A Hurt So Sweet Volume One: A Dark High School Bully Romance

by Rosewood, Betti

  I furrow my brows. God, this town is so fucked up. I yawn, stretching myself as I keep reading the manual. I still haven’t found all the answers I need, but I’m getting tired.

  The Firstborn’s names all blend together on the page. The rules, the stipulations, are all dancing in front of my eyes. My lids are heavy. My mind is full. I’m so exhausted from the long trip to Oakes Estate, I fall asleep in minutes.

  * * *

  My dreams are filled with distant memories of my past life.

  My sister, Andromeda, my friends, Estella and Milo all intertwine in a confusing dream of times that have passed me by.

  It’s been four years since I’ve seen them. Four years since I was forced to leave. Four years of being locked up in that boarding school. Milo and Stells are eighteen, nineteen now. My little sister is a year younger. And I’m almost eighteen… The number floats around in my dream, reminding me of my impending birthday.

  I’d tried to contact my friends from St Cecile’s, but the school prohibited personal phones. It was like a fucking jail there. Not that Eden Falls is much better.

  When I wake up, the sun is setting outside. I sit up on the bed, stretching and yawning. My dark maroon dress is creased from lying down, and a look in the mirror reveals I have a very serious case of bedhead. But there’s no time to worry – it’s already two minutes past seven, and I need to get downstairs for dinner.

  This time, when I try the door handle, it’s unlocked.

  I see the beautiful blonde girl on my way down, dusting a chest of drawers. She gives me a shy smile and bows but doesn’t address me. I keep walking until I reach the enormous dining room where a massive table that could easily fit twenty people beckons me, laden with delicious food.

  My father, Emilian Oakes, is sitting at one end of the table. My stepmother, Bryony, flanks him on one side, the empty seat on his other side meant for me. I walk toward it, pulling out the chair and sitting down while my new family regards me in disbelief.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m so happy to see you. I hope we can get to know each other better.”

  Nobody acknowledges what I’ve said. My sister glances at me with disinterest before returning to her meal, and Brazen doesn’t even lift his gaze from his plate.

  “You’re late.” My father’s voice is icy, and as my eyes connect with his, I feel like I’ve committed the worst faux pas known to mankind.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, reaching for one of the salad bowls.

  “Unacceptable,” my father goes on. “And you look like a goddamn mess, daughter.”

  I’m not quite sure whether he’s joking. I am only five minutes late, anyway. But a look at my siblings and stepmother’s faces reveals this is more than serious. I’m in big trouble.

  “Well I’m sorry,” I grimace. “By the by. Did you know the maid locked me in my room?”

  “Of course,” my father replies with a seething glare. “Belle is under strict instructions to do that.”

  “But why?” I argue. “Are you afraid I’m going to run away? I guess the only way to leave is to jump off the freaking cliffs.”

  Their silence tells me everything I need to know. I know I’ve poked at old wounds, and I regret it, but only for a moment. I turn to face my father expectantly.

  He clears his throat before setting down his napkin and saying, “The rules we set for you, daughter, are meant to be followed, not ignored so carelessly. I expect you won’t be late to dinner again. We may be a different kind of family, but we always eat dinner together. Do you understand?”

  “Understand?” I repeat. “Yeah, I’m not a complete idiot.”

  Now stop acting so butthurt about those couple of minutes, I add silently in my mind.

  I dig into the food and am pleasantly surprised by the wonderful taste of it all. Whoever’s doing the cooking here is doing one hell of a job.

  One look at my overly primped stepmother reveals she is definitely not the one working her magic in the kitchen – not with those nails. Besides, I have a feeling doing something as plebian as cooking would be beneath her.

  “Great grub,” I say after a couple more moments of silence.

  Of course, I’ve been taught how to act properly at St Cecile, but I’m not going to give the Oakes the satisfaction of being polite and well-mannered just yet. I love defying their rules to see them displeased, and I grin at them one after the other.

