasing my grip on her.
No one speaks as my mom pulls out her cell phone and taps at the screen, lifting it to her ear and asking Dad to come to us.
He appears at her side a moment later. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice nothing but condemnation as he sneers at my sister.
Inhaling slowly, I swallow down my rising panic and try to compose myself. This is it. This is the moment it all ends—the first truly good thing I’ve done since that godforsaken will was read.
“Izabella,” I say, my voice cracking a little as I look at my sister. “I got you guys an engagement present.”
Stepping out from behind her fiancé, Izabella positions herself at his side, and he immediately slips an arm around her waist, anchoring her to him. “You got us a gift?” she asks cautiously, but I can see both the fear and hope in her eyes.
Smiling, I open my clutch and pull out the envelope. Unfolding it, I offer it to my sister, blinking back tears as she reaches out and takes it from me.
“What is it?” Mom demands, stepping forward as if she intends to take the envelope from her.
“Why don’t you read it aloud?” I suggest.
No one speaks as Izabella peels open the envelope and slides the single sheet of notarized paper free. Her eyes quickly scan the words before her lips split into a wide smile. “This letter certifies that Miss Penelope Emerson Rhodes has failed to abide by the stipulations required to meet the terms of the last will and testament of Mr. Reginald Rhodes the Second, and as such relinquishes all claim on the inheritance.”
“What?” Mom screeches, ripping the letter from Izabella’s hands and reading the words, her eyes wide and horrified as the truth of it sinks in.
“It’s all real,” I tell her. “You can confirm it with Mr. Kingston. I told him to expect your call, but he’ll only corroborate what that letter says. I am no longer the beneficiary of Great-Grandfather’s will. It’s over.”
The sound of my mother’s open palm connecting with my cheek, combined with her yell of anger, is loud enough to draw the attention of at least twenty people. I don’t clutch at my face, even though I can feel the sting and heat blooming in my cheek. Instead, I enjoy watching the realization dawn in my mother’s eyes that not only did she just assault me in a room full of high society with enough witnesses that within fifteen minutes, every single person in the room will know what she’s done, but that the money she wants more than anything else in the world won’t ever be hers.
“I think it might be time for you to leave,” Gulliver says, glaring at my parents as Izabella rushes to my side, her hand sliding into mine and squeezing lightly.
Dad shakes his head, the disgust in his eyes as he looks from me to my twin so abhorrent that I can’t hold his gaze.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” Mom sneers. “The only thing you’ve ever had going for you was that money. Now you’re nothing.”
“Goodbye, Mother,” Izabella says, her voice stronger than I could ever manage.
I don’t look up as my parents leave, because as much as I want to hate them, as much as I do hate them, they’re all I know. I am who they decided I would be. Everything I am is the person they molded me into, and even though I know it was wrong, that they’re wrong, I can’t help that a part of me wants to run after them to beg for their forgiveness.
“You did it,” my sister whispers, awe lacing each word.
Forcing a brittle smile onto my lips, I shrug. “It’s over. Neither of us have anything either of them wants anymore.”
“Thank you,” she gushes, throwing her arms around me and pulling me into a hug.
I freeze, not sure what to do with her affection. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.
“This is the best day ever,” she cries, releasing me to throw herself at Gulliver. He catches her, lifting her easily off the ground and spinning her in a circle as she giggles.
“Let’s get a drink and celebrate,” Gulliver says, smiling at me as he lowers Izabella to the ground, holding her against his chest.
“Yes,” Izabella cries. “Where are the guys? We need cocktails and shots.”
“I’ll go and find them,” I offer, widening my smile and hoping it looks convincing.
Wiggling out of Gulliver’s embrace, she throws her arms around me again, circling my neck, her sweet laugh against my ear. “You did it. Thank you,” she says, her voice crackling a little.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” I whisper guiltily.
