At least someone is excited to help me. To see me, even.
Triumphantly pushing the cart with all of my belongings, Rolland smiles down at me. “The manor awaits, Miss Charlotte.”
I grin at him, my eyes scouting the crowd. I’d really like to avoid someone stomping on my foot as we navigate out of the airport. I let out a loud gasp as a familiar scent wafts under my nose and dark eyes bore into me from a few feet away.
The creeper who collided into me at the escalator.
I quicken my steps to stay right next to Rolland, dragging my eyes away from the man whose eerie stare is now seared into my memory.
* * *
I sit in the backseat of Rolland’s Town Car, taking in the sights. High rises and cluttered sidewalks turn into unkept lawns and dilapidated houses before we cross over the train tracks. We weave through the busy streets of the bustling town center of Ridgeview. As the sprawling lawns and castle-like mansions come into view, I finally feel like I am home.
At least, in the geographical sense.
It’s bittersweet. When my parents announced I’d be returning to finish my senior year state-side, I, of course, asked them why. It was a normal question, or so I thought. And like the naïve girl I clearly still am, I was hopeful about their answer. A tiny part of me wished they’d tell me their lives had been empty and meaningless since I’d left. But they, in true Hawthorne fashion, told me that they wanted me home for business reasons. Not because they missed me. Not because they wanted to have a relationship with their only child. Nope, I was an afterthought. But money? That’s always the priority, not that I understand how bringing me home could make my father even richer. They were dripping with the stuff, richer than most would have ever dreamed of being. To say I don’t get their logic is an understatement, but I was the kid and they were the adults. Whatever they say goes, and I have to just go along with it. It’s the Hawthorne way.
Sometimes I wish my father would lose everything so he could see that what he does have...namely me...is worth so much more.
So I was forced to leave London and the few friends I’d made. It was sad, but in my heart, I knew it was the right thing for me. I never really fit in at boarding school. I was a Yank playing make-believe over and over.
The Town Car slowly rolls past the guard house into the long, winding driveway, the tires coming to a halt outside the front entrance.
“We’re here,” Rolland sings out before rushing to my door to open it for me.
I take in the sight of Hawthorne Manor, swallowing hard. It is bigger and more menacing than I remembered.
Rolland pushes open the front door and the delicious scent of osso buco floods my nostrils as we enter the grand foyer. Moira remembered. It is my favorite meal ever.
Someone loves me.
My mother ambles into the marble-adorned room with a tight-lipped grin on her unwrinkled face, her arms stretched out wide.
That face has sure been pumped with lots of filler and Botox since I’ve seen her last.
No surprise there.
“Charlotte,” she coos, stepping toward me. “How was your flight, darling?”
I walk into her perfumed embrace, breathing in the sweet smell of Chanel No.5, her signature aroma. It’s both comforting and disconcerting. The smell makes me remember so many things I long to forget.
“It was fine. Long.” I finger-comb my lengthy blonde curls to fluff them out. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’ll be home in the morning from a business trip in Chicago. I thought it would be nice for this evening to be a girls’ night! Won’t that be fun?”
My mother’s singsong voice echoes in the space as I sigh with relief. I don’t know if I am ready to see my father yet.
“I should shower and get ready for dinner.” I step toward the familiar staircase like nothing has changed. Like no time has passed since I’ve been in this oppressive mansion.
Like no time’s passed since Xander spewed those hateful words at me and stormed out of this very foyer.
“Moira will unpack for you once you’re a little more settled.” My mother squeezes my hand before I retreat.
It was the nicest encounter we have had in ages. Did it really take a year and a half away from me to turn her from a fembot into a real mother, the kind who can show her only daughter the tiniest bit of affection? I mean, she seemed happy to see me. The nagging feeling of the past few moments being an act floods my mind. There is something going on...something they aren’t telling me, and damn, I’d like to know what it is. Later. There will be plenty of time for investigation later. Right now, I need a scalding hot shower to singe off the airplane stench.
And osso buco.
In that order.
I wander into my room, which has been completely untouched as if it was a time capsule of the last night I had spent in it, consumed with soul-crushing anger and sorrow.
Memories of that night come rushing back. The stomach-churning realization that I lost the most important person to me in one night reared its ugly head, and suddenly, I was no longer hungry for Moira’s osso buco.
Showering seemed like the most daunting task imaginable, but I had to scrub away the hurtful feelings and awful stench of the last twenty-four hours. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the hot water. I’ve always adored this space in my suite. It was customized especially for me. The three-jet shower that soaks my entire body perfectly. The gorgeous claw-foot tub. The little hints of pinks and gold in the off-white granite and marble that covered all of the surfaces.
The comforts of home.
I really should be happier about seeing my parents more than being back in my plush spa bathroom. But it is what it is. And I will take what I can get.
As the water rushes over my pale skin, my mind wanders and my gut clenches. I don’t know what to think—how to feel—about being here again. Anger bubbles in my veins, the very thing I’d been so anxious to wash away when I stepped into this large glass enclosure.
Well, that and the airplane odor.
I clench my fists, letting out a screech that I know no one will hear. It’s a pathetic attempt to relieve my frustration when I really want to scream and yell at the people who caused it in the first place.
Know your place, Lottie.
I can almost hear my father’s condescending voice speak those words.
Do as I say, Lottie.
Rage courses through me, my breaths short and sharp.
I know what’s best for you, Lottie.
The hell you do, Dad!
I clutch the sides of my head. They don’t give a damn about me. I was always the last person on the totem pole, the one who remained after their precious son had died in a horrific car wreck. I became the trophy daughter, the one who was only to be seen and not heard.
Until I rattled their cage and brought home a boy whose family was the antithesis of all things Hawthorne. So to keep us apart and to keep the family name free from tarnish, they shipped me off to another country, forcing me to leave the one person who always put me first.
How sad that I can’t say either of my parents ever put me first for anything.
But none of that matters. Soon I will be free of this place. One more year. That’s what I have to remind myself over and over. One more miserable year and I can cut ties and move away. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just far away.
I don’t know where I want to go, yet. But it will be spectacular because it will be my choice, my decision. The first time I can truly spread my wings and fly. Be out of the Hawthorne cage and away from all of the bullshit that comes with those terrible bars that have had me trapped for the last almost eighteen years.
Maybe I will be the first woman to go to college to actually learn and make something of myself, not to find a rich husband. I could be the first real business woman with the Hawthorne name or even become a teacher. That would really piss my father off. I can just hear him now, yelling about how Hawthornes don’t work menial jobs. But how could molding young, imp
ressionable minds be menial? It seems like the most noble thing in the world.
Glancing in the mirror, I mutter to myself, “Miss Hawthorne, English teacher and life changer.” I really like the sound of that. Something with purpose. Something with substance. Something more than just living off of Daddy’s money and being a pretty face at cocktail parties.
Don’t get me wrong, some women dream for the life I have, and I don’t blame them in the slightest. I just want it to be my decision and not because it is what is expected of me, forced on me.
Mainly, I want to make myself proud of the life I live.
I wrap myself in a fluffy pink towel and slump back into my bedroom. Sinking onto my plush, white and lilac comforter, I glance at the single picture frame standing on the nightstand, a selfie of me and Xander at the beach a few weeks before I told him I was leaving. I can’t believe my father didn’t insist on throwing it away when I left. Not like he ever came in my room anyway. He probably just had Moira lock it up and never thought about this wing of the house again.
I pick up the frame and stare at it...the two bright-eyed teenagers who just finished their midterms for their sophomore year and looked ready to take on the world. It was cold out, too chilly to be at the beach. We didn’t care as we grinned like fools bundled up under thick jackets and a blanket, looking like we had it all.
I really thought we did. And from the looks of the picture, Xander felt the same way.
My grip tightens around the frame, my mouth twisting into a grimace.
“I loved you,” I hiss, scowling at his handsome face. “And you left me! You threw me away just like my parents did!” I yell, throwing the frame against the wall, the glass shattering into a million shards.
Just like my heart did over a year ago.
I’ll never forget his words. They’ve haunted my dreams since I last saw him.
“You were everything to me. Now you’re nothing. We are nothing.”
I foolishly thought he’d be the one person I could always count on, the one person who’d never let me down, the person who would always be happy to see me...and to love me.
My spine stiffens as I glare at the broken frame.
He’s as bad as my father.
Neither one of them give a shit about me.
And the time that has passed has proven to me that there really is only one person I can only count on.
Me.
Chapter 2
Xander
“Listen, you fucking punk. Don’t ever try to cross me again! I give the orders, got it? You don’t do shit unless I say the word!”
Hairs on the back of my neck prickle, my fists clenching tightly at my sides. I wanna launch one of them right at my brother Jase’s twitching jaw.
“They’re coming, Jase. If we don’t stop it now, we’re screwed. You know what they have on us. And you know they’ll use it if we don’t end this!”
“You take the orders, you don’t give them. I’m the one in charge here, not you. But you never seem to remember that, Xander. Maybe this time I need to show you instead of telling you.” He pokes me in the chest, narrowing his eyes at me. Eyes that spit malice and anger and disgust, things he’s made no effort to hide over the past few years.
That’s the thanks I get for saving his pathetic excuse of a life.
You’re fucking welcome, Jase.
But deep within the depths I see something else lurking.
Fear.
At least he’s not too stupid to be scared of what we all know will become of our family if the people who killed the last boss, Massimo Lanza, infiltrate our territory. They’ve been laying low, biding their time, but lately there’s been chatter. And activity. Very dark and seedy shit that makes me painfully aware that a strike is coming. I’m surprised they waited at all since they already have all our balls in a vise. But when it does come, because there’s no way it won’t, it’ll be swift and devastating for all of us.
“Threaten me all you want, but while you’re swinging your dick around, Moretti is getting stronger. He knows how to crush us. Why can’t you see that?”
He shoves me backward into a wall. My shoulder slams into the doorframe, sending a sharp pain down my arm, but I refuse to flinch. Jesus, I wanna kick the shit out of him. One time is all I’d need and he’d never lay another finger on me again to teach me a lesson about respecting authority. “That club is off-limits, Xander,” he hisses, raking a hand through his hair. “Never question my decisions!”
“When your decisions are gonna get us killed, I think I have the right to,” I growl, straightening my shirt.
“You have no rights, understand?” He gets in real close, sneering at me. “You don’t take action unless you’re given an order. And your order tonight is to stay the fuck away from that club!”
My shoulders quake as I try to control my breathing. “This is your fault, Jase! When are you gonna own up to it?” I yell.
He jumps at me, clutching the sides of my shirt in his hands and pushing me against the wall with his weight. His eyes blaze, fire shooting from the depths, his face a mask of disdain.
“You think you have all the answers, don’t you? You think because you made one decent play in this whole fucking sick and twisted game that you’re worthy of more, huh?” He shakes his head, never moving his eyes from my face. “You’re wrong.”
He lets me go, grabs his keys and storms over to the front door, turning back to me with a death glare. “Stand the fuck down.”
He pulls open the door of our parents’ house and slams it shut as he stomps down the front steps. I can hear the engine of his car roar to life, the tires squealing on the cement as he pulls away from the curb.
My heart thunders in my chest. How the fuck can my father keep Jase in charge? His head is stuffed so far up his ass, he can’t even see what’s in front of him.
Phoenix wouldn’t let this happen.
He wouldn’t let Dad wait around for Moretti to attack.
He’d be the one to stop it before it happened.
And Dad would let him because he respects and trusts him.
But me? I have no say or control. Nobody gives a damn about what I think. I’m nothing. A fucking peon who’s proven himself plenty of times, made the family a crap ton of money, and gotten shit on regardless.
I gave up my whole life for this family. I walked away from everything good, from Charlotte, the one person I loved, and I let myself sink into this hell because it was expected. I fucking hate the monster I’ve become and the things I’ve done to get whatever slivers of respect I can in return.
I’m sick of it.
I despise my life, but I’m not ready to give it up because what the hell else is out there for me?
But I’m not gonna wait around for Moretti to destroy us.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, my trembling fingers stabbing the keyboard.
I’m gonna fucking take care of him myself.
Chapter 3
Charlotte
“So, sweetie, tell me…” My mother glances up from her plate at the other end of the long mahogany dining table. “Are you excited for your first day of school?”
I shrug. “Sure.” I offer up the simple answer to be polite.
In all reality, the answer is: hell no.
“Your friends will be happy to see you,” she continues her feeble attempt at small talk with not even a hint of inflection in her voice. She is just as bored with this conversation as I am.
What friends? You took them all from me.
“I guess.” I slurp the last of the decadent osso buco down, savoring the last bit of comfort food. After letting the delicious flavors roll around in my mouth for a moment.
“I have set up your riding schedule with Harper at the barn. I know that Midnight Jewel will be very excited to have you back.”
Surprising, I am really excited to get back to riding. Yes, I hated it. Yes, it was annoying. But it was something to help me pass the time while I am back in Ridgev
iew.
“Thank you. It will be nice to get back in the saddle again.” If I am being honest, I felt like I needed to find more hobbies in life, and if horseback riding was on the table, I’d take it in a heartbeat without complaint. Another opportunity for substance in an otherwise pointless life.
Eyeing my mother, something feels off. Her skin is pale, even with all of the time she takes getting fake tans sprayed on her nipped, tucked, and liposuctioned body. Her pupils are dilated. Her head is listing from one side to the other slowly. She has to be on something.
“Are you all right?” I am genuinely concerned. I know I shouldn’t be questioning anything. If she did take a pill or snort something up her nose, at least it is making our encounters more pleasant than usual.
“Of course, honey. Why do you ask?” My mother bats her newly tinted eyelashes at me as a lazy smile spreads on her filled lips.
“Just wondering. You seem a little sleepy.”
“Just a long day.”
What could ever be long about my mother’s day? She gets pampered for a living. Between shopping therapy and visits to the spa, Mrs. Hawthorne should be the most relaxed woman on the planet.
Glancing over to the mantel, a familiar sting settles in deep. My big brother’s beaming face while he holds an MVP trophy is smack dab in the middle of all of our family pictures. He and I look exactly alike—same blue eyes, high cheekbones, blond hair. Just another reminder of the perfect child I would never measure up to. Fuck. I miss him. He was my only protector in that house. Charles Hawthorne’s prized son was nothing like his predecessor. My brother was warm, caring, and full of life in the best of ways. He never made me feel unwanted or not good enough.
Forcing myself to look back at my mother, I can see her eyes turning into slits. Time to call it a night.
Puppet: Ridgeview Prep Book 1 Page 2