Chapter 9: Obsidian

Each step I took away from the massive hotel towards the car felt like I was stepping closer and closer to hell. I was leaving my mum and sister in the hands of these monsters, and I could do nothing to save them even though this was all my fault to begin with. It I’d known this would have happened, I’d have gladly left Vesper with them that night.

Elliard didn’t drive me in the SUV or something inconspicuous. I was currently sitting in the passenger seat of a midnight-blue Aston Martin that cost more than the entire financial aid budget of my school. If anyone sees me in this, it’d raise more questions than I had answers to.

The engine purred with a deep, throaty growl as we began our trip to my new school. All the while, I thought of what I’d give was the reason I had to get home so suddenly, what I’d tell Aleera, and how I’d have to fit into this new reality for the next few months.

It was early the next morning when we arrived at the city. My school was less than two minutes drive away.

“Stop here,” I instructed Elliard, but he didn’t listen to me.

“I said stop,” I shouted, and it was then the driver came to a stop.

“What was that?” He asked, turning to look at me. His face didn’t hide the fact that he was pissed off by what I did.

“Just trust me. There’s a reason why,” I insisted, trying to keep my tone from sounding like a plea.

"Get out," Graves said, turning to stare straight ahead. "And remember to smile. You’re having a good day."

"Go to hell," I muttered, adjusting the bag that’s been strapped against my back since the early hours of yesterday.

I shoved the door open and stepped out. The cool morning air hit my face, grounding me. I slammed the door shut—harder than necessary—and didn’t look back as Elliard drove away, the tires screeching slightly on the asphalt.

I pulled my hood up, stepping into the compound silently, but it was too late. Students in blazers were milling about the courtyard, clutching lattes and looking all expensive.

Only a few of them bothered sparing me any glance, and I took them as the leverage as I sped past them into the building.

"Well, well. If it isn't the scholarship charity case."

I froze. I knew that voice. It was the nasal, arrogant drawl of Ryder Miles.

I turned to face him slowly. Ryder was leaning against a stone pillar, an eyebrow arched so high it nearly touched his hairline. He was holding a takeaway coffee, looking at me like I was a puzzle he was about to solve.

"Nice wheels, newbie," he said, pushing off the pillar and stepping into my personal space. "Did you rob a bank over the weekend? Or is that just the 'Uber Luxe' service for orphans?"

How did he see that for goodness sake? What the fuck is he? I was beyond shocked, but I quickly recomposed myself so he wouldn’t get the benefit of seeing me bewildered.

"It's a rental, Ryder," I lied, my voice flat. "My uncle won the lottery. He wanted to show off."

Ryder smirked, stepping closer. "Your file says you don't have an uncle. It says you don't have anyone except a mum and a sister. And that car wasn't a rental. It had diplomatic plates. I saw them before he took off."

My heart hammered against my ribs. He has access to my files, I don’t know why I’m still surprised. And diplomatic plates? My father’s reach was even more suffocating than I realized.

"You spend a lot of time looking at license plates," I said, forcing a bored expression onto my face. "Maybe you should spend more time looking at a textbook. The news making rounds on blog sites is that you’re failing Calc."

The smirk faltered for a second. I seized the opening.

"Excuse me, Ryder. Unlike you, I actually have to maintain a GPA to stay here."

I brushed past him, my shoulder checking his hard enough to make him spill a drop of coffee on his pristine loafers.

"This isn't over, newbie" he called after me, his voice still deceptively calm.

I kept walking, my hands trembling in my pockets. I didn't stop until I was inside the dormitory, safely behind the heavy oak door of Room 412.

The room smelled like vanilla candles and old paper—Aleera’s scent. My roommate was sitting on her bed, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks, her curly hair pulled up in a chaotic bun. She looked up as I entered, her eyes wide with concern.

"Sylvania,” She scrambled off the bed. "You’re back! Oh my god, are you okay? You left in such a hurry yesterday, I thought—"

"I'm fine," I interrupted, tossing my bag onto my bed. I couldn't look her in the eye. Aleera was the closest thing I had to a friend here, which meant she was the person I had to lie to the most. "It was... a false alarm."

Let the lies begin.

"A false alarm?" She sat back down, frowning. "You looked like you’d seen a ghost when you got that call. What happened? Is your mum okay?”

"She was, and is," I said, moving to my dresser to start unpacking clothes I hadn't even used. "Chest pains. They thought it was a heart attack. Turns out it was just... severe indigestion. Panic attack mixed with bad takeout. It was stupid."

The way the lies kept on flowing left me appalled at my own self, even though I’d memorized it over and over all through my ride here.

"You went all the way home for indigestion?" Aleera asked, her voice skeptical.

"She sounded scared, Leera. I panicked." I finally turned to face her, forcing a small, sheepish smile. "That’s how she is. She’s dramatic. It runs in the family."

Aleera studied me for a long moment.

"Okay," she said slowly. "If you say so."

She didn't believe me. I could see it. But Aleera was kind enough not to prove further.

She picked up her highlighter again. "Well, I'm glad she's okay. But you have to get ready. We have just about an hour before lectures start, and new students are supposed to have an orientation today.”

Thank goodness that I caught some shut eye in the car.

"I'll make it," I whispered, turning back to my dresser.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A single, sharp vibration.

I froze. Something in me told me not to look, but I had to. I pulled it out to check the content.

Unknown Number: Remember the incentive.

Below the text was a photo. It was time-stamped five minutes ago. It showed my mother and Lily sitting at a table eating. They weren’t alone. One of my dad’s men was sitting with them and he had a gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

Bile rose in my throat. I tapped the screen off and shoved the phone deep into my pocket.

I had to get to work.