  “My compliments to the chef.”

  My father doesn’t react. My brother rolls his eyes, my stepmother gives me an encouraging smile, and my sister just stares at me blankly.

  I take the chance to inspect them all further. I’ll be spending a long time here – there are still a few weeks separating me from my eighteenth birthday, and I have a feeling they won’t just let me walk away after that’s over and done with. Not that I won’t do my best to try.

  My stepmother is in her late thirties, a gorgeous former model who traded in the glitz and glam of the fashion world to be with my father – the powerful, handsome and older Emilian Oakes. Bryony’s beauty may be fading, but she and her surgeon have worked hard to maintain that youthful look. Although to me it seems more than a little fake – probably because she’s trying way too hard.

  Her daughter Tatianna, however, must look just like her mother did when she was her age. She’s heartbreakingly pretty, with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a pouty mouth that makes me think she can get whatever she wants from our father.

  Brazen, who was born only nine months after me, courtesy of father dearest’s sordid affair, is handsome in a preppy way that I never liked. He’s plainly showing his distaste for me and has thrown me more than a few nasty looks since I sat down at the table.

  Oddly enough, it seems as if the person who’s most interested in me is my stepmother.

  “Well, this was just wonderful,” I finally say as I finish up my food, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “I’m gonna head out. Explore the house a bit.”

  I get up and smile at my new family, but everyone just stares at me in disbelief.

  “We’re not finished.” My father’s voice is cold, cruel. “Sit down.”

  “Oh no, I’m full, thank you,” I retort with a tight smile.

  “Sit. Down,” Brazen speaks up, glaring at me from across the table. “Father doesn’t let us leave until we’ve all finished.”

  “As is proper and polite,” Father reminds him, shooting me a displeased glance, as if he’s smelled something rotten.

  I sit back down, my cheeks burning as I turn to look at my father.

  “That reminds me. When am I getting a phone? Maybe a laptop for school as well? Or a tablet?”

  It doesn’t seem like this will be a problem, given how loaded this family is, but my father stares at me coldly when I bring it up.

  “Anything else?” he asks, mocking me. “Or are you done making requests at the expense of this family, just hours after arriving here?”

  “I also want my luggage back,” I remember. “I didn’t give you permission to–”

  “No.”

  His answer is obviously final.

  I’m too stumped to offer him a proper response. My half-sister snickers from the other side of the table, and I glare at her. Spoiled little bitch.

  “I need to speak to my friends at home. After being at St Cecile’s for four years, I think I deserve some contact with them. Or do you keep all your children here like prisoners?”

  My father sets down his knife and folds the damask napkin on his lap. “You went to St. Cecile’s because you were sorely underprepared for your role in Eden Falls, daughter. You are a Firstborn. Are you aware of all your duties here?”

  “I am,” I get out through gritted teeth. “I’m attending Eden Falls Prep. I’m engaged to a boy I’ve never met. And I’m supposed to follow your every order. Is that it, or am I forgetting something, Father dearest?”

  I can’t help my razor-sharp tongue, even after being trained for high society at St Cecile’s
. But my father isn’t having any of it.

  “Get up,” he says calmly, dabbing the corners of his mouth with the fabric embossed with our family crest. “Right now.”

  “Why?” I argue, crossing my arms in front of my body. I hear my stepmother take a sharp breath, and I turn to look at her defiantly. “Are you going to discipline me in front of the whole family?”

  I chuckle when my father just stares at me. “I didn’t think so.”

  “Get. Up.”

  His voice is filled with dark promises, but I’m still determined not to give in. If I lose my upper hand now, I might as well freely admit to being under his influence. And I don’t need a puppet master.

  “No,” I retort, giving him a defiant glare. “I’m not leaving until we make arrangements for me to speak to my family again.”

  “Oh, honey, but this is your family,” Bryony pipes up, giving me a condescending look.

