by Wendi Wilson
I pushed myself up from the floor and began pacing while I spoke.
“I have no idea, and that scares me.”
“Me, too,” he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. “You have all the ideas, good and bad.”
“Ha. Ha,” I quipped, my voice oozing with sarcasm before my shoulders drooped. “She somehow snuck into Mason’s bedroom. My bedroom. How did she do that, Seth?”
“I hope you don’t think I—”
“No. No,” I assured him with a dismissive wave. “I know you haven’t been helping her, dumbass.”
I gave him a small smile to lighten the blow of my insult. He looked relieved, like the prospect of me not trusting him again bothered him. A lot. I walked toward him, stopping in front of him and reaching down to place my palm on his shoulder.
“I trust you, Seth. And you trust me.” It wasn’t a question. “We’ll figure this out, together.”
Because making the farce of the Rogues and Roguettes being together a reality was unacceptable.
“Okay,” he said, rising from his chair, “the first thing we need to do is figure out how she got into your room. Can you pull up the video so I can see it?”
“Uh,” I hedged, drawing out the sound for several seconds.
“I know,” Seth said, frowning. “Believe me, I don’t want to see you naked, getting it on with my best friend any more than you want me to see it. But if we’re going to figure this out, I need to see the camera angle.”
“Fine,” I groaned, slipping my phone from my pocket and pulling up the video.
I slid my finger across the screen, skipping the clips she got of us in public. When I reached the frames of me and Mason in my room, I tapped pause and looked at Seth expectantly.
“Let’s go to my room,” I said. “We’ll be able to figure out the angle better if we watch it in there.”
We headed into my room, and Seth stared over my shoulder at my phone screen as I held it up toward my bed. I’d frozen the clip at just the right moment to make this the least embarrassing for both of us. I was mostly hidden underneath Mason’s body, his tight, naked ass being the only private part visible to the camera.
“This isn’t right,” Seth said, his voice low and clinical. “We need to move left.”
We shimmied to the side, stopping when the angle looked right. “We’re too close,” I said, and we shuffled backward, comparing the image on the screen to our current view.
Our progress was halted when we bumped into the bookshelf. My eyes widened as I looked from my phone screen to Seth, and we spun around to look at the shelves.
It was a three-shelf cabinet screwed into the wall at eye-level, painted white with intricate carvings around the edges—a gift from my mom not long after we moved in. One shelf held a handful of books, but most of the space was taken up by trinkets, photo frames, and collectible figurines. Characters from my favorite movies stared at me with round, black eyes set in oversized heads. A photo of me and Mason occupied one frame, while another contained a snapshot of me, Josh, and Simone.
My eyes travelled over all my treasures, freezing on something that didn’t belong.
“What is this?” I asked, reaching for a small white box partially hidden behind one of the frames.
Seth plucked it from my fingertips and popped it open. Inside was a small, black device with a lens and an antenna. He stared at it for a moment before snapping the lid closed and turning wild eyes on me.
“It’s a camera,” he breathed, and I felt the blood rush from my face.
“But…how?” I stuttered.
“I don’t know,” he said, his lips tightening with anger. “We need to search the whole house. Let’s start with my room.”
As I followed him back to his bedroom, the wheels in my head were spinning on overdrive. Who hid that camera in my room? And how long had it been there?
Charlotte had never been inside the house, as far as I knew, and Seth hadn’t had Amelia over since the night she drugged me and took a bunch of raunchy photos to post online. That was nearly a year ago, and I was fairly certain Mom surprised me with that bookshelf after that night.
Our home was a mansion with a top of the line security system. No way had one of those idiot Roguettes broken in and hidden the camera.
But if not them, then who?
“Found something,” Seth called out, pulling me from my inner musings.
I hurried over to stand beside him, watching as he pulled his desk out of the corner. Attached to the side, just beneath the lip of the desk’s top, was a small black box nearly identical to the one we found in my room. I looked over my shoulder, confirming what I’d feared. From that position, the camera had a clear view of Seth’s bed.
