Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Three hours into the evening, my feet are screaming to get out of these shoes.
I sit at the table that was assigned to me, close to Melissa’s, my back perfectly straight, hands folded in my lap.
Karson’s hand rests on my thigh as he engages in conversation with some donor or board member.
I’m not sure who he is and I don’t care.
I scoot my chair back and both men look over to me.
“Excuse me,” I say with a polite smile. “I need to use the restroom.”
Karson stands to pull my chair out the rest of the way, and kisses my cheek before I leave the table.
The man is an enigma. Dark and dangerous menace one minute. Polished and proper gentleman the next.
I give him a grateful smile before turning to head for the staircase. My hand runs along the banister, the other lifting my dress to avoid stepping on it. I reach the landing, then turn right down the hallway for the bathroom. It’s quieter up here, and I feel my entire body exhale with relief.
My steps slow as I come up to a cracked door on the left side of the hallway.
My bedroom. Coming up to it, I reach out my hand and push it open fully.
Leaning against the frame, I wrap my arms around my torso.
The walls are still the same soft ivory.
The crown molding is pristine. The chandelier overhead glints in the moonlight that streams in from the floor to ceiling windows.
The bed is made with crisp white linen. Decorative pillows are arranged perfectly and a throw blanket folded neatly drapes over the end.
No photos. No books. No scuff in the wall from the time I threw the new shoes Melissa bought me for the first gala she forced me to attend–back when she still tried to mold me.
No evidence at all that a teenager once lived here.
Sterile. Just like when I was here.
My throat tightens.
I was never thrilled about them adopting me.
By the time they found me I was so close to aging out I could taste it.
I really did try to be open to being part of a family.
They didn’t make it easy though. Insanely high expectations right off the bat.
No time to settle or try to adjust. She wanted me to be the perfect, prim and proper daughter she always wanted right away, and I failed.
Eventually, she gave up trying and ignored my existence.
It felt like being a ghost once again. I went to a private school, had a tutor, all the best clothes, but I was treated like nothing more than a trophy for the galas… and nothing the rest of the time.
Swallowing past the lump, taking a step back into the hallway and closing the door softly behind me then I turn for the bathroom.
“Thought this wasn’t your scene.”
Andy stands at the railing that overlooks the foyer below, jacket off, bowtie loosened slightly. One hand rests against the banister as he looks down at the crowd, studying the performance instead of attending. He turns toward me, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
“Escaping, huh?” he asks lightly.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and walk toward the railing, stopping a few feet in front of him.
“Something like that.”
Music floats up from below, mixed with laughter and the clink of glasses. Applause breaks out for something I don't care to pay attention to and he rolls his eyes.
“She sure does love her parties,” Andy mutters, referring to Melissa.
I nod. “All that money and it never felt like it went to the right places.”
Andy hums, nodding slowly.
“All about the optics.”
For a second, we both watch the crowd below. Jack’s shaking hands, Melissa’s laughing like she actually means it. I know it's hollow.
“What brought you back tonight?” He asks, turning to fully face me.
I shrug. “She tightens the leash the further and further away I get.”
His jaw ticks once.
“Yeah. She’s good at that.”
A comfortable silence stretches between us before I notice Andy straighten his spine.
“Speaking of leashes, mine’s being yanked. I’ll see you down there.” He smiles softly as he passes by me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Andy’s father grab the back of his neck and lead him down the hall toward a second staircase.
Shaking my head, I step forward and make my way down the main stairs.
When I reach the bottom, Karson is already standing at the bottom waiting.
He tips his head to the side, a slow, dark and delicious grin pulling at his lips.
My heart trips at the sight of him. His hand finds the small of my back when I reach him.
“Hey, doll,” he says softly, planting a chaste kiss to my lips. My head spins.
“Everything good?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
His eyes flick to the balcony.
“Who was that?”
“Melissa’s nephew,” I tell him. “Andy. The only one who treated me like a person when I got here.”
Something unreadable passes through his gaze, but it’s gone just as quickly. “You ready to go?”
I glance back at the room. At Melissa’s smile. At Jack’s careful posture.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
Karson leads me toward the door. This time I don’t stop to say goodbye.
KARSON
The Steele estate disappears from the rearview.
Ashlynn doesn’t speak, but the tension leaves her body as we get further away.
She’s staring out the windshield again as my Camaro glides down a dark stretch of road, champagne silk catching the low dashboard lights.
Her fingers twist the fabric at her thigh.
From the minute we arrived at Jack and Melissa’s tonight, she’s been wound tight.
I can see the war happening in her mind, so I let the silence breathe.
I let her breathe.
Approaching the main road, streetlights streak across the windshield in steady intervals. Her reflection flickers in the glass, features calm but eyes lost once again.
“You hate it there,” I say finally. She inhales deeply, holding it for a long minute before releasing it.
“I don’t hate it,” she whispers.
Lie.
I shift gears smoothly as we merge onto the highway.
“Why do you go?” I ask. That finally brings her back from wherever she was a minute ago.
Her head turns slightly. Not defensive. Just tired.
She watches me from the corner of her eye, chewing on her bottom lip, as if she’s unsure whether or not she wants to tell me.
Looking down at her fidgeting fingers, then the windshield again, she rolls her eyes.
“They pay for my car and the loft,” she says. “They call it support. I call it leverage.”
My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“If I don’t go to at least that one gala every year, they’ll take it all back. And now that I’m not going back to Rapture,” she continues, quieter, “I’ll need it until I find something else.”
The defeated look that I see on her face at this moment makes me want to turn the car around and burn that house to the ground with them still inside of it.
Ashlynn is vibrant, full of fire and sass, and they’ve managed to find ways to dull that flame.
She’s a puppet. Rage blooms in my chest and I work hard to tamp it down before glancing at her.
“Is that all?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
She frowns slightly. “Is that all what?”
“Is that the only reason you go back there?”
She nods once. I look back at the road, loosening my grip on the wheel.
“Well,” I say, “that’s easy.”
She blinks. “How?”
“The car will be back in their driveway in the morning, as well as the keys to the loft.”
Her spine straightens. Silence floods the car.
“You can’t just–” she starts.
“I can,” I cut in. I don’t look at her, but I can feel the tension building again.
“So then what, Karson,” she snaps. “I don’t have a job anymore. No car. No house. Am I supposed to just stay with you in the penthouse and do nothing?”
My hand reaches over and cradles the back of her neck gently.
“I won’t have you tethered to people who use you, and then make you feel like you should be grateful to them. Fuck that, and fuck them.” My thumb strokes her cheek, putting out the flames of her anger before they consume her.
Her breathing changes slightly. I finally glance over to her. Crystal blue eyes watch me carefully with unshed tears.
“Do you think I let you walk into that house tonight without already deciding it would be the last time?” I ask softly.
Her lips part. “I don’t need to know every detail of what it was like there.
Not until you’re ready to tell me. But the minute that woman sent you a dress, it was over.
You don’t need their car. You don’t need their apartment. ”
I pause, giving her a minute to let the words settle in her gut, to believe me.
“You’re not theirs.”
The words settle heavy between us. She lets out a sigh.
“And where exactly am I supposed to go?” she asks.
I don't smile. I don't smirk. I just answer. My eyes meet hers, locking her in.
“You’re already home.”