Chapter 1 #2
My whole body goes still. My grip tightens on the glass, my knuckles whitening. I tug at the hem of my dress, like it’ll magically grow two inches if I pull hard enough. My pulse thunders in my ears, a warning I can’t ignore.
Breathe. Don’t look scared. Don’t let him see your hands shake.
He steps closer, the space between us evaporating. The scent of his cologne is overpowering, mixed with sweat and something sharp that makes my stomach roll.
My mind races, trying to figure out how to escape without making it obvious I’m panicking. But I’m fucking panicking.
“Relax, little Sadie. I’m only playing around.”
The hallway spins slightly.
What…?
My feet suddenly feel unsteady. A wave of heat floods my skin, and a fog settles behind my eyes.
Shit.
I didn’t even drink anything, except that one sip. Did I?
No. I’m being stupid. I never should’ve taken it. I should’ve said no. I should’ve walked away the second I saw him—
“You okay?” His voice is closer now. Too close. “You look a little…off.”
My head lolls slightly as I blink hard, trying to stay upright.
Then his hands are on me. Shoving me back roughly. My back slams into the wall, my head cracking into the framed art behind me.
Pain blooms instantly, sharp and ringing.
No. What’s happening?
His hands inch up my dress. I try to shove him off, to scream, but everything is wrong—everything is slow.
No. No. No.
“Stop,” I say, or try to. My voice comes out in a raw whisper.
The slap comes out of nowhere—sharp, bright, and blinding. For a second, I don’t even feel it. The sound echoes before the sting catches up. Then his hand covers my mouth, pressing hard. My eyes sting as the faint, metallic taste of blood spreads across my tongue.
He leans in slowly, his breath hot on my neck.
“Shhh. Don’t make me have to ruin this pretty little dress, too.”
A vile, sick twist ripples through my gut.
Is this really happening?
This can’t be real. This is the kind of story that happens to someone else. Someone careless. Not me. I’m careful. I’m always careful. Aren’t I?
I try to scream, but my voice is muffled beneath his rough hand. I kick. Squirm. Fight. But my body won’t move the way I need it to. I’m screaming, but no one can hear me.
Then—a burst of light floods the hallway.
“Hey!”
A voice, sharp and male, cuts through the noise.
Gideon pulls back immediately, hands in the air like he’s innocent. Like I imagined all of it.
The flashlight beam moves over my face, blinding me.
“Oh, Jesus—Sadie?”
He catches me the moment my knees buckle and my vision fades to black.
Everything is fuzzy.
Lights blur and streak every time I blink. A siren wails far away—or maybe it’s all a hallucination inside my head.
The metal bench beneath me is cold and unforgiving. Someone presses a paper cup of water into my hand—I think. My fingers tremble as I try to hold it steady.
Voices buzz just out of reach—urgent, low.
“Not Rohypnol?” I catch one ask. Another voice grunts, “Cross hasn’t learned his lesson yet? Don’t shit where you eat.” Somewhere, another mutters, “…going after Becker’s daughter. Yeesh.”
I want to tune it out, but it clings to me like the fog in my head.
I try to sit up straight, to look strong, but my limbs are too heavy, disconnected.
The words in my mouth feel like someone else’s as I give my statement. Parts of it make sense, parts are jumbled fragments.
I can’t remember if I cried.
Time slips away. Seconds and hours blur together in a restless tide.
Then the door clanks open again. The young cop from the party steps in, his face grim.
“He’s here.” The words hit like a punch to the gut. I slump against the wall, the cold biting through my skin.
As if this night couldn’t get any worse.
I try for a tight smile as he slides open the door to my cell, following him out as he leads me down the long hallway to the waiting room. I keep my head down, focusing on my strappy shoes dangling from my fingers, avoiding eye contact with anyone else in holding.
When I’m buzzed through the steel door, I don’t see Warren Becker—the ruthless criminal defense attorney. No, when I look at the man sitting in the stiff waiting room chair, in his expensive suit, furrowed brow staring down at his phone—all I see is my father.
He exhales slowly before looking up. His eyes flick over me, and he mutters something under his breath, handing me my clutch.
I know better than to say anything, so I don’t, silently taking it from his hands.
His entire life is about perception. He’s holding it in, fuming beneath the mask of calm.
I hold my breath, bracing for the inevitable explosion—and almost wince when he opens his mouth. But it’s not the eruption of anger I was expecting.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Have a good weekend and stay safe,” he says, turning slightly to give a polite wave. His lips press into a firm line as he guides me toward the exit.
