Chapter fourteen Bexley
Chapter fourteen
Bexley
“What are you doing here?” I ask carefully, voice cold and reserved.
That’s clearly not the most important question here, but it’s better than asking the alternative first. Doing so would leave me exposed—revealing the fear attached to needing to know the answer.
Max Astor lifts his chin, top lip sneering slightly as he scans my frame purposefully. Disdain is written all over his face, and I doubt this visit is anything warm or welcoming.
This man’s picture would be in the dictionary attached to the definition of calculating. Everything about him is deliberate and tactical—a means to intimidate with his presence. It’s where Rylan learned everything, after all.
Let’s be honest though—breaking into somebody’s house at night is definitely worthy of an intimidation label. But even if I wasn’t the wonderful, stubborn individual that I am, it would still be a grave error to show the genuine fucking fear I feel right now.
“We need to talk, Ms. Spencer,” he answers simply. “This won’t take long but you’re a smart young woman. I’m sure you can deduce as to why I’m here.”
The way he says it is actually terrifying. The logical part of my mind knows he’s referring to Rylan, but the words strung together like that also have me believing that he’s referring to the concept of time.
As in… this visit will be quick because I’m in severe danger.
Maybe it’s both.
Crossing my arms, I lock my knees painfully to resist the urge to run and appear taller. “I would have been more than happy to schedule a meeting at your office if you had requested it, Mayor Astor,” I say with a quiet scoff. “No need for house visits.”
He sighs heavily at my remark, clearly exasperated. My heart aggressively pounds faster when he closes the door behind him. If it’s open, then there’s a chance someone will hear me yell for help. But closed? That’s a problem.
I need to get him out of my house.
I need… Rylan.
“As I’m sure you can imagine, this is a conversation I’d prefer to remain private. Thus the need for a more… intimate… setting,” he murmurs, trailing off as his beady eyes glance around the house observantly.
“I can’t even begin to wonder what business you would have with me,” I utter carefully.
Mayor Astor's eyebrow sharpens with intrigue. “I work in politics, Ms. Spencer. You’ll have to lie a little better than that if you want to convince me.”
“Get out of my house,” I demand, clenching my teeth.
I’m terrified, no doubt about it, but I’m also livid at his audacity. What kind of grown ass man breaks into an eighteen year old’s house? This ridiculous feud is maddening, and I refuse to be a casualty in whatever sick game this is.
Ignoring me, he takes a sharp left and strolls into the living room, leaving me no choice but to follow.
My phone is in my bedroom and I contemplate racing for it. But I’m paralyzed by the hesitation that comes from the thought of being caged in there if Max Astor decides to play ball and take this up a notch.
Heading into the living room, I mentally beat myself up for second guessing the decision to dash for the phone when I find him on the single-seat armchair, sitting in a relaxed figure-four position.
“Sit,” he insists, warningly, motioning to the sofa. “My time is valuable.”
Narrowing my eyes, I send him my finest fuck you glare as I sit down.
“Good,” he murmurs, pleased that I’m following his directions. These men love money more than anything, but I’d also wager this asshole has a submissive, inferiority kink—for other people, anyway. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? How much will it take for you to disappear?”
“Excuse me?” I choke out in disgust. “I’m not something you can buy.”
“Your presence is damaging to my son, Ms. Spencer. Rylan has been making poor decisions lately. It’s imperative that I correct that.”
I angle my body forward, locking eyes with him. “You mean you need to save your precious reputation leading up to the elections. Don’t insult me by pretending this is some fucked up version of Romeo and Juliet that you need to rectify with parental boundaries.”
“Interesting language for a young lady,” he tuts.
“But I’m not surprised at your reaction, Ms. Spencer.
It’s disappointing, yes—but I have other means to ensure your compliance.
This is merely a gesture of goodwill. I’d think long and hard before making any rash decisions. My generosity is limited.”
“Let me be perfectly clear, Max,” I say, calmly. “I have no intention of disappearing. Nor do I care to be involved in your twisted daddy relationship. If you have a problem with Rylan’s decisions, that is between you and him.”
Fuck. He knows. Doesn’t he?
Soph was right. Maybe it hadn’t gotten back to me because it was still in Willowbrook territory. But we didn’t factor in that Willowbrook is bigger than just the students walking the academy hallways.
A menacing, deadly smile spreads across his face, a sinking feeling tearing through my stomach as I brace myself for his next words.
“It begins to involve you when my son starts making asinine comments regarding love. Now, again, Ms. Spencer, either you willingly end this little affair and leave, or I’ll be forced to do it myself,” he says, so eerily calm that the threat of his actual words is nearly missed.
I cross my arms—to show him I’m unbothered by his warning while being a literal oxymoron and needing to feel like I’m physically protecting myself. “Absolutely not. But for argument sake, I’m curious as to where you think I’d go,” I reply, semi-amused. “Money only stretches so far.”
Mayor Astor reaches inside his blazer pocket, retrieving two envelopes. “This first envelope contains ten thousand dollars,” he tells me, tossing them onto the carpet at my feet. “The second has the address and contact details of your father.”
What?
Someone might as well have thrown an uppercut into my chest cavity, the air rushing out in shocked dismay.
“My father?” I repeat, really wishing I wasn’t curious and had the strength to ignore this cheap evident tactic. “Why would you have my father’s information?”
I never admitted it to Mom when she was alive… but I looked. I even tried calling a few times when it got bad but the number I had was disconnected.