  “My real family,” I bite out, giving her a look of contempt. “Not this… make-believe version. I don’t even know you people. I haven’t spoken to any of you in four years! Four years you kept me locked away in that school, separated from everything! You think that was easy? And now I’ve come here only to be locked in again! Ouch!”

  I rub my leg under the table and glare at my sister.

  “Did you just kick me?”

  Her eyes are filled with a silent warning I refuse to heed. But before I can react further, my father pushes his chair away from the table. I stare at the man who’s supposed to love me, no matter what, with defiance.

  “Apologize,” he demands of me.

  “What for?” I hiss, glaring at him and struggling to break free of his firm grip. It’s no use. “Telling the truth?”

  “For being a brat. For being an ungrateful, rude little bitch that still doesn’t understand the basics of behaving like an Oakes Firstborn should!”

  "You mean how you tell me I should act," I hiss despite knowing I shouldn’t. "But I'm not here to follow your orders."

  "You're here," he snarls. "Because you are a part of this family. And I expect you to start acting like it. Right now."

  "Or else what? Are you going to send me back where I came from? Because I’d just love that.”

  “Or else I’m going to give you something to remember,” he says. “You’re underestimating me, daughter. You’re underestimating us all.”

  I smirk. “You can’t take anything else from me.”

  “No?” He laughs out loud. “What about your friends at home?”

  “What about them?”

  “That girl,” he snarls. “With the awful, pretentious name. Andromeda.”

  “Don’t talk about her,” I hiss.

  “Oh, I’ll do more than talk.” His eyes are cold, cruel. “Your family may have had money, but I have so much more than that. I have power. Influence. I have people who’ll find that plain little girl and fuck her up if you so much as utter the wrong sentence.”

  “Liar!” I scream, my heart beating with sheer panic. “You’re not going to do anything to her.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” He grabs me by the chin, making me look at him. “You’d be responsible for it. Your little friend getting hurt… I could send someone to really, really mess her up. Rape her. Hurt her. Beat her. Or better yet… Knock her up.”

  My eyes widen in shock. “You’re… you’re a monster!”

  “I wonder how she’d react to it,” he says thoughtfully. “Would she run? Would she try to hurt herself? Such a tender, young age she’s at, too. Maybe I’ll do it myself. I always did like them young.”

  Hot tears spill down my cheeks, and he smirks again.

  “There are so many things I can do to punish you. I’m just getting started.”

  I can't help myself, and I already know I’m making a mistake.

  I spit in his face.

  He wipes his cheek calmly.

  “You’re either very, very brave, or very, very stupid,” he tells me, wiping his hands with a napkin. “Brazen, get up.”

  I’m seething as my brother joins him by the end of the table. His face is cool, impassive as he places his palm on my father’s shoulder.

  “We are a family,” my father goes on. “And we solve problems like a family, don’t we?”

  Brazen’s jaw tics. He doesn’t say a word.

  My father motions to me, muttering, “Show her how we deal with troublemakers.”

  “Father, I–” Brazen speaks up.

  “Show her. Now!”

  Father’s voice is dripping with venom, and Brazen closes his eyes tightly for a second before coming to stand in front of my shivering body. Instead of waiting for Brazen to do as he’s told, my father calmly returns to his meal.

  Brazen’s eyes are apologetic. But his fists aren’t.

  The first blow hits me out of nowhere. A slap to my already burning cheek makes me dizzy, and I stumble back, tripping over the chair and staring up at my half-brother in shock.

  “What the…”

  He hits me in the face again. Again and again.

  I don't know when it changes from being slapped into being beaten up, but by the time he's done, I'm aching, scared, and bleeding. My brother is careful to only hit me where the bruises won’t show. We all know how important appearances are in this stupid town.

  My bottom lip is quivering and I’m crying. Despite promising myself I’d stay strong, I’m fucking sobbing.

  I'm sitting on the floor, feeling my bruised and beaten body adapting to the pain. I stare up at my brother feeling angrier and more scared than I've ever felt. Then, I look at my father.

