Perfection of Suffering (The Shadows of Wildberry Lane Book 1)
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Perfection of Suffering
The Shadows of Wildberry Lane
M. Sinclair
Lost & Bound Publishing
Perfection of Suffering
The Shadows of Wildberry Lane - Book One
Copyright © 2020 M. Sinclair
In USA
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced/transmitted/distributed in any form. No part of this publication shall be shared by any means including photocopying, recording, or any electronic/mechanical method, or the Internet, without prior written consent of the author. Cases of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law are the exception. The unauthorized reproduction/transmitting of this work is illegal. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Editorial Team
Refined Voice Editing & Proofreading
Chantal Fleming
Created with Vellum
The Union of Love & Madness
First time doing one of these, so this should be interesting… Let’s give this a shot.
This book is dedicated to all my ravens that insisted I kill them off in my books. Your bloodlust and sacrifice is greatly appreciated. Every time someone dies or is tortured, just remember I was thinking of you… and that it was your idea, because the law frowns upon murder.
How’d I do?
Contents
Description
1. Dahlia Aldridge
2. Dahlia Aldridge
3. Dahlia Aldridge
4. Dermot Ross
5. Dahlia Aldridge
6. Dahlia Aldridge
7. Sterling Gates
8. Dahlia Aldridge
9. Dahlia Aldridge
10. Dahlia Aldridge
11. Dahlia Aldridge
12. Dahlia Aldridge
13. Lincoln Gates
14. Dahlia Aldridge
15. Dahlia Aldridge
16. Dahlia Aldridge
17. Dahlia Aldridge
18. Dahlia Alridge
19. Stratton Lee
20. Dahlia Aldridge
21. Kingston Ross
22. Dahlia Aldridge
23. Yates Carter
Afterword
M. Sinclair
Published Work
Stalk me… really, I’m into it.
Description
The Southern Aristocracy brought together by one woman - Dahlia Aldridge.
I had lived here most of my life in a blissful state of ignorance, surrounded by a loving family and the other residents of Wildberry Lane. Specifically, their sons - the heirs to some of the largest fortunes in the country. I had grown used to them acting as my shadows, protecting me and surrounding me with enough affection that I never questioned if their words were in fact the truth.
Then the Brooks twins came to town. Suddenly, everything I had known about myself was being shattered as they dug up my worst insecurities and exploited them to the world. I began questioning everything.
Kingston Ross. Stratton Lee. Yates Carter. Lincoln & Sterling Gates.
They have been able to protect me from everything… but myself. My boys carry a darkness inside of them that has never scared me. The shadows of deeds done at night, away from the spotlight of being who we were in this societal hierarchy. They think I’m afraid of that, but they couldn’t be farther from the truth.
I wasn’t afraid of their darkness.
I wasn’t afraid of my feelings for them, ones that had grown from friendship into so much more.
I wasn’t even afraid of expressing that to them… eventually.
What I was afraid of? That I would hurt those around me with my shame and pain.
I would just have to perfect the art of suffering in silence.
Wildberry Lane - Home to the extremely wealthy and powerful Southern elite.
Perfection of Suffering, book 1 in The Shadows of Wildberry Lane trilogy, is M. Sinclair’s debut contemporary reverse harem novel. This work features a naive female character hiding a dark secret of her own, the men in her life that will do anything to keep her safe, and a scandal that stretches far beyond the safety of Wildberry Lane’s gate.
Warning: This book does contain sexual content for +18, swearing, violence, and triggers when it comes to specifically, but not limited to, eating disorders and bullying. Important to note, the bullying is NOT done by the harem, but rather outside sources. This is a slow/medium burn series.
Execution of Anguish, The Shadows of Wildberry Lane trilogy (book 2) is currently up for pre-order.
Chapter One
Dahlia Aldridge
Wildberry Lane.
Possibly the only place that I would ever truly consider home. I had lived here my entire life, so it made sense. Well, nearly my entire life—I suppose, in all technicality, I was raised on the streets until the age of two… an experience that I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to remember, if we were being honest.
In the sixteen years since then, this exclusive, affluent cul-de-sac had become my entire universe. My not so little kingdom. My family had never considered moving, to my knowledge, and as more years passed, I grew to be even more attached to the select grouping of estates. I didn’t ever really plan on leaving, despite the obvious unrealistic nature of that plan. But honestly—why move when absolute perfection surrounded you?
That wasn’t a dramatization of how I felt about my small neighborhood, either. It was perfect. Now, pinning down the source of that perfection was far more difficult.