Where he’d been spending a lot of time with Stella lately.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. We were so fucked if Charlotte showed any of the footage to the Bellamys. Stella, most of all.
After searching the rest of the house, we found cameras hidden in the television room, the kitchen, the parlor, and two out by the pool. Thank God there were none to be found in any of the bathrooms or Mom and Atticus’s bedroom.
“We need to find out how these got here,” I said as I watched Seth place each camera in a black bag before tying it off and tossing it onto a shelf in the garage.
“I doubt Charlotte could have snuck in here and planted all these without being caught. And Gerald never would have let her in the front door.”
The thought of the spry old butler standing toe to toe with Charlotte Rutherford made me smile, but it quickly fell. If she didn’t manage to get inside and hide all this equipment, then who did?
“It had to be someone on the staff,” Seth muttered in a low voice.
“The staff?” I asked dumbly.
“One of the housekeepers or kitchen staff, most likely,” he answered, nodding.
“Not Holly,” I breathed.
“No, I don’t think so. She’s been our chef since before I was born. But she’s a perfectionist in the kitchen, so the turnover rate for her assistants is pretty high.”
“So, it could’ve been anyone, and they may or may not still be employed here. We have no idea how long these have been here, so there’s no way to narrow it down. Awesome.”
“Don’t give up just yet, Chaz. We just need to come up with a plan.”
“Well, Charlotte already got the footage she needs, so I doubt she’ll have her spy replace these,” I said, waving a hand toward the bag.
“You’re probably right, but I’m going to hide my own camera in my room to see if someone sneaks in here. In the meantime, I’ll talk to Amelia. If Charlotte bragged to anyone about her plan, it would be her.”
“You can’t trust anything she says, Seth. You know that, right? Those bitches would think it’s hilarious to see one of your loyal staff members get fired over something they didn’t do.”
“You’re right,” he said, “but we have to start somewhere.”
He leaned back against the wall, staring at the floor. When his eyes lifted to meet mine, his irises were a few shades darker than normal.
“I’m sorry you got tangled up in this. I’m sure you thought this life was a fairy tale when you moved in, and it’s been one nightmare after another for you.”
“I don’t believe in fairy tales,” I said. “And I don’t suffer from nightmares. This is my reality, and I’ll deal with it, just like I always have.”
6
“Goddamn it.”
Mason paced the barren field, kicking rocks as he dragged his fingers through his already-mussed hair. After my talk with Seth, I’d had the Kincaid driver, Marcus, drive me back to school to pick up my car. Then I asked Seth to text Mason and ask him to meet me here.
Seth had also instructed him to take an Uber, because there was no way Charlotte had followed us every time we went out. No way she hid in the bushes, waiting to get some good footage for that video. We would have seen her. Noticed something.
No, if the
re were cameras in our homes, I’d bet my ass there was some sort of tracker on Mason’s Jeep. If she was monitoring it, she’d see he was heading out of town and assume I was with him.
“So there are cameras in my pool house, too,” he said, his voice tinted with anger.
“There have to be,” I replied, keeping my voice soft and calm.
“Let me see the video,” he ordered.
I paused, studying him for a moment. I’d only told him what Charlotte said, giving him a brief, toned-down description of the video, and he was already losing his shit. If he saw how awful it actually was…
“Chaz,” he said, holding out his hand expectantly.
I huffed a sigh and queued up the video before handing my phone to him. He tapped the screen and watched the whole sordid thing, his face turning a scary shade of scarlet I’d never seen on him before.
“That fucking whore!” he shouted, his face turned to the late afternoon sky. “Fuck!”
He handed the phone back, then wrapped his hand behind my neck. Tilting my head back so he could look into my eyes, he took a few calming breaths before speaking.
“I’m so sorry, baby.”