I don’t want to go home, but I don’t want to have a sleepover at the station either.
The walk to the car is short, and Warren’s personal driver holds the door open for us.
Silence with my father is never just silence. It’s the kind of quiet that hangs thickly in the air, tightening around you like a snake until the pressure becomes so unbearable you have no choice but to break it before it swallows you whole.
He doesn’t say a word to me the entire drive home. His eyes stay locked onto his phone as he types away, likely working on a case. The Gideon Cross case.
As if on cue, the throbbing pain in my head flares. I probably have a concussion. A little souvenir from my trip to the Predator’s Palace.
I drop my head back on the headrest and wince.
Everything is ruined.
This was supposed to be the night. I should not be in the backseat of a car with my father on my way home from the fucking police station. I should be lying in a big fluffy bed, belly full of room service desserts, with a sleeping Kolson next to me as I text my friends that I finally did it.
Instead, I didn’t even see Kol, both of my friends completely disappeared, and I was almost a statistic at a party I didn’t even want to fucking go to.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m destroying myself pretending to be who everyone expects me to be.
I try the breathing method I’ve been doing since I was twelve. Inhale for four seconds, hold for another four, then exhale for four seconds.
After a few repetitions, the stagnant air feels a little less suffocating.
I send a quick text to everyone, checking they made it home safely. Tori responds immediately with a selfie of her in a bubble bath. Her fiery red hair is in a loose knot on top of her head.
Tori
guess whose bathtub this is ;)
I have no idea whose tub it is, but I’m envious. I can’t wait to take a hot shower and scrub this terrible night off of my skin.
Mia replies with a selfie too, but unlike Tori, she’s already in bed, her light green eyes peeking out beneath an eye mask that says Fuck Off in an elegant cursive font.
Kolson reads my text, but he doesn’t respond. His silence tells me everything I already knew deep down. I’m nothing to him.
After what feels like the longest night of my life, the car finally pulls onto the long tree-lined driveway. As soon as the driver shifts into park, I dart out of the car, ignoring my heavy limbs and the sharp pain permeating my skull.
Hoping I’ve evaded my father’s lecture, I start the climb up the grand staircase, fully intending to go straight to my bedroom and shut out the rest of the world.
But I’m stopped dead in my tracks by Warren’s lawful and cold tone.
“Meet me in the study. Now.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and take a deep breath. Looking up, I send a silent prayer to whoever is listening, and then pivot on the stairs heading back down toward the study.
He’s already sitting behind the colossal mahogany desk with a glass of bourbon in his right hand. It’s always bourbon. The smell hits me and I’m instantly nauseous.
I’ve never liked coming in here. The scent of old books and my father’s aftershave hangs in the air. The walls are covered with dark built-in bookcases that stretch floor-to-ceiling. They’re mostly filled with law books, but there’s a sprinkle of first-edition classics that once belonged to my mom.
This room feels like it could swallow me whole, never to be seen again.
Warren glances at me over the rim of his reading glasses and gestures for me to take a seat. I sink into the stiff leather chair, seeking to make myself as small as possible.
As if that would make him show me a little mercy.
Unfortunately for me and every prosecutor in the state of California, mercy is not in his vocabulary.
Before I even open my mouth, his fist slams down onto his desk, and I can’t help but flinch. I should’ve known his behavior at the station was all an act. Playing the role of dutiful dad. He’s never hit me, but I think he’s wanted to.
Perception is everything.
My eyes stay locked on the wool rug, refusing to look at him. I press my lips together and wince when the small cut splits open again. My fingertips drift up, tracing over the mark Gideon left behind.
Silence stretches between us for too long to ever be considered comfortable, then he finally speaks.
“Do you understand the gravity of tonight’s events, Sadie?” His tone is serious and demanding.
I force myself to look up at him. His eyes are narrowed, but they still manage to pierce through me. There’s an edge to his words, like he’s only referring to how this all affects him. His firm. His reputation.
My words are caught in my throat, but I’ve learned the hard way not responding only makes things worse.
“I apologize,” I finally manage to say softly, digging my nails into the leather cushion. “But I—“
“What did you think would happen going to that party? Did you think at all?“ he shouts, his voice dripping with venom. “Especially dressed like that!“ he spits, gesturing toward me.
My heart sinks in my chest, but I don’t speak.