Maybe it was the long, stone-paved road that led through a stretch of massive oak trees towards the six-estate-large gated community that inspired and fulfilled the idyllic notion of romanticized Southern wealth and living. Equally as possible, it could be the shaded atmosphere that the foliage around the estate created, allowing for only small streaks of golden light to break through, bathing all six properties in an afternoon glow as the sweet-smelling breeze ruffled the leaves. Honestly, though? I didn’t think it was any of that.
There was just something absolutely unique about Wildberry Lane.
Something that in part came with the amount of money that was spent to keep this level of peace and security. It was easy to forget that only three acres out to each side of our small sanctuary were massive security fences that were patrolled by teams around the clock to ensure the safety of the residents. The security company consisted of an effective and silent group that never disturbed the bubble of tranquil zen that this place seemed to effortlessly maintain. Even now, as my eyes traced the secondary gate at the edge of the cul-de-sac, I couldn’t actually see any of the guards, but I was well aware they were there.
It was actually rather impressive.
Not that I was complimenting them, because I was still pretty annoyed that they hadn’t accepted my tea cakes. Okay, not accepting would imply that they denied the adorable treats I’d brought over to the guard house, which they hadn’t. No, they’d taken them, but they had called my parents to make sure that was something they were okay with. As if my mother, of all people, would have an issue with something like that.
Even now I felt myself nearly rolling my eyes at their formality. I understood it was their job… but a little conversation wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?
Then again, I’d had the art of polite conversation drilled into my head from the time I was four. Not that my parents suggeste
d I indulge in it with everyone, but even just saying a quick hello was better than completely ignoring someone. Was it wrong that I expected the same from others?
Tucking my feet underneath myself, I shifted so that the afternoon sun wasn’t shining right on my face, the air around me smelling of earth after the small rainstorm only hours ago. One that had left the air humid and damp feeling. This type of weather wasn’t for everyone, but I absolutely loved it. I closed my eyes momentarily, listening to the late August cicadas that had already begun to chirp their symphony as the wind turned just slightly cooler, enough that it brushed over my skin and had me letting out a relieved sigh. The curtains behind me brushed back and forth between the archway of my bedroom and the small balcony that I was sitting on, the entire moment bathing me in content security.
The sound of voices had me opening my eyes again and refocusing on my current subject of interest. My gaze traced the half-moon shaped property setup of Wildberry, examining each of the massive estates that faced towards the center cul-de-sac. It was a familiar sight. With that being said, there was something occurring today that had never happened before. A new experience that I was finding more than a bit off, if we were being honest.
There was someone moving into our community.
The concept was not only foreign, but made me feel… uncomfortable? No. Not exactly. Maybe just out of sorts. My lip dipped slightly, thinking about how I would never see Mrs. Born watering her stunning rose garden again. Something that she had done every single evening, once it was a bit cooler out. That was before this spring, though, when she’d taken a horrible fall and hurt her hip. Within days, her daughter had driven in from Savannah, Georgia and packed up her entire estate in order to move her into their place.
Just like that, we’d lost someone who had literally been fundamental to my childhood. It had been a shock to the system, and while I couldn’t blame them for making that choice, especially because I understood how important family was, I couldn’t deny that it was a bit sad.
I also was terrible with change, so my view on the entire situation, as a whole, was no doubt a bit skewed.
It was one of the reasons I loved photography. Well, one of the many reasons. In that moment, when you decided to take a picture, you were creating a piece of evidence that showed a moment of your life that would absolutely never change. It would always be there for you to remember, no matter what else happened. I found that notion oddly beautiful.
Someone new was moving in, though, changing a small but seemingly massive part of my daily life, and I was both interested and concerned what that would bring. My eyes ran over the large mansion that sat diagonal to us, wondering just how many people were moving in. I mean, the house was objectively massive, more so than any of the others, which was saying something, because Mrs. Born’s husband had built it from the ground up when this community was originally established. Even after his passing and after her children had moved out, she’d never left the property, claiming that it was such a large piece of their love, she didn’t feel right selling it.
I’d always loved that sentiment.
Today, though, the house was filled with movers, walking in and out of the front door as covered furniture was transferred up the pale stone stairs and into the grand foyer. For the entire summer it had sat essentially empty, the vacant, eye-like windows watching me whenever I would glance over. No more, though—now someone would live there.
Someone who had to have a fairly important place in the community, considering the background checks and price tag associated with the multi-million dollar complex.
Sitting up in my chair, I tried to casually examine each worker that went in and out of the house, attempting to distinguish the family from the people aiding in the moving process. I was failing terribly, and despite attempting to not look crazy, I was staring pretty hard. I could only hope that the massive ferns that covered this balcony were shading me to some extent. I didn’t want them to think I was weird.
