Chapter 2
Willow
My stomach drops at the sound of my mother’s heels tapping across the hardwood floors behind me. I close the fridge doors, my appetite suddenly evaporating.
“You shouldn’t slouch, Willow. It makes your hips look even wider,” she says, her voice clipped like she’s delivering fashion advice instead of another low blow.
I grit my teeth and turn to face her. “Good morning to you too, Mum.”
She stands behind the island bench, dressed like she’s about to attend a fundraiser instead of sitting at home spending my stepfather’s money and micro-managing my life.
She’s adorned with gold jewellery, perfectly glossed lips, not a single hair out of place.
Gwendoline Whitford is the perfect wife for a millionaire real estate developer.
Meanwhile, I’m dressed in an oversized maroon Beckford U hoodie and black leggings, with my hair piled in a messy bun on top of my head. It’s a look that screams, ‘I woke up like this and couldn’t care less’.
“You know, you could at least try,” Mum says, her eyes flicking up and down like I’m an inconvenience and not her daughter. “Would it kill you to dress for your body type?”
I don’t answer. I learned early in life that it only encourages her.
She sniffs. “I don’t know why I bother buying you clothes when you don’t wear them.”
You and me both.
I turn to make a hasty exit from my literal hell when I almost collide with my annoying stepbrother.
Luca Whitford.
The tall, dark, pain in my arse.
He’s shirtless—of course he is—and juggling a soccer ball between his feet like it’s an extension of him. Which it pretty much is. Luca is the captain of the Beckford U soccer team.
Music blares from the headphones covering his ears, but he doesn’t even spare a glance in my direction as he walks over to the fruit bowl and grabs a banana.
“Luca!” Mum snaps. “No balls in the house, I told you—”
He strolls out of the kitchen, not even acknowledging her.
There’s a heavy pause, and then she turns her dire back on me.
“Would it hurt you to make more of an effort with your brother?”
Stepbrother.
I snort. “Right. Like he’s made so much effort with me.”
She sighs as I finally make my escape, speaking loud enough that I know she wants me to hear her final cutting remark. “How did I end up with such an ungrateful daughter?”
How did I end up with such an uncaring mother?
I take the stairs two at a time, scowling as I storm down the hall to my bedroom. She hasn’t always been like this, but ever since she married George Whitford four years ago, I’ve felt like nothing I do is good enough for her.
She moved us into the Whitfords’ mansion halfway through mine and Luca’s final year at Beckford High.
Until that moment, I had been content being a nobody—I had Leni, who I’d met at the beginning of that year when I found her crying in the bathroom after breaking up with her arsehole ex, and that was enough for me.
I planned on ignoring my stepbrother and continuing my invisible life, but I didn’t count on his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Breanna Walters, setting her sights on me.
When she came to the house, she was as nice as sickly sweet pie, all fake smiles and pretending to be my bestie in front of my mother.
Mum lapped it up, telling me how proud she was of me getting in with the ‘popular crowd’.
Little did she know that same crowd were the ones who tripped me up in the school cafeteria, fat-shamed me on social media with doctored photos, and wrote nasty messages about me on the toilet walls.
In short, Breanna single-handedly made my life a living hell… and Luca did nothing to stop it.
Only barely restraining myself from slamming my bedroom door, I flop onto my bed and scream into my pillow.
I hate this place so much, and I can’t wait to leave for Los Angeles next year. Somehow, I don’t think living in another country will be far enough away from her. She’ll still find a way to tear me down.
Needing to feel better about myself, I pick up my phone and open the Euphoria app. There are a few unread messages in my DMs, but I’ve only been replying to one for the past six months. I click on his profile.
@PhantomMenace: I can’t stop thinking about you.
@HeavenlySiren: Oh, yeah? What are you thinking about?
@PhantomMenace: How seeing you every month drowns out all the noise.
@PhantomMenace: I’m not sure I can wait a whole month to see you.
@HeavenlySiren: You’re going to have to.
@PhantomMenace: Not if you meet me earlier.
@HeavenlySiren: I told you, I can’t.
@PhantomMenace: Why not?
@PhantomMenace: And don’t give me any bullshit about how I won’t like you. I’ve seen you naked, Angel, and I love EVERYTHING about you.
I bite my bottom lip, fighting a smile.
He may think I drown out the noise for him, but I’m not deluding myself to think it’s more than just sex. We literally met at a sex club. Besides the pleasure I give him each month, he knows nothing about me.
When my best friend, Leni, invited me to go to her cousin’s exclusive sex club six months ago, I laughed in her face.
It wasn’t because I was a prude—far from it.
It was because I didn’t want anyone in our hometown finding out about my…
sexual proclivities. I still remember my high school boyfriend’s disgust when I told him what I wanted to try in the bedroom.
Needless to say, that relationship didn’t last, and I didn’t share my desires with either of the guys I slept with after him, faking orgasms until I gave up and decided I was destined to be single.
I wasn’t interested in putting myself out there to be looked down upon again, but Leni told me they have masked nights once a month to protect the anonymity of the club’s members, so I reluctantly agreed to go with her to see what it was all about.
I never expected to actually engage in anything at the club.
That is, until I met the phantom.
@HeavenlySiren: Patience is a virtue, pet.
@PhantomMenace: Why won’t you meet me?
I don’t reply.
We’ve had this conversation every week for the past two months. He’s been trying to convince me to meet up with him outside Euphoria, but I’m too scared. While he may love my body, I’m not ready to deal with the disappointment when he finds out who I am.
His next message comes through, and it causes my stomach to swoop.
@PhantomMenace: Do you think we know each other?
@HeavenlySiren: We agreed not to talk about this.
@PhantomMenace: I didn’t agree to anything.
@HeavenlySiren: Are you being a brat?
@PhantomMenace: Only if it means I can see you before next month.
@HeavenlySiren: I’m going now.
@PhantomMenace: Please?
@HeavenlySiren: Begging is unbecoming.
@PhantomMenace: Even when I’m naked and on my knees for you?
I swallow, my core clenching at the image. My nipples harden, and I run my hand over them, gasping at the sensation.
@PhantomMenace: I’m imagining the way your sweet curves fit into my hands.
@HeavenlySiren: Did I give you permission to touch?
@PhantomMenace: What will my punishment be if I say no?
@HeavenlySiren: Naughty boy … it sounds like someone wants some edging.
@PhantomMenace: Don’t tease me with a good time.
@PhantomMenace: Meet me.
@HeavenSiren: Please don’t ask me again. I can’t.
@PhantomMenace: I’ll be counting down the days, Angel.
Releasing a heavy sigh, I exit the app and toss my phone on my bed. While he distracted me from my problems with Mum, he’s also presented me with another problem. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold him off from wanting to meet.
My phantom is too good to be true. I can’t deny my attraction to him, and the sex is off the charts amazing. Eventually, he’ll get tired of waiting, and he’s going to find someone who won’t hide her identity from him.