“I’ll be right back with the others,” I say, nudging her back toward Gulliver as I turn and blend into the crowd. Only instead of searching for her friends, I make a beeline for the exit and walk straight out, not looking back as I leave the hotel, my sister, and her misplaced thanks behind me.
Me
Congratulations on your engagement, I wish you and Gulliver all the happiness in the world. Enjoy the rest of your party. P x
My cell beeps again, but I ignore it. I don’t need to look to know it’s more than likely another message from my sister. She’s been calling and texting me constantly since I left her and Gulliver’s engagement party last night. I sent her a message after I got back to the hotel telling her to enjoy her party, but other than that, I’m not sure what else we have to say to each other.
I don’t really know what she expects of me now that the will is broken. We weren’t close even before our great-grandfather died, so it’s not like we have a good basis to try and rebuild our relationship on, and to be honest, I’m not even sure I want to try. My sister sees me with rose-tinted glasses, and I can’t allow her distorted view of me to allow me to forget who and what I really am.
For a second, I consider that the message could be from one of my parents, but I quickly dismiss the thought and the tiny pang of hope that comes with it. I’m of no use or importance to them now that I’ve deliberately sabotaged my inheritance. They won’t contact me. Without that money, I’m barely even a blip on the radar of their lives. Before the will, Izabella and I were an afterthought, now I imagine they’ll do their best to forget about us all together.
Glancing around, I take in the empty, impersonal hotel room. I’m alone, and for the first time in years, I feel truly lost. My fake friends, my fake life, and my entire orchestrated identity was all constructed around the stipulations of the will, and without the necessity to conform to the strict guidelines, I don’t know what to do or who to be.
I’m guessing that all the messages are probably my sister offering to help me, to be there for me, to welcome me into their group like I’m not the evil they were trying to vanquish just a few weeks ago. But I can’t accept their support or her far too easily given forgiveness.
Izabella, or I suppose I should probably start calling her Izzy, is a genuinely good person, and I have no idea what to do with someone like that. My default setting is superior bitch, and no matter how nice she is to me, I’m not sure I can change who I’ve forced myself to become or if I actually want to. I’m good at flirting with the guys I’m told to flirt with and ignoring the ones I’m told are beneath me. I’m good at following the rules. So, what the hell am I supposed to do now that the rules don’t matter?
Glancing around me, the beautiful hotel room feels bleak and oppressive, the walls slowly closing in on me as I sit in the same spot I’ve been in for hours, still wearing my gown from last night. The few tears I’ve shed have left ugly black streaks down my cheeks, and I feel dirty and pathetic.
“You are pathetic,” I say aloud, exhaling a shaky breath as I roll my eyes at myself.
My legs feel weak and stiff as I force myself off the sofa and to my feet. Reaching behind me, I drag down the zipper on my dress, then push the fabric down my body until it slithers to the floor at my feet. Stepping over it, I make my way to the bathroom and twist the shiny facets on the bath, watching through gritty eyes as water gushes out and into the deep tub. Steam starts to fill the bathroom as the bath slowly fills, and stripping out of my bra and panties, I climb in, ignoring the fact that the too hot water immediately starts to burn my skin.
Sitting down, I exhale raggedly as the water rises around me, gradually engulfing my body. The heat is intense but strangely cathartic as my limbs slowly become numb and weightless.
Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back to rest against the side of the tub and concentrate on breathing. In and out, in and out. The steam fills my lungs, making me feel like I’m eating the air instead of breathing it. The water is almost completely covering me, the heat so intense sweat is beading across my brow, but I don’t make any effort to cool it. I just lay there letting it wash away a thin layer of my sins.
As the water continues to rise, I let myself sink further, sliding beneath the surface. Once I’m submerged, I open my eyes and stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling above me. All I can hear is the muffled sound of the taps running, of more and more water coming over me, suffocating me, imprisoning me, and the familiar sound of my own heart beating. It’s so incredibly peaceful, like the water is protecting me from everything that’s waiting for me on the surface.
