“You've disappointed me, son.” I hear a patronizing tone that sets me on edge. It's so frustratingly condescending that it makes my teeth hurt. Even though I know I shouldn't, I end up creeping forward to peep in the glass window on the door.
What I see in there makes me raise my brows.
Tristan's standing with his back straight, his face frozen into an expression of bored disinterest. Unlike Creed, however, he doesn't quite manage to pull it off. Actually, for the first time ever, he looks truly terrified beneath the mask. Even when he saw his dad's car floating in the pool, it wasn't this bad.
Tristan Vanderbilt is scared of something, huh?
Apparently, he's scared of … his dad?
The man sitting on the edge of the old desk looks like a mature—and if possible crueler—version of his son. He's got that same raven-dark hair, those gray eyes, and a smile like a snake. The moment I lay eyes on him, I know he's bad news. Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Tristan doesn't say anything, just stands there and stares his father down. There's the slightest quiver in his shoulders that doesn't seem right. Is he actually trembling? That's when I notice the slight glisten of red at the corner of his mouth. Is that … blood?
“You're right,” Tristan says, and that's it, just those two words. His uniform is as perfectly pressed as always, just sharp lines and creases that could cut. His tie is straight, his jacket buttoned, his hair smooth and shiny. But his eyes are disturbingly empty. Even his usual cruelty is missing. “I messed up.”
Mr. Vanderbilt sighs and taps his fingers against the leg of his immaculately pressed suit. Just like his son, there's not a single thread, button, or hair out of place. And there's no doubt in my mind that his suit costs more than my father's yearly salary.
“I'm still struggling to understand how my car ended up in a swimming pool.”
Tristan flinches, and my heart begins to race. If he hasn't ratted me out yet, he's not going to. But still …
“I told you: it was a senior prank.” His voice is cold, empty, dark.
After a moment, Mr. Vanderbilt goes to reach for something in his pocket, and Tristan flinches like he's been struck. But all his dad does is produce a black box with a little crown on the top. He passes it over to his son, and Tristan takes it warily, cracking the top to reveal a black and red Rolex watch. He turns it over and I see a custom engraved infinity symbol on the back.
Well, damn.
“A senior prank?” Mr. Vanderbilt asks as he takes the box back, removes the watch, and gestures for his son to hold out his arm. “And how, exactly, did the seniors get my car out of our garage in Los Angeles?”
Tristan says nothing, just lets his dad put the watch on for him.
“I haven't seen the class rankings posted yet. Have you?” Mr. Vanderbilt's voice just drips with menace; the high cheekbones and straight, ridged nose that look so regal on his son become villainous when he reaches out and snatches Tristan by the tie, yanking him close.
Tristan simply licks the blood from the corner of his mouth and stares his father down.
“You are a Vanderbilt, son. This country was built on our dime and our whims. Do I need to reiterate the shame you bring on our entire family, on the company, when you let yourself lose to commoner trash?”
My mouth drops open, and my entire body goes ice-cold.
Based on Tristan's lack of empathy, I just sort of assumed his family was awful, but seeing it in person? I'm gobsmacked. Despite my dad's many faults, I love him and he loves me. I can't even imagine being treated like this by him. Hell, I can't even imagine Jennifer treating me like this.
“I understand, Father,” Tristan whispers as his dad releases him abruptly, and he stumbles.
“Good. Then get out there and check the roster. If I don't like what I see, this isn't going to be a pleasant week for you, son.” Tristan nods, and then turns abruptly, heading for the door so quickly that I don't have time to scramble out of the way.
All I manage to do is back away from the door, so that it's somewhat plausible that I was just walking by.
Tristan freezes in place, and a hundred emotions work their way across his face before he shuts them all down and just stares at me with a storm gray gaze.
“Hey.” It's the only word that'll come out of my mouth.
After a moment, I hear Mr. Vanderbilt answer his phone, false laughter ringing out from the open door. Tristan pushes it closed with a palm, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that don't show on that stoic face of his.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though I know I shouldn't bother. He was horrible to me, the worst of all the Idols. And yet … I can't control that small surge of empathy. Tristan turns on me in an instant, storming across the hall. I end up backing up, even though I don't mean to.
He gets right up in my face, jaw clenched, anger surging through him in waves.
Without a word, he reaches up and snatches the necklace from my throat, breaking the chain in the process. My heart is racing so hard and fast that I can barely breathe. When he turns and storms over to the trash can, I'm left gaping as he yanks the Rolex off his wrist and shoves both pieces of jewelry as deep into the bin as he can get them, staining the sleeve of his perfect white jacket with something red that I think is ketchup. But then he sniffles and I realize that blood is actually running from his nose. It drips onto his chest and sleeve as he turns back to face me.
“Do not talk to me, Charity,” he snaps, practically grinding his teeth. “Do not look at me. Don't even think about me. If you do, I'll break you worse than Zack did. And I won't be there to make you throw up the pills when I'm done.” He spins on his heel and storms down the hallway, leaving me gaping behind him.
What the hell was that all about?!
I flip him off behind his back … and then I dig through the garbage again.
I know things are going to get bad for me this week when I step into the courtyard with the stag statue and the fountain, and find Harper du Pont deep in conversation with my father. Shit, I took too long.
Moving as fast as I can, I close the distance between us and step up beside Charlie with a huge smile on my face.
“Dad.”
“Marnye-bear!” he says, giving me a huge hug. It feels so good to be in his arms that for a split-second, I forget that the queen bitch of Burberry Prep Academy is standing right next to us, her glorious brunette hair blowing in the wind. My jaw clenches, but I manage to maintain a grimace, if not an actual smile. “I was just talking to your friend, Harper.”
“Well, friend wouldn't quite be the right word.” It takes physical effort, but I resist the urge to tell Charlie that Harper is one of the ones who beat me, and that it was on her orders that it happened at all. I had that chance, last year, when I was questioned by the staff. They all saw what the boys did, how they threw the panties, but hardly anything came of it. Ratting the girls out would likely do little to nothing. No, I'll take my own revenge, thank you very much.
As things stand, the only punishment the boys received was a slap on the freaking wrist. They had their honors and letters from first year rescinded, and I’m pretty sure the academy squeezed some fat donations from their parents. Once again, their money saved them from facing any consequences for their actions.
“Oh?” Charlie asks, looking between Harper and me with a confused expression on his gently wrinkled face. Harper smirks at me, but I could give a shit less. Instead, I reach under my shirt and pull out the necklace. When Tristan ripped it from my neck, the clasp snapped, but I simply tied the chain into a knot. Crafty, right?
When her blue eyes land on the pair of roses dangling on the end, I see her face light up with fury.
“Dad, among other ventures, Harper's family runs Myler Medical Technologies,” I begin as Harper glares at me. “Her sister took over as CEO about ten years ago, and slowly raised the price of the epinephrine injector pen from fifty dollars per injector to six hundred for a two-pack. It raised the company's profits to a record-level two billion dollars per year, and her own salary to nineteen million.” I look from Harper to Charlie. “You know how our neighbor was allergic to bees? And how her insurance wouldn't cover the price difference, so they went without? And then Erica ended up dying from—”
Harper steps so close to me that I actually have to move back a space to keep her from touching me.
“Did your daddy tell you yet how he's got late-stage colon and lung cancer? My family has kindly offered up medical care, free of charge, to help see him through it. Good luck, sweetie.” Harper leans in and kisses me on the cheek as my head spins, and I end up sitting on the bricks without even realizing that I've fallen.
My knees are bloody and Dad’s trying to talk to me, but I can't hear anything but a ringing in my ears.
Zack is there suddenly, his mother by his side, and they’re both trying to help Charlie get me to my feet. I sag in their arms as they lift me up, my head spinning, my stomach twisted with nausea.
“It’s not true,” I whisper, looking up and into my dad’s brown eyes, so like mine that it’s as if I’m staring into a mirror. His hair is tousled by the wind, his smile so sweet and genuine that it feels impossible. It’s impossible. My dad is not dying. He’s not. I refuse to believe it. “Please say it’s not true.” I’m sobbing now, and Zack’s trying to put an arm around me. I jerk away from him and stumble.
“Honey, please sit down,” Dad says softly, but I need a minute. I just need one minute. I turn and run across the courtyard, passing a smirking Harper as I go.
“Please say it’s not true,” she chortles as I sprint past.
My feet skid on the bricks, and I whirl around, tears streaming down my face.
“What did you just say?” I grind out, and Harper tosses her hair.
“You heard me: your dad’s dead without my family’s charity. Try to be a little grateful, bitch.” Red flashes across my vision, and before I can think better of it, I launch myself at Harper. My right fist flies forward and hits her in her pretty face. There’s a satisfying crack of cartilage before blood begins to pour from her nose.