I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but in today’s day and age with technology and social media, it’s not impossible to track people down. But it is difficult when they purposefully hide.
It’s part of the reason I held on to the resentment for so long. He didn’t just leave Mom—he left me too. And then went the extra mile to ensure I couldn’t reach him. What kind of parent does that?
Mayor Astor looks pleased with himself, clearly noticing my sudden change of demeanor. “I do my due diligence. I’m sure you know the benefits to planning and preparing for all scenarios.”
I stare at the envelope that begs to be opened. “You’re committed, I’ll give you that,” I murmur quietly. “Unfortunately, I have no interest in knowing the contents of that packet.”
“He’s about forty minutes from here,” Max replies cruelly. “Managing a real estate office. Married,” he pauses, eyes glued to my face, “with a daughter who just turned three.”
It takes everything—and I mean, everything—to stop the hurt from plastering itself all over my face.
“I don’t care,” I comment after a brief hesitation. “And to circle back for clarity, that’s a no to your offer. You can leave now. Take your trash with you.” I gesture to the envelopes.
He stands smugly, adjusting his tie. “You have twenty-four hours, Ms. Spencer before my generosity expires. After that, I’ll resort to less favorable options.
Take the evening to consider it. You have nothing else.
I’m offering money and a second chance at mending your family.
If you refuse, you’ll be quickly reminded about how little you have and how easily I can influence this town and the people within it. ”
“My family is dead,” I insist coldly, rising to my feet. “And if you think I can be blackmailed or bribed, then you are even more foolish than I originally thought.”
He straightens, an air of danger emanating from him. But I continue.
“I’m not sorry your son loves me,” I tell him sharply.
“But I do feel sorry for Rylan that his own father doesn’t love him.
So, you’re wrong, Max. Even if you do your worst, I won’t have nothing.
Because I have three things you never will—your son’s love and respect, and a good fucking heart.
Now, for the last time, get the fuck out of my house before I remove you in a manner that registers on flight radar systems.”
Tilting his chin up, he leers at me, unbothered by the threat. “Twenty-four hours, Ms. Spencer. And let me be clear: It won’t be just yourself that suffers the consequences if you refuse to comply. I’ll make sure Rylan does as well.”
I’m ashamed to admit that Max fucking Astor got to me.
He knew exactly what to do, what buttons to press, proving that he’s a master in the twisted web of destruction that seems to be taught as part of the Willowbrook syllabus.
I hate that he knew how to hurt me. It wasn’t just words, but a complete follow through—an entire plan designed and executed with the goal to deliver a fatal blow to my mental stability.
I’ve become numb to my surroundings, a dangerous state to be in, because when my front door is slammed open again despite being locked, I don’t react at all this time.
Footsteps start to stomp down the hallway toward my bedroom before whoever is breaking in must spot me in my upright, fetal position on the ground, back leaning against the armchair.
At least I know it’s not Max again—the heavy footsteps indicating that this is pure, uncontrolled anger and not carefully constructed intimidation.
“Duchess! What the fuck are you doing and why haven’t you been at school again? I’m getting real sick of your shit. How are we supposed to sort out anything when you’re too busy to bother to show up?”
Great. Just fucking great.
Resting my cheek on my tucked knees, I don’t bother to turn my head toward him. “Go away, Lannister.”
I hear his feet drag on the carpet as he grinds to a sudden halt from the sound of my cracked voice.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, too concerned for my liking.
His legs appear in front of me before I have a chance to respond—not that I was intending to.
“Spencer,” he huffs, before raising his voice and trying again. “Bexley—look at me.”
“Just go away,” I groan, frustrated and exhausted. “I’ll be back tomorrow. But I’m too fucking tired to fight with you right now. I cannot deal with today’s mental breakdown.”
Lannister crouches down so our faces are level. “Tomorrow is Saturday,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Just fucking look at me. Please.”
Finally, I swivel my neck to stare at him. “Why are you here, Hunter?” I implore, exasperated. “Why won’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”
“Because I can’t.”
All I can muster is a frown at his response. Hunter sighs defeatedly, closing the distance to the floor as he sits down in front of me.
“Not going to make some smart comment about it?” He challenges. “Mock me?”
I shuffle, lowering my legs from my chest to mimic his crossed legs. “Not my style. But I am good at listening.”
Hunter snorts, seemingly annoyed with himself. He leans back with his palms flat on the floor. “I need to fight with you.” Pausing, he turns his head to look away. “It’s the only thing recently that helps me feel anything.”
“You want to punish me for what happened to you?”
“No,” he hastily replies. “God, no. I wish it was that simple.” He sighs deeply, explaining, “It just feels like lately I’m disconnected from everyone and everything. And the only person who would understand…”
“... Is me,” I finish for him.
Hunter nods. “I want to hate you so bad, Duchess. But ever since the night of the fire…” He trails off. “It’s fucked me up real bad.”
“It was just a little fire,” I joke. “You can still hate me.”
My heart beat jolts when his eyes swiftly snap to mine, a swirling intensity swimming in the green hues.
“You saved me,” he states simply. “And worst of all, you allowed me to see the fear you felt in those moments. That’s all I can think about.”
My brows furrow. “My fear of being burned alive?”
He laughs dryly. “That you let me in when I didn’t deserve it. It’s easier to hate you when you’re being an annoying, frustrating bitch.”
“Oh, I see,” I murmur comically. “My human emotions have confused you. My bad.”
“Hilarious,” he huffs. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re being a sad sack of shit on the floor?”