For a second, I wonder what would happen if I just stayed down here, beneath the water, where it’s warm and quiet. How long would my body allow me to deprive myself of oxygen? Would I eventually be forced to the surface, or would I drown before my brain tried to save me?
Closing my eyes again, I revel in the peacefulness of it down here. Allowing a bubble to plume from my mouth, my lungs start to protest, the lack of air noticeable as my chest starts to burn and my body instinctively tries to move me to the surface, fighting against my brain’s desire to stay here in the warmth, in the quiet.
Right now, I just want to feel the peace, to bask in the silence where nothing matters but the beating of my own heart. I know I don’t have long left, that self-preservation will propel me to the surface, to the oxygen I need to survive, but for this moment I’m nothing, and it’s blissful.
I don’t want to die. I’m not too noble for suicide, I’m simply too cowardly to be able to actually go through with it, and really how cliché would it be for the silly little heiress to kill herself after she deliberately sabotaged her inheritance?
Bursting from the water, I gasp, sucking in deep pulls of the balmy, steam-thickened air, filling my lungs with life-affirming oxygen. A wry scoff falls from my lips once my lungs have stopped burning and I’m no longer panting for breath.
I don’t get the luxury of peace. I have to learn to live with the consequences of my own actions. Without the weight of the water, every hateful thought I’ve had since the day my parents hurt my sister rushes in, warring inside of me as I remind myself over and over and over that everything that happens now is my penance. I’m alone because I deserve to be. I’m unforgivable because I’m so selfish that I never considered saving my sister until I needed to save myself. I’m irredeemable because I don’t even have enough conviction to despise myself, even though I should.
The small voice in the back of my mind is still whispering that I did what I had to, that I stopped it before it went too far, that I helped when she needed it. But it was all too little, too late.
When my cell buzzes again and again, I ignore it because I don’t deserve Izzy or her forgiveness.
Eventually, I crawl out of the bath and under the comforter. Still wrapped in the towel, I let sleep take me.
* * *
The sun is peeking through the blinds when I open my eyes. It’s morning, and I should be getting up and going to school, but instead I pull the covers over my head and squeeze my eyes shut. I’m sure that by now everyone will know that I walked away from billions of dollars. Most won’t have a clue about the real reason I did it, but they won’t care. I’ve treated people like pawns and then hidden behind the protection of the money and power I expected to inherit. Now I’m just an average rich girl in a school full of average rich girls, and the people I’ve walked over in the last few years will smell the blood in the water the moment I step through the doors.
There are only a few months left till graduation, but I’m not sure I can face the other students, my sister, her fiancé, or their friends, and especially not him.
Until two days ago, Hawthorn Benedict was just Gulliver’s friend. I knew who he was, and he knew who I was. But that was the extent of our relationship. Everything changed the moment I asked him for his help. I picked him because, despite knowing he hated me, my body reacted to him, and even though I knew he wasn’t a virgin, he didn’t flaunt his conquests by groping them in the lunchroom like their other friends do. I chose him because, out of the very small group of guys I could trust not to tell my parents what I was doing, he was the only one I could imagine being so vulnerable with.
I thought having sex with him would be easy. I thought I could use him and then leave, and that would be it. But I was so incredibly wrong.
I was an idiot to think I could do something so intimate with someone and then just forget that it happened. Even though it physically hurts me to admit it, Hawthorn is something to me. He’s someone who will forever be a part of me, and I don’t want that, but no matter how much I rationalize that sex does not equal feelings, I just can’t pretend it was nothing. I lost my virginity to him, and even though it was for a purpose, it’s still not something I can force myself to forget, no matter how hard I try.
Since I climbed into the back of the Uber at the marina, I’ve tried to build a wall around the way it felt to be under his control, but every time I manage to place the last brick, I hear his voice against my ear or feel the soreness that’s still lingering between my thighs, and my metaphorical wall crumbles. I don’t want Hawthorn to be important, to be anything more than my sister’s friend, but he is, and there’s nothing I can do to change that now.