“You’re breaking up with me?” Her volume rises. “But we’re going on holiday together. I’ve been telling people all week.”
“And now you’ve got some new drama for them.” I pause, but her face is set in stubborn refusal. “Dad wants to use our relationship to strike a deal with your father. It’s not fair on either of us.”
“The senior dance is next week.” It’s like my words don’t even register. “You bought us tickets. You paid for my dress.” She suddenly clutches my arm. “Is this about sex? Because I’m ready if you are. I’m happy to—”
“No, Chelsea. I’m just not attracted to you.”
Her expression tightens, making calculations, then her eyes narrow. “Jameson wrote your papers.” She takes a step closer. “I could get you expelled.”
“Maybe. It hasn’t taken much lately.” I shrug like the threat didn’t just kick my pulse up a gear. “But he’s your contact and if you come for me like that, I won’t be the only one who pays.”
Her face is still dazed, and I offer her a final sweetener.
“You can tell everyone it was your idea. Make up any reason you like, I’ll go along with it. I really don’t care.” And it might avert catastrophe with her father.
My feet turn towards the door, and she blurts out, “What happened with the deal?”
I stare blankly, and she clicks her tongue impatiently.
“The business deal. Because if you think my father will work with yours after this…?” She pokes my chest and I push her finger away.
“I don’t think that, Chelsea, but I also don’t give a shit what our fathers do with their businesses.”
This time I reach the ornate entrance door and turn the handle.
“Is it because I’m not damaged enough for you?” Chelsea’s voice turns vicious. “Do you prefer your girls broken and pathetic? Is that what makes you hard?”
My jaw tightens, and I grip the doorhandle harder. “Goodbye, Chelsea.”
“Fuck you.”
I close the door, striding towards the car. Behind me, I hear something shatter. Glass or porcelain thrown against a wall.
I don’t look back, just get into the car and turn my phone on silent.
This part was easy.
Arriving home where my father will be furious? Stepping into the same mansion my mother had been leaving when her car hit a tree and burst into flames? That’s another story.
Ophelia’s image fills my mind, and I steer my car towards home.
When I’m near the house, Dad’s car and chauffeur drive past me, the shadow of a young girl in the back seat, her head bowed.
A sour taste floods my mouth. Another one.
Another broken girl my father’s used and discarded.
I park my car around the side of the house, ready for a quick getaway. I scan the foyer before entering, empty, then make my way through the dining room.
In the kitchen, there are two glasses on the bench, an expensive brand of vodka beside them.
Footsteps sound from down the hall and a minute later, my father enters the room. His face is greasy with sweat from his exertions, hair dangling in damp strands around his face.
He snatches the vodka, taking a long pull straight from the bottle.
“We need to talk.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel, one quick movement away from full-blown panic.
His phone sits on the marble island, and he picks it up, scrolling through messages.