I’ve never seen Mason Bellamy look so distraught. Not when he hated himself for being a part of the plot to take me down last year. Not when I destroyed him in return. Not when he told me about his parents’ threat to send his twin to Europe to marry some old geezer.
“I’m not,” I whispered back, knowing this was what he needed to hear. “Despite everything that’s happened, I’m not sorry, Mason. Having you and the others in my life is a gift, and everything we’ve been through has only made me appreciate it more.”
His mouth was on mine before the last word was out. I kissed him with wild abandon, pouring my emotions into it, hoping he could feel the truth. The commitment. The love.
Then I broke it off, taking several steps back. My chest heaved with each ragged breath I took. And I had to force my legs to remain still when they threatened to run back to him.
“We have to be more careful,” I explained as his arms reached for me again. “We have to assume Charlotte is everywhere.”
“I can’t be without you, Chaz.”
“I know, and I feel the same. But we have to stay apart for a little while. At least, until we figure out some other way to keep Stella safe.”
Saying those words was like a fucking knife to my own heart.
Reminding Mason of his sister only added to the creases of desolation in his expression. He swallowed thickly and nodded, despite his obvious desire to fight. Stella was, and had to remain his number one priority.
After last year, I got cocky. I had these big plans to take down Mason and Stella’s parents and save Stella from their insane threats. I was going to be the hero.
But nothing was going according to plan. Instead of planning some elaborate scheme to rescue Stella from their iron clutches, I was hiding in the shadows, cowering under the threats of Charlotte fucking Rutherford.
I refused to go down without a fight. I wanted to be with Mason. I wanted Josh to be with Theo, and Seth with Stella. I wanted us all to be one big happy family with Cooper and Simone, enjoying our last year of Everly Prep before we headed out into the world.
Charlotte needed to be stopped. The Bellamys deserved to be brought down a few pegs. These people had to learn they couldn’t just mess with people’s lives and get away with it.
And I wanted to be the one to teach them. I just didn’t know how.
“Mason and Stella’s parents are coming to dinner tonight.”
A popcorn kernel went down my windpipe as I involuntarily took a sharp breath. Seth paused the sappy romance movie we’d been watching and slapped his palm against my back as harsh coughs erupted from me.
“Sorry,” he said, once my airway cleared and the spasms stopped. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that, but I just got a text from Dad.”
“Why in the ever-loving fuck would your dad invite those assholes here? I thought he hated them.”
“I did, too,” he said, rising from the couch before pulling me up next to him. “Let’s go find out.”
We left the T.V. room in search of Atticus, finding him in his office. I’d only been in the room a handful of times, and I was still struck with awe as I stepped inside.
Soft cream-colored carpet cushioned each step I took toward Atticus’s desk, which was an enormous piece made from carved, glossy wood. My stepfather watched us approach with a resigned expression, his elbows propped on top of the shiny desk as he nodded toward two suede chairs the color of the ocean.
“I expected you sooner,” Atticus said, heaving a sigh.
“Well, Chaz tried to die by popcorn kernel when I told her,” Seth replied, his heavy tone making the joke fall flat.
Atticus shot me a concerned look, but I waved it off and asked, “Why would you invite them to dinner?”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his five o’clock shadow. “Trisha and I ran into Phin and Gwyneth at the club this morning. They basically invited themselves in that arrogant way of theirs, and I didn’t want to embarrass your mother by being rude and making a scene in public. I’m sorry, Chaz.”
“I can handle it,” I replied with a little more confidence than I was actually feeling.
“She shouldn’t have to, Dad,” Seth argued.
“It’s okay, Seth,” I said, resting a hand on his arm. “Besides, it’s high-time I met them, don’t you think? Time I came face-to-face with the assholes trying to ruin me?”
“Don’t take this lightly, Chaz,” Atticus said, his tone chastising me for my flippancy. “These people are not to be trifled with. I know it will be difficult, but I need you to try to remain calm. They will try to make you angry, and you must resist the urge to lash out.”