  He does this kind of shit to his own flesh and blood? To his daughter?

  "Belle will escort you to your room now,” Father says calmly.

  Brazen walks away, wiping his shaking hands with a damask napkin. I can see a trace of my own blood on his knuckles, and when I raise a shaky hand to my lips, my fingertips come away wet. He busted my lip.

  I pick myself up wordlessly. I feel like he's beaten the fight right out of me, which is exactly what my father wanted. I stare at my remaining family members. Bryony won’t look at me, but Tatianna glares back with a look that says, I tried to warn you.

  I spin on my heel and drag myself out of the room, leaving droplets of scarlet blood on the stairs. Belle joins in, silently walking behind me and not addressing what’s happened.

  When I come back to my room, the frame I shattered is no longer on the floor. Instead, it’s standing up on my nightstand yet again, as if nothing has ever happened. I narrow my eyes at it, picking it up wordlessly.

  The glass is intact.

  My mind races. Did I imagine breaking it? Is my mind playing tricks on me? No, I can still hear the crunch of the glass… Surely it was real. But here it is now, in one piece.

  I set the frame down with trembling hands. Dexter Booth’s and Lily Anna’s faces laugh at me from the photo.

  That night, I'm plagued by nightmares and thoughts of escaping this world. When I wake up in the middle of the night, soaked through with sweat, I force myself out of the bed and try the door handle of my bedroom again.

  As I suspected, it's locked.

  I may not want to be a puppet, but one thing's for sure.

  I am a prisoner.

  Two

  Pandora

  A week after my arrival at Oakes Estate, I stand atop the cliffs the house is built on, admiring the silent threat of the ocean beneath me.

  Every day since I’ve been here, I’ve wanted to run away.

  My family is fucked up. My father is the puppet master, and the rest of us follow his orders blindly, too afraid to stand up for ourselves.

  And I can’t get away. Not until I make some allies, some friends who I can trust.

  The morning is cold, the wind kissing my flesh and making it erupt in goosebumps. I move closer to the edge to get a better look at the waves crashing against the rocky shore beneath me. In front of me, the sun is setting, tinting t
he sky in a shade of cotton candy pink.

  The water beckons me. I want to feel the crash of waves pulling me under. I want my ears, my mouth and my lungs to fill with the bitter taste of saltwater. I want to swallow the pain away.

  And yet I know I’m not brave enough to take that step, the one separating me from falling to my death and my miserable, sad excuse for a life.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Can’t I just have a moment to myself?” I cry out in frustration, my voice breaking over the words as I whip my body around to face the stranger.

  Except he’s not a stranger at all. I’d recognize that face anywhere. After all, I’ve been staring at it every night before going to sleep.

  He’s tall, dark and handsome. His ebony hair is longer on top and shorn close to the skin on the sides. His jaw is razor-sharp, and so are his cheekbones. He’s handsome in a way that’s almost offensive. The way no human should be. But something about his appearance says he isn’t a mere human. He’s like a god among these people.

  A Firstborn.

  I’ve been prepped and groomed for this very moment for years. A bitter realization hits me as his cruel eyes bore into mine. He must hate me as much as I hate him.

  And in less than a year, we’ll be married.

  “Dexter,” I breathe. “Dexter Booth.”

  “The very one. And you must be Pandora.”

  Time freezes as the name rings out between us. Nobody has called me by my real name in years. It was locked away with the rest of my past, never to be spoken of again.

  “I was,” I admit. “But I’m not allowed to be Pandora Amberly anymore.”

  He takes a step closer, a kind smile transforming his painfully beautiful face. “You’re Emilian Oakes’ Firstborn.”

  “And you’re Scott Booth’s Firstborn,” I manage. “The only heir left to the Booth fortune.”

  “Sounds like you read the manual alright,” he smirks. “I wanted to introduce myself.”

  “You’re late,” I remind him. “The party started two hours ago. My father was looking for you.”