Listening to her drone on while tutoring me numbs my mind into oblivion. She's acting like this is the most important thing in her life, all for a silly little commendation letter? Does she not realize that Oxford will be begging for her regardless of some stupid letter?
“Relax, we have plenty of time,” I interrupt her hastily. my tone isn't as venomous as it usually is, but that's mostly because our previous encounter had drained me.
“Juliette,” she speaks my name harshly, glaring at me, “I'm not going to let your incompetent nature and your contentment with your average grades ruin my chances for a commendation letter!”
This. Bitch.
This is what it takes to bother Adaline Emery? She is completely nonchalant and monotonous even when we were discussing how I would sleep with her.
Yet, as soon as the conversation is steered towards grades and letters, she is absolutely infuriated. All this time I could have just used her future at Oxford to get her attention. To get her reactions. To have her absolutely livid.
Unbelievable.
“You are so fucking dramatic!” I groan out. “Of course, I’m content with my grades! There’s nothing wrong with having average grades. You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll stop being so high-strung.”
She laughs lowly. “High-strung? Why the fuck do you think I’m so high-strung? I don’t get to be average, Juliette. Only people likeyouget that option.”
“People like me?”
“Rich,spoiledcunts that get everything handed to them.” Her precise enunciation fills my body with rage. But she doesn't stop. “You get to be average, to revel in the safety of your money. I don’t get that luxury.”
“If you had my life, you’d be the same,” I spit out, standing up in fury.
“No, I wouldn’t.” She shakes her head with a shrug and I arch my eyebrow prompting her to continue. “I’d actually make use of my money for something other than making other people miserable—”
“Oh, please.” I scoff, cutting her off. I haven’t made everyone miserable—just people that bother me. Like when I told my mother to pull some strings and get Kelly Mitchell fired as a teacher from Richmond because she refused to give my phone back after detention. Or when I smashed Brock Johnson’s car windows when he parked in my spot.
To be fair, he deserved it; everyone knows he’s an asshole. The point is that I don’t make everyone miserable. Just don’t cross me and you’ll be fine. What good is money if I can’t use it to get my way?
She ignores me. “I would buy every advantage I could, anything that would help me excel. I wouldneverbe average.” She pauses and her eyes rake me up and down, making me sweat. “I wouldn’t be like you, Juliette, I’d be muchworse.”
The wicked glint in her green eye and her confident stature sends a thrill down my spine. Of course. She isn’t mad about me being spoiled, she’s mad that I don’t use it to my advantage the “proper” way. I guess I’m better than her then, because I wouldn’t use my money to get ahead academically; I don’t care enough to do that.
I’ve never had to care enough.
“Juliette!” a voice calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I know that voice. The same shrill, but somehow still loving voice I'm used to hearing when she isn't away on business trips. My mother.
Chapter FIVE
A d a l i n e
Identicalicy blue eyes, the same golden-blonde hair, barring the slight grey hairs. Every time I look at Samantha Kingston I feel as though I'm seeing a vision of what Juliette will look like in thirty years. She should be elated that she'll be an absolute milf when she gets older; a repressed, bitchy milf, but a milf nonetheless.
When I heard her shrill voice calling for Juliette from downstairs, I couldn't even react before Juliette rushed down instantly. Of course, I didn't have much choice but to do the same.
So, that's where we are now, standing in front of Samantha Kingston who's looking at me with contempt and her daughter with a soft look of indifference.
She's wearing a long beige coat, a leather belt wrapped in the middle, and a Chanel scarf wrapped around her neck. I have to give it to her, she is fashionable. Or is she just filthy rich? Is there really a difference?
“Adaline,” she greets disdainfully, acknowledging me with a slight nod.
I nod back. “Miss Kingston.”
I hate her. I've hated her ever since I was a child and she tried to use her power and money to implement homophobic rules at Richmond academy, which thankfully, didn’t work.
I’ve hated her ever since she told me that being bisexual was disgusting, but not as bad as being gay, because I still had a chance of ending up with a man.