“I’ll try,” I said, nodding.
But I wasn’t promising anything more than that. I’d been waiting for a chance to meet those entitled pricks in person. If they pushed me—even one more inch—I was going to break. Every bit of anger and aggression I felt would come pouring out of me, and I wasn’t going to be able to stop it.
“Why do I get no relief from that statement?” Atticus asked.
Not expecting an answer, he gave me one last pleading look before waving a hand to shoo us out of his office. “Go on, now. I need to prepare myself for what is sure to be an interesting evening.”
Seth nodded and pulled me up from my chair. After we stepped into the hall, he pulled the door behind us, closing it with a soft click. He gave me a grave look and jerked his head to the right.
“Come on. Let’s go to my room, and I’ll prep you for what’s to come.”
“Why is everyone so worried about how I’ll handle myself? Do you think I have no self-control?” I mused, making sure I spoke loud enough for Atticus to hear me in his office.
“Oh, I know you have no self-control, especially when it comes to people trying to hurt or control you,” Seth said with a pained expression.
I had no doubt he was remembering what I’d done to him—I’d given him colon cleanse medication then recorded the aftermath and uploaded it to the internet. I felt terrible about that now. Since finding out Mason’s parents were the ones responsible for trying to destroy me last year, I’d stopped trying so hard to hate the Rogues…which left me with only guilt.
“Anyway,” Seth said, snapping me out of the memory, “preparation is never a waste of time. If you know more about what to expect, their behavior won’t shock you into reacting. Because Chaz, that’s what they want. A reaction.”
“One that will prove I’m trash and not worthy of them,” I said, nodding.
“Exactly,” he replied, looking relieved that I understood.
“Lead the way, sensei,” I said, holding out an arm. “Teach me your wise ways.”
Seth shook his head and chuckled. I smiled back, happy I could ease some of the tension.
What was in the past was in the p
ast. Whatever would be, would be. All that mattered was the present, and right now, I needed to prep myself for my biggest challenge yet—a civil dinner with Phineas and Gwyneth Bellamy.
7
“Thank you for having us—I’m sorry, is Trisha short for something more formal? Patricia, perhaps?”
The Bellamys had barely arrived and already, I was gritting my teeth so hard, my entire jaw hurt. Gwyneth’s very unsubtle dig at my mother’s common name was just the beginning, I knew. I needed to get it together before I pulled all that bitch’s red hair out.
It was obviously dyed by a master colorist. Nobody had hair that color, not naturally, anyway. It was the brightest shade I’d ever seen, and matched her lipstick perfectly.
“No, it’s just Trisha, I’m afraid,” my mom said, her tone congenial despite the insult. “This is my daughter, Chastity.”
“Nice to meet you, Chastity,” Gwyneth said, the lie obvious. “That’s an interesting name, as well.”
“A proper English name,” Phin said, and I detected a hint of a British accent.
Huh. I didn’t know Mason’s dad was from England.
“Well, I assure you,” I said, meeting Gwyneth’s eyes, the same bright blue as her children’s, “I am neither English nor chaste.”
As her gaze narrowed, accentuating the crow’s feet she’d tried so hard to hide with thick make-up, I gave myself a mental pat on the back for that one. I might not come from money like them, but I could play their games.
I reminded myself to be careful, though. I could make all the insinuations I wanted, but I could never directly admit I was still seeing Mason. I couldn’t let the anger get the best of me, or Stella would pay the price.
“Dinner is served.”
Everyone turned to see our chef, Holly, standing just outside the dining room. She stepped to the side as Atticus motioned for our guests to precede him. He shot Holly a wink, and she smiled in return.
Seth had coached me on how these dinner parties usually went—drinks and hors d’oeuvres in the parlor first, then dinner, then the men went to the library for cigars while the women retired to the parlor for idle gossip.
