Kapitel 14: Chapter 14
It's been two weeks since the incident at Kelsey's house. And less than two months away until Bahadur's secret party that no one knows the location to. Only on the day of the party will he be sending out vehicles to fetch every guest. Vance is not happy about the timeline being moved up, but not unhappy enough to go against his father. And despite the debacle surrounding that, all that's been on my mind is someone that has no place being in it.
Botan.
He's reached out. Many times. Texts and calls that go unanswered because I fear I might cave to whatever lies he would whisper, even when knowing the truth. Even if I told my dad, there is nothing he could do. He can't exactly tell a die hard thug to back off.
"Argh."
Silas's voice snaps me back to reality. Frank opens the car door for my father and we all climb out. A guard is posted at the front door and another mills around the yard. Colton's men are no longer hiding. They follow me everywhere I go. Everywhere. Except inside the house.
"That was the longest ceremony. Ever," Silas says with a tortured groan. "That's going to cost you, old man," he says, pulling dad into an aggressive side hug. "That took at least two years off my life."
Dad chuckles. "Who you calling old?"
We approach the front door, and the guard opens it without looking.
"These came in for you this morning, Miss Du Pont."
The moment I step through the heavy oak doors into the house, the air shifts. The scent of flowers—once sweet, now oppressive—fills my lungs, thick and heady like perfume left out too long. The entryway is vast, but it feels claustrophobic, suffocated by an overwhelming presence of black. Every surface is consumed by flowers. Roses, lilies, orchids have all been dyed or dipped in the deepest shades of black. Their velvety petals shimmer like obsidian, an eerie reflection of light in the bright room. Some are arranged in elaborate displays along the walls, while others cascade in bouquets from the ceiling, as though the house itself is weeping black flora.
The entryway spills into the living room, where the scene intensifies. It's a strange, otherworldly plethora. The black blooms claim every inch of space, from the floor to the ceiling. There's barely a glimpse of the original décor—the furniture is drowned in this sea of black petals.
I hear their voices, but even though they're close, the boys' voices are like distant echoes. Too mesmerized for my senses to take anything in but the exquisite flowers.
My phone pings. I hurry to fish it out.
Unknown: I didn't know what kind of flowers you liked. So I bought them all.
"Ooo, there's a card."
My head lifts and I dash out of the living room to the corridor. Silas plucks out a card from a bundle of black roses. I demand him to give it back, but he refuses, moving it out of reach by extending his hand up in the air.
"Give it back."
"Or what?"
"Dad!"
Silas laughs. "Still expect daddy to fight your battles?"
He opens the envelope. Dad hovers behind him and snatches it out of his hand. Silas huffs and dad walks over to give me the card, planting a quick kiss on my forehead. I grin back at him, then at Silas, waving it triumphantly in my hand. Sometimes, I love being the youngest.
"Daddy's little girl, remember?"
I whirl around, fleeing upstairs before he thinks of retaliation. I slip the card out of the envelope and there is only one sentence written in the middle. It's addressed to me but it's not signed.
I obviously already know who it's from.
Next time we dance under the stars
***
The gentlemen's club we're dining at has been closed off to host this private function. It has the same aesthetic of a 1920s speakeasy in the prohibition era. With an old-money ambiance right down to even the music they play. I sit at the table with Colton, Vance and principal investors.
And I'm the only woman present.
Some of them smoke cigars, wafting plumes as they nurse their whiskey.
"Avara."
I erect. Vance has his arm draped over the head of my chair. He lifts his hand so his thumb can graze over my skin with idle circles, his hand meandering to the small of my back. I don't know if he's doing it to calm me, but he's making me even more fretful. Fortunately, I work well under pressure. Most of the time.
"I might say, your reputation precedes you," a man says with his hairline entering a recession. "An advocate for the destitute with your hand in foundations and successful charity endeavors. With a bioengineering degree on the side." He frees a throaty laugh. "You are most impressive. Your father is lucky to have such a devoted daughter. We all know you were the backbone of his campaign."
Colton smiles at the glowing praise as if it was intended for him.
"Oh, no. My father's accomplishments are all his own," I say, tinkering a damaged smile. "I have done nothing but support him."
He points at me but looks at Vance. "She's a keeper, Vance. The obedient ones are difficult to come by these days."
The men share a round of laughs.
"Enforcement would be unnecessary in the event of their compliance. But now the rise of feminism has deluded them into thinking they have a choice," another man says, leaning closer as if to share a secret with those of us at the table. "They never did, but we can allow them that delusion. That's why you need to find yourself a good woman; one that can cook and one good in bed. And pray they never meet."
The room fills with roaring laughter. A sickening sound.
I look at Vance to say something, but he doesn't. And I find that I don't either.
I can't. Even if I could, I don't have a good enough comeback that would slap that nauseating smile off his face. Or even the bravery to do just that. And the general assumption made about me makes me think. Perhaps I am a bit too dutiful, maybe too obedient. When it comes to the men in my life—I never asked questions because I never knew I had reason to.
"Gentlemen," Colton reproaches, his voice like a judge striking his gavel. "I will not dignify such crude behavior with my attention, particularly in the presence of a lady of her stature," he says, his gaze drawing to me. "You shouldn't speak about any woman like that. They are gifts from God himself meant to be revered. And above all, respected. You should be worshiping the ground your wives walk on."
After the early dinner, Vance takes me home. Mr Vacheron jets off to yet another meeting.
"Something is bothering you."
I keep my gaze outside the window. "You don't know me well enough to deduce that."
"You're upset with me because I said nothing back there."
"Kind of," I blurt, pivoting to face him. "What ghastly men. These are the people you indulge?"
"It's only business," he says firmly. "My father was present, and I didn't want to incur his wrath by offending key investors. It was better that the chiding came from him."
"Clearly wasn't going to come from you," I mutter.
"What's that?" he asks with budding anger in his voice. "If you have something to say, don't mumble like some illiterate degenerate. Do you have something to say?"
So much to say. Instead, I say, "No."
When I arrive back home, the Rolls Royce speeds off the moment I exit the vehicle.
I greet the guards on duty. "Jasper… Anthony."
They respond with twin terse nods.
I enter the house and just a second in, I can tell I'm home alone. Too quiet.
I take off my heels by the door and I walk to the staircase, trotting up the steps, humming a melody. I go to my room, open my door and my shoes drop to the floor. A formidable and sharp silhouette stands in front of my window with his hands in his deep pockets. My eyes dart to the pistol on the bed. Terror thunders through me, vaporizing my breaths.
"Bella." The name brushes softly against my cheek, like a whispered caress. "I've been waiting for you."
Geschenke
-- Geschenk
erhalten Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein