The Destruction of Rose: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 1)

by Rachel M Raithby

  We’re both rigid with anger, bombs waiting to go off. Our masks have slipped and there is no putting them back on.

  Straightening to her full height, she looks down her nose at me as if I’m dirt. “I haven’t lost my crown, Rose. I was born with it, and now I’m simply looking for a new kingdom to rule. And maybe if you stopped wallowing in self-pity for five minutes, you’d see I’m trying to give you the same opportunity.”

  “You want me to rule Albany Nightingale?” I scoff.

  “Let me put it this way, Rose. You’re going to school whether you like it or not. It’s your choice whether you become someone or stay a no one.”

  Crossing my arms, I lift my head in defiance, even as her words worm their way inside my head.

  “And remember, they leave school at eighteen here, unlike the UK,” she adds sweetly.

  Two extra years. Two years to either be on top or underneath the shoe of those who are. She has point, even if I hate her for doing so.

  “I’ll be ready in thirty.”

  “I thought so.” God, I hate it when she’s right.

  ***

  The dress I’m wearing is as elegant as it is stylish. Finishing just above my knees, it’s an appropriate length for meeting with my new school headmistress. The navy color lightens my blue eyes and cream skin. I’ve curled the ends of my hair to lay neatly over my shoulders and applied the perfect amount of makeup to my face. I look good, and I don’t need the current eyes turning my way to know it. This I’m good at—this I know. It might all be fake, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. To the outside world, I exude confidence. I am someone… even if, in reality, I’m not.

  “Violet Keeley. Well, I must say I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be back in our corridors.”

  I pause slightly behind my mother, hands clasping lightly at my front as I let the adults do the talking. It’s all smiles and sweetly covered insults, and I’m bored the second they begin. Clearly the headmistress and my mother have history, and I’m beginning to think it’s not a good thing.

  Grandpa must have thrown a lot of money at this magic. There’s probably a new library wing named after him.

  “Devenport. I’m going by my maiden name now,” my mother replies. “It was time to come home. Show my daughter where I grew up.”

  The headmistress turns her attention to me for the first time. “Rose, your grandfather has told me such good things. I’m Mrs. Chandler, the headmistress at Albany Nightingale.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you, miss,” I reply, bowing my head slightly. “I look forward to attending your school.”

  “Listen to your accent. How very quaint. I’m sure your mother’s told you all about her time in these halls.”

  No, she has not. I glance discreetly at my mother to find her looking less composed than usual. “Yes, so much so it feels like I already attend here.”

  Mrs. Chandler smiles approvingly. I can play the game too, bitch. “Well then, let’s have a little tour, and then we can attend to the paperwork in my office.”

  We follow Mrs. Chandler around as she points out certain aspects of the school, every so often reminding my mother of the misdemeanors she got up too when she attended. I’ve gathered my new headmistress attended Albany Nightingale too, only she didn’t rule, and my mother… well, she reminded her of it.

  By the time we make it to the office, I’m ready for this ordeal to be over and am considering public school. I’m certain Mrs. Chandler is going to have it out for me just because of my mother, and I have a feeling she doesn’t even know what my father’s done back in London.

  “Is Rose’s father in London?” Mrs. Chandler asks as if reading my mind.

  “Yes. It was best for us both to come back. Divorces can be so toxic for children,” my mother answers with the ease of someone who’s used to lying.

  Criminal cases too.

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Chandler purses her lips. “Everything seems to be in order. Though you know on official papers, I can’t use Devenport for Rose as legally it’s not her name. I’m happy for her to use it unofficially of course.”

  “Yes, of course,” my mother responds.

  “Well then, we’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, Rose. Violet, always a pleasure.”

  When we make it outside, both my mother and I drag in an audible breath.

  “Do me a favor, Rose. Stay out of trouble. I’d like to never see that woman again.”

  I laugh. “She an old friend of yours?”

  “Something like that. Come on, I’m in need of a drink.”

  Day drinking with a minor probably isn’t the best parenting practice, but when you pair it with a meal, it’s acceptable. I stick to orange juice and order pasta, then dessert, which my mother doesn’t even blink at—a sure sign she’s losing it.

  “Mother?” I ask quietly when she’s been quiet for too long. “Are you and Father getting divorced?”

  Her eyes sadden. “Yes, darling. We need to distance ourselves from the damage he’s caused.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?”

  She shakes her head. “I have no idea, Rose. Your father has always had a way of getting away with things, but I’m not sure he will this time.”

  “This time?” I frown. That implies he’s done this type of thing before, and if he has, then why did she stick around then?

  Her face hardens. “Enough questions. I think it’s time to get going. You’re starting school tomorrow, and we need to get the uniform.”

  My anger stirs. “Did you ever love him?” I ask a little too loudly.

  “Yes, Rose, I did. I left New York for that man, ignored my parents’ warnings, and destroyed the relationship I had with them. But love can only carry you so far. Remember that.”

  “So I should just settle for whichever man gives me the most comfortable life then? Because love isn’t worth it?”

  She shuts down before my eyes, holding up her hand to call the waiter and check. She is so frustrating. Whenever I feel like I’m getting answers out of her, she cuts me off, leaving me with nothing but half-truths and my imagination.

  There must have been a reason my grandparents hated my father; it can’t have just been because he was British. And why did we leave for London when I was four when my father supposedly didn’t have any family in the UK left? Whenever I asked my father about his parents, he’s said they were dead, and he had no other family he spoke too. So why London? Why put a huge ocean between the only family my parents had? Were Grandpa and Grandmother really that intolerable? The only thing I do know is I’m not going to find the answers today, and especially not from my mother’s mouth.

  I choose to let it go and concentrate on preparing for school. Because if Albany Nightingale is anything like St. Paul’s Grammar, I should be prepping for a battlefield. Tomorrow I’ll be the new girl and my actions could very well make me the elite’s target or their next recruit.

  Chapter 6

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, I run my knee-high socks over my toes and up my legs before sliding my feet into my Jimmy Choo pumps, courtesy of Grandpa. Standing, I brush away invisible lint and turn to look at myself in the full-length mirror. Albany Nightingale’s uniform is a navy-check skirt, white shirt, red tie, paired with a fitted navy blazer, donning the red and gold school crest on the chest.

  I’ve spent a good hour this morning making sure my hair and makeup are perfect. I will not be giving the elite of Albany any excuse to use me as their next target.

  “Okay, Rose,” I say to myself. “Time to show these New Yorkers what Londoners are made of.”

  As I leave my room and enter the main living area of my apartment, my mother looks up from the couch, her critical gaze giving me the once-over. I presume from her lack of comment, I meet her standards and proceed to the kitchen for breakfast.

  Deciding on tea and toast because it’s all my nervous, queasy tummy can take, I sit at the breakfast bench and methodically force myself to chew and swall
ow. Anxiety is not an emotion I’m used to and I’m not quite sure how to deal with it. Starting a new school is bad enough, but coming in when the year has already started makes it even harder. I’ll be the only one starting new today, which means I’ll be the only one under scrutiny. If Albany Nightingale’s elite act anything like St Paul’s did, then they’ll have already picked their recruits this year, and I’ll be considered fresh meat for all their malicious fun.

  But I remind myself I’m no ordinary target. I know them. I’ve been them. Taking me down isn’t going to be easy; they’d be better off having me on their side.

  “Rose,” my mother calls as I head for the exit.

  Forcing a smile on my face, I look back. “Yes, Mother?”

  “Remember, you’re Rose Devenport now.”

  I nod in return, not sure what to say. It’s not her words that haunt me as I ride the elevator down but the expression on her face, the tone of her voice. I get a weird sense of déjà vu, only it was my father last time who sent butterflies aflight in my stomach. It’s the sense of knowing something but not quite being able to grasp it. It’s the implied meaning behind an otherwise normal statement.

  Why is being a Devenport so important?

  Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe first-day jitters are getting to me, or maybe the events of the last ten days are finally catching up with me. Whatever it is, I can’t afford to dwell on it.

  I have a kingdom to conquer.

  ***

  The first hour of my morning is spent waiting on Mrs. Chandler to go over my class list and decide on which electives I’ll be taking this year. I’ve no idea why we couldn’t have done this when we visited yesterday, but I sit politely and wait. Sometimes I’ve learned it’s best not to question.

  The problem with this, of course, is entering my first period when it’s halfway through and having the entire class stare at me as I make my way to the one and only seat available to me. I walk with an air of superiority. Ignoring every set of eyes on me, chin up, shoulders back, my hips sway just enough to catch the eyes of the boys. Unfortunately, the girl next to the empty seat is as far from the elite as I could get, and while I don’t want to be mean by ignoring her, I also can’t be seen being openly friendly and risk being viewed at the same standard as her.

  Honestly, I find the game so exhausting at times. I often wonder what it would be like to not care at all what circle I belong in, but I come from a family that expects me to be on top. From the moment I started high school, my mother has pushed me down a certain path. I had no choice but to be queen. The alternative was to face the wrath and disappointment of Violet Keeley—the original bitch.

  It’s Devenport now. I smile to myself. Sometimes it’s comical how stuck-up my mother is, yet I know how easily a name can make or break you. After all, the Keeley name was once gold in London, but now it’s mud. Now it is a social death sentence.

  By the time lunch comes around, I’m wondering whether I can take an extra two years of school. It sucks big-time Americans finish later than the UK. Lessons have always come easy to me, which means they also don’t hold my interest. My father often said I got my brain from him; hopefully, that doesn’t mean I’ll lean toward criminal activities as I get older. It’s so strange living without him, not finding him with a glass of scotch at midnight, his head over some paperwork. He was never an active parent, but he was always in the background, living his own life.

  I miss him. Despite all he’s done, I can’t just switch off my love for him and pretend he doesn’t exist anymore. Unlike my mother, who seems to have fallen back into her Upper East Side life like she never left. She’s already found herself an event to plan and started up her business here. Though from what I’ve overheard, my grandfather is footing the venture as the police have frozen all her UK business assets, even though she started it without my father’s funding.

  The only information I receive is either from dramatized news sites or hushed whispers. It’s frustrating and maddening to be kept in the dark. My mother and grandparents expect me to behave like an adult yet treat me as a child too delicate to hear the truth. If they think I’ll stay happily unaware forever, they’re sorely mistaken. My father’s out on bail now after somehow finding the means to free himself. Maybe it’s time I get the truth from the criminal himself.

  Lodging the train of thought into the back of my mind to think about later, I concentrate on the task at hand. Lunchtime. The moment I’ll be at the elite’s mercy.

  My every step is carefully thought out. I scan the area discreetly, taking in my surrounds and getting a picture of what I’m up against. I spot the group I want to belong in almost immediately; they are hard to miss. Wealth drips off their every accessory, the shoes on their feet worth thousands. I’m admiring a handbag when the owner’s pale green eyes find mine, and she pauses midsentence, her smile becoming calculating as she nudges the guy next to her with his back to me.

  The rest of the school fades away as the group seems to part in harmony, their critical stares taking me in. I keep my expression neutral, pretend I couldn’t care less what these people think of me, but as the last guy turns, all my carefully prepared plans shatter.

  Faltering midstep, my heart attempts to leap out my throat as disbelief rolls through me.

  “Ash,” I whisper, eyes wide as I take him in.

  It can’t be him. He shouldn’t be here. And yet he is. The Brooklyn boy I met years ago, before high school turned me into the person I am today, stands in all his glory. He’s grown, in more ways than one. His shoulders are wide, his jaw sharp. He’s gone from a cute thirteen to a sexy sixteen.

  We stare, both as shocked at each other, and for just a second, I think I have my in. I think life in New York is going to better than I imagined.

  A tall, slightly leaner guy steps beside Ash and pats his shoulder, gripping it before letting go, gaining Ash’s attention.

  “Who do we have here, Ashton?” he says, his dark eyes looking between us with interest.

  Ashton… he hates Ashton. My brain cells kick back to life and I hold out my hand. “I’m Rose.”

  “Well, listen to her. Wherever did you meet a pretty English rose, brother?” he asks Ash, while keeping his gaze on me.

  I hold his gaze as he takes my hand and brings it to his lips, suppressing my shudder as he kisses the tops of my fingers. His eyes are cruel. He’s the type to wield charm to hide the wickedness within.

  “Well?” he prompts when Ash stands mute. “You met the delightful Rose….”

  He looks at me expectantly and I supply my last name. “Keeley.” My heart lurches the moment the word leaves my mouth.

  Remember, you are a Devenport now…. But surely it doesn’t matter, surely my last name won’t affect me here. I’m new. They’ve no idea who I am. My family left America when I was four. Yet it does. I can see it in the gleam in his eyes, in the way he pauses and calculates.

  Ash notices too. His head swivels to his taller friend and they silently talk.

  “I don’t know her,” Ash announces, crossing his arms and giving me the once-over. “Though I’m sure she’d be good for one night.”

  His friend chuckles darkly as the rest of their crew joins in.

  I’m too dazed to pick up on the inner workings of the group. Ash’s words circle my head as I try to match the image in front of me with the memory I’ve stored safely in my mind. It’s him, but it isn’t. This Ash is as gorgeous as he is cruel. He’s king, and the king doesn’t need his past reminding him and everyone around him where he came from.

  And yet words pour from me as if I’m an untrained novice. As if I’d never had a crown on my head and ruled. “Ash, it’s me. You remember our summer? We met in Central Park when I was on vacation visiting my grandparents.”

  For a split second, I think he’s going to admit the truth, but then his smile twists, transforming him into someone I have never known, and I realize my time at Albany Nightingale is going to be nothing but hell.

&nb
sp; “My name’s Ashton. And you and I have never met before.”

  The girl whose handbag I was admiring steps up to his right, hooking her arm through his and pressing herself against his body. “You heard him. He doesn’t know you.” She swats her hand at me. “Run along.”

  I glance between the three of them. A king and his queen, with his evil second willing to do any deed. I wanted her crown, I wanted to be his queen, but right now, I’m the thirteen-year-old version of myself having her heart ripped out by the boy who gave her, her first kiss.

  Turning, I run to the sounds of their amusement. Rushing through the school halls, I desperately try to keep my humiliation from spilling over my eyes. A sigh of relief leaves me as the toilets come into view, and I crash through the door, heading straight for a stall and slamming the cubicle door closed. As I cry, seated on the closed toilet seat, I realize I’m feeling what every girl felt after I’d finished tearing her apart.

  I hate myself, but I’m not sure if it’s for making others feel this way or because I stupidly let my guard down over a schoolgirl crush I’d had when I was barely a teenager.

  Kiss your crown goodbye, Rose. Looks like your reign ended the day your father was put behind bars.

  Chapter 7

  The rest of my school day is hell. I’m either ignored or sniggered at by Aston’s groupies. The worst thing is I’d have settled with groupie; it’s way better than being a nobody. But my fate is sealed before I even had the chance to begin. I walk home instead of getting a cab, hoping to clear my head, but it doesn’t help. I’m lonely and miserable, and as stupid as it is, I’d love nothing more than to be able to ring Clare and tell her all about my day. I can imagine her reaction now—the disgust and outrage in her tone and her not so nice words when she’d tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself and conduct a plan to take them down.

  But she isn’t here, and she isn’t my friend anymore. I have never felt so lost or unsure of myself in my life. My family being torn apart has shaken the ground beneath my feet. I’m not as talented as my mother; I can’t ignore all the facts and play the game.