This is what she hates. She hates that they all love me—only me.
The irony is I only want her love. But all I’m given is theirs. Men. Staring at me, adoring me, caring about what I’m doing. I can’t help that I’m younger. I can’t stop any of them from wanting me. No matter how much that fucking kills her. No matter how much that makes me her enemy. Her competition. Her legacy.
Strong hands slap the table over and over, keeping time to the music, as my bare feet stay planted on the table, rooting me while I sway to the pulse created by my audience. I tip my head back, feeling my buzz hit me harder, and pull me deeper into the moment.
Pills. Champagne. More pills and more champagne. That’s been the map of my night. My escape route from my mother, her disregard for my birthday and her hatred of me. But the joke’s on her—I hate her back. Or maybe I hate that I wish I could but can’t.
Tonight, though, I will. Tonight, I will hate her so much that it will make up for all of my cowardice.
I twirl around, knowing my skirt will rise and show things I shouldn’t, but I don’t want them to stop cheering, watching, loving me. Laughter escapes my lips, molding and intertwining with the whistles before the sounds of shattering glass echo faintly around me. My head bobs forward lazily, impacted by how drunk I am, to take in the scene, and I have to give it a little shake.
“What’s happening?”
Everything is unfocused and on delay as my eyes adjust too late. I take a step forward, but my feet stumble, and I stagger backward, unbalanced, and fall from the table. Strong arms wrap around me, softening my fall, and stop me from plummeting to the ground.
“Caught you.”
He’s holding me like a bride. He probably already has one of those.
“You did.” I smile, slightly breathless and all too comfortable in my position.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me in closer to his chest, and I let my hand rest on his chest as I lay my head on his shoulder.
“Now, what am I going to do with you?”
His question seems innocent. But that’s the thing about men: they’re never that—innocent. They’ll always accept what I’m willing to forfeit because sex is a war that destroys everyone. The only advantage I have is that I control the rules because I own the prize.
“What do you want to do with me?”
“Things that I shouldn’t.”
He locks his blue eyes on me, licking his lips before they descend onto mine. The taste of deceit is heavy on them, and for a moment, I feel ashamed, but then he looks at me. He stares into my eyes deeply, silencing my thoughts. Because like a desperate soul, I believe the lie—the one that tells me that he sees me, that I’m special, that I’ll be loved.
Donovan
Present Day
My arms peek out from under my silver down comforter, stretching to opposite ends, as my body begins to wake from the deep slumber I’m so happily invested in. The heat that engulfs my body suddenly feels stifling instead of comforting, so I push it down, kicking my feet to help. My eyes flutter open as the air rushes in, making my skin prick with goose bumps.
The ceiling is all I stare at, letting my reality sink in. Damn. Today’s the day. The start of my new life. My ninth life if I was a cat.
Natural light fills my bedroom suite from the wall of windows directly across from my oversized California king. Although the window is tinted to keep the heat at bay, it doesn’t keep out the morning shine. My eyes squint as I look around, struggling to accept being awake. I despise early mornings, and I should’ve closed the shade before I went to sleep, but last night, I couldn’t bring myself to lower it.
I’ve seen a sky full of stars in every place I’ve lived, but there’s something about the lights of a city, crowded with skyscrapers. The vitality of life always seems to be busting at the seams, and that makes it too hard to pass up. I laid there watching time go by until sleep took me.
Funny enough, it was the most peace amongst chaos that I’ve felt since I don’t even remember when.
A rap on my door turns my attention, just as it opens to the butler entering with a forced smile on his aged face.
“Good morning, miss. I have your breakfast. I thought you’d like it in bed before starting the day.”
This treat is his polite way of telling me my father won’t be dining with me today. I want to say he seems apologetic, but I watched as his eyes darted away while he spoke, so I’d call this more of an irritation to his duty. It must suck to be the messenger.
The fact that my father communicates with me via the butler shouldn’t sting so much, considering Daddy dearest hasn’t spoken more than two words to me in the three days since I’ve arrived. I can’t blame him. Then again, I guess it’s a drastic improvement from the zero words I’ve received from him in the five years I’ve been living abroad with my mother—the woman he despises just a bit more than me. Even now.
“Miles isn’t home?” I remark, using my father’s name as I smooth the blanket before he places the tray onto my lap.
Victor, I believe is his name, shakes his head before changing the subject and turning to walk toward my closet.
“Some of your things arrived today from your mother’s. I was quite surprised to see them so soon. Overseas shipments typically take longer than a few days to get to their destination.”
“Mmm,” I answer, while taking a bite of the sweet fruit adorned in honey and yogurt.
“They’re probably the things that were stored at our apartment here in the city.” A “good riddance” gift from her. I’m fairly certain she didn’t shed any tears when I got on the plane.
Ignoring my statement, Vic points to my closet. “Your uniforms are back from the dry cleaners, miss, and the accessories laid out. The dress code is stringent,” he states with a lift of his brow. “I know your previous experience with adhering to the rules of higher education have been questionable.”
My eyes narrow at the insinuation, midbite. It seems my reputation has leaked out all the way to the staff. I should smile and nod, but that’s never really been my style.
“Is that so?”
Pushing the tray aside, I twist to hang my feet over the side of my bed and stand, gathering my long honey-blonde locks onto the top of my head as my T-shirt brushes my toned stomach.
“Victor? Right?” I question over my shoulder with a cunning grin. “As much as I’m enjoying the jabs you’re throwing out, unless part of this new regime is to dress me, I think I’ve got it from here.”
Flustered huffs fill the room as he straightens his uniform jacket, and I let out a small laugh, turning to face him.
“No, miss. That is not my intention.” Vic starts toward the door, seemingly offended, but pauses just inside the doorframe with his back to me. “One last piece of business. Your father wanted me to remind you that your new school is an admired institution, not a place for you to cause more trouble. The families that attend are legacies. You need to remember who you are.”
I’m glad he isn’t looking at me. Saves me the indignity of having to see his face when he reminds me of my father’s disappointment.
A rush of breath sweeps past my lips as the door closes. “I’m trying, Vic. Trust me, remembering is harder than you think.”