I reluctantly follow behind him, dragging my feet like a sulking toddler even though I am very much an adult who should know better. My luggage wheels screech against the pavement as I shove the suitcase into the trunk and climb into the passenger seat. The interior smells like pine… or maybe arrogance. Hard to tell with him.
The ride is painfully silent, the kind that presses against your chest until breathing feels like work. Not that I'm complaining. Silence is better than whatever attitude Mr Grumpy would throw my way if he opened his mouth.
I pull out my phone, checking if Adrian had texted. Maybe a, "Did you arrive safely?" or "Miss you already." I don't know… anything that shouted I still care.
But no. Nothing. Not even a stupid emoji.
My heart does that annoying contracting thing again, like it's trying to whisper a truth I refuse to hear.
And speaking of truths I don't want? I've been having weird dreams lately. Dreams of Adrian fucking my best friend. Crazy, right? Totally insane. Except… maybe not, considering I literally caught Jenny cooking for him the other day. She even washed his clothes. Both of them in the kitchen with Adrian shirtless, and Jenny in an oversized shirt that did not belong to her, plus shorts that might as well have been underwear. The moment they saw me in the doorway they jumped like they got caught stealing diamonds.
I once tried asking him about it and all Adrian said was that I was "obsessed with him," and that I shouldn't assume every woman was trying to get with him. He called me paranoid. He made it sound like I was the villain. Classic.
The car stops so abruptly I almost face-plant the glove compartment. That's when I notice I've been staring at Adrian's photo this entire time like some fool in a drama series.
I look up. A massive double-story mansion stands in front of us, glowing like money and misery had a baby.
"Get your stupid pile of garbage and come out," Mr Grumpy finally says. His voice is flat, like being around me physically pains him. I still don't know his name. God, I pray he isn't my step brother because that would just explain why I hate him at first sight.
I climb out, pull my luggage from the trunk, and trail behind him, taking in the ridiculous scenery. A fountain big enough to bathe a dragon in? Check. A maze garden that probably has dead bodies buried beneath it? Check. A swimming pool shaped like an oversized oval gemstone? Double check. What is this place? A palace? A cult headquarters?
He disappears somewhere inside. Good. I hope he stays lost forever.
A man who looks suspiciously like a butler approaches me. He's tall, well-groomed, and dressed like someone who irons socks.
"May I help you with that?" he asks, already tugging the luggage from my hands before I can say no.
"Please follow me. Everyone is waiting for you."
Great.
We walk down long hallways filled with giant paintings that look expensive enough to fund the whole country I grew up in. Sculptures. Golden lamp fixtures. Floors that shine like they've never known dust. It's too much. It's all too much.
Then we reach the grand living room.
Everyone is seated, watching a little girl—maybe eight, maybe nine, maybe older, I can't tell—singing her lungs out like she's auditioning for Oprah's private choir or something. She's adorable though. I'll give her that.
My eyes find my mother instantly. She's sitting beside an old man who looks like he owns oil companies and probably a few souls. Two other men sit nearby. One has a mustache that should've stayed in the 1800s, and he laughs like he's auditioning for "Wealthy Douchebag of the Year." The other one has a perfect smile. Like dentist-commercial-level perfect. He looks like the walking definition of wholesome. I don't trust it.
But my eyes snap back to my mom. She's clutching a tissue, coughing into it while the old man rubs her back. Their eyes meet, and there's a spark—soft, warm, gentle. Disgusting.
I hate it.
I hate how she looks at him like he's her entire universe.
I hate how I'm supposed to stand here and swallow all of it.
So I clear my throat. Loud enough.
The singing stops. Every head turns toward me. Little girl included. No hate for her. Her vocals? Chef's kiss. She's safe from my irritation.
But the smiley guy's grin wavers for a moment when he sees me, like I'm a ghost showing up uninvited.
Then my mother speaks.
"My dear, you have arrived," she says in that soft ghostly voice she uses when she wants to pretend we have a normal mother-daughter relationship.
I try not to hate her. Really, I do. But she always gives me a reason. Every. Damn. Time.
She stands up. They all stand up. And she pulls me into a hug that feels like hugging a refrigerator. I don't hug her back.
"Okay that's enough mom. Don't abuse your privileges." I whisper it low enough for only her.
She lets go but pretends she didn't hear me.
"My sweet daughter, I missed you so much. Look at you. You've grown so much." She says it with eyes so full of affection it makes my stomach twist. The kind of affection I begged for as a kid.
I shrug her hand off my shoulder and give her a look that says try touching me again and I punch you.
Something flickers in her eyes—sadness maybe—but she hides it quickly.
"Everyone, meet Ava. My daughter," she announces like I'm some trophy she remembered she had in the attic.
She shouldn't look so proud. She wasn't proud when raising me.
"Ava, this is Dennis. Your father."
Excuse me? My glare could burn through steel. Dennis offers a handshake like we're in a business meeting.
I stare at his hand then his face. "Hey step dad." I say it with the driest voice known to mankind.
His smile widens instead of dropping. Freak.
"And this is Eli," mom adds, pointing to Mr Perfect Teeth.
He waves awkwardly. "Haha hey there."
Mustache Man steps forward next. "Nice to meet you Ava. I'm Kelvin. And this is my daughter Lilly."
"Hi Ava!" Lilly chirps. Too cute. Too pure for the nonsense around us.
Okay fine. I like the kid.
I wave back. "Hey Lilly."
My mother interrupts my moment of warmth. "Let me show you to your room, my child."
Instant mood kill.
The room she takes me to is… purple. Everywhere. Different shades. Lavender, plum, lilac. Even the teddy bear on the bed is purple. She knows it's my favorite color. I should hate it. But a small part of me remembered why I loved purple as a kid.
I fail.
"I hope you like it," she says.
I don't respond.
She tries again, "Well you've met everyone, including Kade who brought you here… I wonder where he is… anyway feel at home my daughter."
My worst fears confirmed. Mr grumpy is indeed my step brother. And his name is Kade. How amusing. I'll cry about it later.
"I'm not your daughter, Kira."
I say it flat. Cold. And I watch the words hit her like a slap.
And for a moment… I almost ask where dad is.
Just to hurt her back.