Chapter 7 Opening The Can of Worms

Chapter 7 Opening The Can of Worms
Odessa's Pov

Whatever part of the world this is, it's sure not going to be the same. I can feel it in my bones, the way everything is shifting already, cracking open to make room for something new.

I got up immediately, my legs still unsteady but holding me anyway. "Thank you," I say, my voice hoarse from crying. It sounds scraped raw, like I swallowed glass. "I've really got to go."

He nods once, quiet as always, and takes the glass from me. Then he offers me a freshly washed jersey of his, something soft and grey that drops to my knees when I pull it over my head. Functional, so I don't have to move about in that dress anymore. I don't say another thank you. I don't think I can.

In the car, I finally go on the internet. My thumbs move before I can talk myself out of it, typing my name into the search bar like a compulsion. A long list of articles and videos were already out. Each more punchier than the last.

\[Triple Threat 2: The De Luca Triplets Take Down Damien Gracias Again!\]

\[Crisis At MAM As Heiress Runs Wild With Chosen Mate.\]

\[What's Really Wrong With Odessa Montgomery? Regret Or An Addiction To Spinsterhood.\]

I scroll through them, my jaw tight. The comments are worse, faceless names picking apart every second of what happened, calling me crazy, calling me ungrateful, calling me names I don't need to read. My face is already on three different thumbnails, my mouth open mid-sentence, Damien's hand in the air behind me.

"You know how blogs are," Rowan finally speaks, clearing his throat like he's been trying to find the right words. "Don't let it get to you. MAM would take them down before tomorrow."

I don't answer that. I don't care about the blogs, not really. There's only one thing sitting heavy in my chest right now.

"What happened with Damien?" I ask, turning to look at him. His profile is sharp against the setting sun, jaw clenched in a way that tells me he's holding something back.

His fist tightens on the steering wheel for a moment, knuckles going white, but he re-adjusts almost immediately. Like he caught himself and decided against it. "He's still alive, that's for sure."

"Good."

He glances at me, confused. "Good?"

I sigh as he pulls to a stop in front of the gate of my house. "I get to kill him myself."

Rowan is visibly shaken by what I had just said. His hands stay on the wheel but his whole body goes still, like he's not sure if I'm joking. I take off my seat belt and try to smile, though it probably looks more like a grimace.

"Thank you for today. You won't understand it all now, Rowan, but I am really sorry for everything and also grateful."

I leave before he can speak. The security guards immediately open the gates and let me in, their faces carefully blank like they didn't just watch the whole street fight go viral. My heart is thudding behind my chest, loud in my ears. I clutch my phone tightly as my palm sweats with anxiety.

Each step would lead me to a setting that I know too well. My family wouldn't take this lightly, I am sure of it, but that's the least of my problems. I've already died once. A screaming match is nothing.

As soon as I step into the living room, I'm barely given time to access my surroundings when a slap lands on my face. The impact snaps my head to the side, my teeth clicking together from the force. My cheek burned deeply from the sting as I look up to see my attacker fuming, her hand still raised like she's considering another one.

"Where have you been, young lady?" She yells, her voice bouncing off the high ceilings. "Do you understand what you've done?"

I clutch my cheek with a sneer as I stare at the woman in disdain. Sarah's mother. Anika. The same woman that my father helped when she had lost everything with her pathetic husband. Years before he died, he gave her husband a role as a coach. My mom made her one of the journalists at her production company while she secretly plotted with her daughter to get rid of me. My uncle was her first husband and even after he died, we still treated her like family.

Not this time again.

The anger in my chest diffuses into shock when she's yanked by her hair and shoved to the tiled floor. Her body hits the ground hard, eliciting a string of gasps from the rest of the family. I watch her scramble, her hands splayed out, her mouth open in disbelief.

"Don't touch my daughter again, Anika." My mother's voice is ice cold. "Focus on that whore you gave birth to."

"Rebecca!" My grandfather calls my mother with a yell from his king-sized couch, presiding over the rest of the family like a judge at trial. He's equally shocked, his paper fallen to his lap, his glasses sliding down his nose.

My eyes scan the room. Damien is sitting next to a sobbing Sarah, trying to console her like a bloody child. My eyes darkened in disgust when they met Daphne, Damien's mother, sitting primly in the corner with her hands folded and her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"My mother was right about you, Odessa." I remember his words from that wretched night. "Naive. Dumb. A foolish little girl parading around in expensive clothes to mask who she really is."

I held on to my visibly angry mother as Anika rises to her feet with the aid of Sarah.

"Let me handle this, Mom." I whisper gently.

"No." She shakes her head, "I failed to protect you before and I won't let that happen again."

She heaves a breath, grabbing my hand and intertwining her fingers with mine. Still overprotective with her last breath, just as I remember her, but this time it felt as though her motivation had changed. Her eyes were laced heavily with regret and pain.

She pulls me towards the centre of the room. Everyone is watching, the maids peeking from the kitchen doorway, the guards pretending not to listen from the hall.

"I guess there's an explanation to your actions today, Odessa," Daphne clears her throat, trying to sound concerned. She doesn't look concerned. She looks calculating, like she's already planning her next move.

"Actually, why don't you start, Daphne?" My mother turns to her, raising her brows. The room goes quieter, if that's possible.

"Start?" Daphne chuckles, but it's hollow, forced. "Your daughter raged mad on the street, slapped and spat on my son, her chosen mate, embarrassed the whole family and her cousin, Sarah, and I should give you an explanation, Rebecca?"

"Maybe an explanation as to why the pig you raised has been sleeping around with his fiancee's cousin?" Mom snaps.

I watch Daphne's face change. The color drains, then rushes back, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Goodness. My mother knows everything.