Unraveled Lies (The Unraveled #1)
Prologue Senior Year, Stella
Senior Year, Stella
“Honestly, Donovan, I do not know why Elaine is such a conniving whore bag,” I shout over the chilling rendition of Sound of Silence by Disturbed.
Donovan’s steady, and handsomely dark voice comes through the line. “Star, she has to have a reason to act this way towards you. You can’t tell me she just plastered your photos all over school for the fun of it.”
Walking through the front doors of Cordova Linda High School this morning, I didn’t expect to be publicly humiliated before homeroom.
I had my headphones in, volume way too loud, and was drowning in metal mayhem. With my latte pressed to my lips, I made the usual sharp left turn.
And froze.
Papers were plastered across every surface: lockers, bulletin boards, even the doors of the bathroom stalls. I took one step closer, brows pulling together.
Then I saw it.
At the top of each flyer, in obnoxiously large print, was: Call 4 a Good Time, with my phone number underneath.
And dead center? A photo from summer camp. Messy bun. Frozen pajamas. Shoving a massive breakfast corn dog into my mouth like I was trying to win a contest.
My hand went limp. The latte slipped from my fingers, splashing across my shoe and flooding the floor with warm, sticky brown liquid.
I could already feel the eyes on me. The laughter behind me. Through tear-filled eyes, I rip the flyer off the wall and turn to run.
But Elaine and her little shadows were waiting at the end of the hall, blocking the exit. Laughing hysterically.
I bang my head down on the art desk with a loud groan, my long jet-black hair tumbling over my face.
My thoughts drift back to second grade. I still remember my first day, standing in front of Ms. Gwendolyn’s class, clutching my princess backpack, pushing my glasses up my nose. Those damn things never stayed in place.
“Class, we have a new student today,” Ms. Gwendolyn announced. “Her name is Stella Carrington, and she’s new to Cordova Alta. Everyone, please give her a warm welcome.”
Some students clapped, but I caught the whispers and giggles from the back row. They didn’t even bother to hide it. Elaine Royce, Molly Adams, and Samantha Beckett. Even back then, they were thick as thieves. And ever since, they’ve made it their mission to make my life hell.
I suddenly snap back to reality as Donovan’s voice breaks through the fog.
“Hellooooo. Earth to Star. Mi Bella, did I lose you?”
I groan, rubbing my forehead, “Shit, sorry, D, my phone must’ve cut out. All I am saying is when your dad is the King of Caskets, you aren’t immediately everyone’s best friend.”
“Stella Bella, you can’t honestly believe people don’t like you just because your dad owns the world's largest luxury casket business.” Donovan’s voice is full of disbelief, and the doubt in his tone is deafening.
Anger simmers in my chest as I snap into the phone, “You know what, Donovan D’Angelo, I have had a shitty enough day. I do not need you calling me a liar on top of it.”
I pace slowly back and forth in my art studio.
“How long have you known the Three Bees? Two years? I have known them for ten—ten years, D! Ten long years of them making my life a living hell! And now you’re going to side with that peppy little cheerleader over me?
” As I take another long look at my pathetic face on that stupid flyer, I whisper, “Do you even really love me?” I let out a shaky breath before I finish my sentence.
“You know what? Don’t answer that. I am done with the Three Bees, and I am done with you! Go rot in hell.”
Hours have passed since I hung up on Donovan, ending our year-long relationship. I’m not even sure what we see in each other. We are complete opposites. And yet.. We lasted a year and a half.
I try to push him out of my mind, but it’s useless—Donovan is 6'2", 210 pounds of pure muscle, the golden boy quarterback of Cordova Linda High School.
His dream? Getting recruited by a top SEC team. And honestly, he's close. The scouts have been circling for weeks. He’s the top-ranked quarterback in Central Arizona. The real deal.
We live in a town full of politicians, retired rock stars, B-list actresses, and people with more money than common sense, and Donovan? He fits in effortlessly.
And then there’s me, the reluctant heir to Carrington Caskets.
I’m a walking contradiction: jet-black hair, pale skin, and piercing green eyes, wrapped in a soul that’s always been annoyingly peppy, and no matter how bright I act, everyone still sees the goth girl.
I’m the casket princess. Dating the star quarterback. People are already buzzing about prom court like it’s some kind of prophecy.
On paper, it’s perfect. Practically a fairy tale, so why do I feel like I’m suffocating, like my future’s already been decided? Like I’m living someone else’s dream.
Like this—this life—might not be mine at all.
I stare at my blank canvas.
I am not even sure what I was working on anymore, or, hell, what time is it? The events of today are now a distant blur.
I pick up my paintbrush and palette, filled with blues and greens, and swipe the brush through the thick cerulean blue. With quick, deliberate strokes, a beautiful sky forms its shape on the rough canvas in front of me.
After hours of painting, I set my brushes down and take a sip of my now warm water, stepping back from my work. I look at the magnificent fairy forest I painted and suddenly realize I still have my music on shuffle.
Orianthi’s song, According to You, is now spilling from my speakers. Tears blur my vision, racing down my cheeks, as my chest tightens, each breath harder than the last under the crushing weight of breaking up with Donovan.
As I rage sing, I take a bucket of black paint and throw it on the canvas. With a loud splat, the black paint cascades down the canvas, and the fairy forest is now covered in a sorrowful shadow.
The studio door creaks, and I hear my father say, “Stellina…what happened? Are you okay?”
I fell into a slump on the floor with my back against my desk leg and let out a long sigh. “No, Papa, I am not okay.”
I can see the anger flood through my father. “Stellina, if that D’Angelo boy hurt you, I have a casket with his name on it!”
As busy as my father is running Carrington Caskets, he has never been too busy for me.
He sits down on the floor next to me and pulls me in for a hug.
“Papa, he didn’t hurt me. Well, not exactly. I guess he kinda did, but I broke up with him.”
I put my head between my legs and take a couple of deep breaths, trying to ground myself.
“Stellina, you know you can tell me anything.”
I quietly stand up and hand my father the flyers from school. As he stares at it, I can see the rage in his eyes.
“Papa, Elaine, and her friends posted this around the entire school today. It was so embarrassing! With everything else Elaine has done to me, Donovan thinks I must have done something wrong to Elaine. He didn’t believe me when I told him how she’s been mean to me since second grade.”
My dad pulls me into the biggest hug, the one that always makes me feel better. “Look, Stellina, you know I dislike that boy. He is no good for you! At least now you won't get hurt when he moves off to college this fall. You know your place is here learning about Carrington Caskets.”
My eyes fall to the floor, and I look at my paint-splattered vans.
It’s always the same song and dance. I can stay local and go to the University of Saguaro, but he will not even discuss me moving to another state for school.
He says I have to get a business degree so I can take over one day.
“I know, Papa, I know,” I say to him before we stand up.
With a last glance at my ruined painting, I switch off the music and embrace the quiet, carrying the weight of choices I never truly made.
I turn back and see my dad lost in thought, his fingers hovering just shy of the canvas, as if he doesn’t want the paint to smear onto his hand.
Growing up, I was always told that art flowed naturally from me, like I was a reincarnated Van Gogh. In eighth grade, I finally told my parents about my dream: to study fine arts, open a gallery, and have the most elite collectors buy my work.
The moment the words left my mouth, I could practically see the steam billowing from my father’s ears. He was furious when I even suggested not taking over the family business.
But why can’t I have both? Why can’t I go to art school like I want and still take over the company one day?
Am I being too ambitious? Is it too daring of a dream? Why can’t I have both?