I couldn’t help but be a bit excited, though! I knew my mom, Kristy Aldridge, felt much the same, because I could hear her humming from inside the house, where she was no doubt buzzing around and putting together a ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood’ basket.
Hospitality was a literal drug to my mother, and this little incident was going to give her a fix that would last quite some time. Honestly, I loved her for it, and her enthusiasm was rather contagious, affecting the energy of the entire property. She had always been like that, though—when she walked into the room, she drew people to her like a magnet.
In part, it probably had to do with her being Reese Witherspoon and Martha Stewart in one nearly 5’11” rail-thin package of pure happiness. I could tell you without looking that her dark brown hair was currently pulled back in a loose, relaxed braid that complimented one of the many pastel dresses she wore. Despite her place in society, my mom had never lost her free spirit, and I found it amusing that she walked around our million dollar estate in bare feet, because, as she stated, ‘life’s too short to be uncomfortable.’ Honestly, I wasn’t embarrassed to admit that I looked up to her.
Then again, I was a bit biased because my parents no doubt changed the direction of my life completely when they adopted me. I grew up not realizing just how lucky I was, and still, even then, appreciated them. Now that I understood where I had come from, the feeling was absolutely intensified.
I didn’t want to consider what my life would have been like if she and my dad, Jason, hadn’t adopted me. They claimed that they were the lucky ones for finding me, but I think we all knew who had truly lucked out here. It was why, despite having heard the story hundreds of times, I still asked them to tell me again and again. The story of how I came to live with them.
Apparently, at the time, they hadn’t even been looking to adopt. They’d been volunteering at a food shelter in the city when a group of children, around eight or nine in total, had come in. I’d been clinging to one of the girls, cold from living on the winter streets, and when they had served us food, my mom had gushed over me until one of the girls had literally handed me off to her. She’d assumed it had only been for a moment, but when she looked up, the kids had been making a swift exit.
I tried to not let the idea of being simply handed off like that bother me, because I’m sure they had been terrified, taking care of a child under two. It did make me wonder who had actually brought me into this world… but not enough to ever use my family’s resources to look into it.
I would never consider anyone my parents besides my mom and dad. They were some of the largest influences in my life and how I lived it. Not only were they naturally compassionate people, but they were always going out of their way to help others, and it was an attribute that I aspired to develop myself.
One of the elements I appreciated the most about my relationship, specifically with my mom, was how open she was. There were really no questions that she wouldn’t at least attempt to answer, and growing up, that had allowed me to feel as if I could tell her just about anything instead of shying away from it in fear of her opinion.
I think one of the most memorable moments had been when I’d asked her about why they had never had children of their ‘own.’ I had been scared to ask, but after finding out I was adopted… I had also been curious, and at twelve, I hadn’t had the filter to think about it through fully. Instead of getting defensive or not wanting to talk about it, my mom had sat down and explained that while they had originally been disappointed to find out that they couldn’t have children, she believed it was a blessing in disguise because they had found me. Whenever they asked me if I wanted siblings, I always told them that I wanted whatever they wanted, because it was true—I loved being the center of their attention, but if they wanted to make our family larger, I would never complain.
Although, at this point, I felt like all of Wildberry Lane was my family.
I was well aware that the way my family lived wasn’t real life for most. The Aldridge family
consisted of old money on both sides. My mother’s side had grown rich from olive oil production that they had imported into the United States from Italy, and my father’s side owned oil-rich land purchased long, long ago. Because of their generational wealth, I lived a life free of concerns about money or opportunity, and it was something that I would never take for granted.
“Dahlia?” My mom’s voice was light-hearted and happy as she walked out onto my balcony, her eyes darting towards the same house I was staring at. I didn’t feel guilty about being nosy, because mark my words, she’d been doing the same thing while flitting through the house, doing whatever it was that she had on her schedule. I still wasn’t completely sure what she did, if we were being honest—the woman always seemed to be doing ten different things at once.
“What’s up?” I asked curiously, standing and walking towards the archway of my room. The linen curtains brushed over me as I looked past her into my room, the two-story sanctuary feeling always rather alive because of all the windows I kept open.
The entire suite was colored with cream walls, dark wood floors, and massive, arching windows that I almost never locked. The space had changed throughout the years, but the contrast of the wood flooring and light walls had always remained constant, as did the plants that hung from shelves and filled each corner. Everything was large and luxurious, the space making me feel as though I was traveling somewhere tropical, rather than in the South. The decor design was a direct inspiration from the rest of the house that had a very similar style to it. What can I say? My mom and I had very similar taste.