Chapter 30
Elara
Blackwood Estate looked the same as always with its gray stone and Gothic arches.
The guards escorted me to the main hall where Mr. Vane Senior sat in his high-backed leather chair by the fireplace with a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking every inch the patriarch dispensing judgment from his throne.
Mamá stood in the corner still in her cleaning uniform, her face pale and frightened in a way that made my heart sink because I knew she wouldn't stand with me.
"Elara." Mr. Vane Senior didn't stand up or even look at me directly, studying his whiskey instead as if it held more interest than my presence. "Sit down."
"I'd rather stand."
He sighed and set down his glass with deliberate care before finally looking at me with those cold, calculating eyes that had never seen me as anything more than an obligation. "You've had a difficult week. I understand that. Victoria's behavior was... excessive. I've spoken to her about it."
"Have you."
"She's young and impulsive, and she didn't understand the consequences of her actions." He pushed a piece of paper across the coffee table—a check made out for $100,000 with my name written in elegant script. "This is to compensate you for your distress. Buy yourself something nice, or save it for college."
I didn't move or touch it, recognizing the check for what it was: blood money, a payoff to make me shut up and go away.
"You're upset about the Parker boy." Mr. Vane Senior picked up his whiskey again and swirled it contemplatively. "That was unavoidable. His father received an excellent opportunity in Los Angeles, and I'm sure the family is grateful for the advancement."
"You paid them to leave."
"I facilitated a mutually beneficial arrangement where the boy will have a better life, his parents will have better careers, and everyone wins." He took a sip of whiskey. "Everyone except people who insist on making problems where none exist."
"Except me, you mean."
"You're being dramatic." His voice hardened like steel wrapped in velvet. "This is how the world works, child. You make choices, you live with them, and you learn that some battles aren't worth fighting. You tried to involve the police in a family matter, and that was unwise."
Mamá stepped forward with her hands clasped together in a pleading gesture that made me feel sick. "Elara, please. Just apologize to Victoria. Make this right."
I looked at her—really looked at the woman who'd given birth to me, who'd taught me to cook, who'd held me when I cried as a child—and saw the woman who would always choose survival over justice, security over truth.
"Make what right, Mamá? They tried to have me raped, they broke Papa's watch, and they drove away the one person who tried to help me."
"You're being dramatic!" Her voice rose to a desperate pitch. "Victoria is your sister, and you need to get along with her!"
"She's not my sister—she's a spoiled brat who's never been told no in her entire life."
Mr. Vane Senior stood up slowly, and the room got colder and quieter as if his displeasure could affect the very temperature.
"That's enough." His voice cracked like a whip.
He walked toward me with each step deliberate and measured, a predator approaching cornered prey. "You're upset, and you're speaking without thinking, so I'll forgive it this once. But understand this: this family has been good to you. We took you in, fed you, clothed you, educated you at great expense and inconvenience. And this is how you repay us? By causing trouble? By embarrassing us?"
"I didn't cause—"
"Enough!" The word exploded from him. "I've arranged for both you and Victoria to take the rest of the week off because you're both injured and you need time to heal, time to reflect on your behavior."
"My behavior?"
"Yes." His eyes were cold and hard as winter stones. "You've been acting out for months—following Julian around like a lost puppy, neglecting your studies, and now this incident with Victoria. I'm beginning to wonder if we made a mistake taking you in at all."
The words hit like a physical punch and made it hard to breathe, to think, to do anything but stand there and take it.
Mamá grabbed my arm with desperate strength. "She doesn't mean to be ungrateful! She's just confused. Please, give her another chance."
"I will." Mr. Vane Senior's voice softened and became almost kind, which was somehow worse than his anger. "But she needs to learn her place. This is my house, my family, and she lives here at my discretion. She would do well to remember that."
I swallowed and tasted blood from where I'd bitten my tongue without realizing it. "I understand."
"Good." He smiled—actually smiled—as if we'd just concluded a pleasant business transaction. "Go to your room and rest. I'll have the staff bring you dinner."
I turned to leave with my hands shaking so badly I had to press them against my sides.
"And Elara?" He waited until I looked back. "No more police, no more making scenes. If you have problems, you bring them to me first. Understood?"
I nodded and walked out, hearing behind me as Mamá thanked him profusely and promised I'd behave, hearing her beg him not to fire her for my mistakes.
---
I went back to my room and sat down at the desk, pulling out my SAT prep book with mechanical determination.
I opened it to a random page and stared at the words that blurred together into meaningless symbols, then forced myself to focus and read the first question, then the second, then the third.
Four or maybe five hours passed while the light outside faded to gray and then to darkness, the world outside my window transforming into shadow.
Someone knocked on my door.
"Elara." Mamá's voice was tentative, careful. "I have tea for you. And snacks from the kitchen."
I didn't answer, didn't move, barely breathed.
"Victoria's favorites—the French pastries." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Mr. Vane Senior wants you to bring them to her room as a peace offering."
I stood up and opened the door to find her holding a silver tray with bone china teacups and delicate pastries arranged in perfect rows like tiny monuments to my humiliation.
"Please." Her eyes were red from crying. "Just do this, just be nice to her, make this easier for all of us."
I took the tray without saying anything, without acknowledging her plea, and watched her watch me walk down the hall toward Victoria's wing—the good wing where the real family lived in comfort and luxury.
Victoria's door was closed with pop music playing inside, upbeat and happy as if the world weren't burning down around us.
I raised my hand to knock but froze when I heard voices.
"Sloane, I really hate her!" Victoria's voice was whiny and petulant. "She actually hit me! And she tried to get that Mason boy to testify against me. How dare she?"
"I know, sweetheart." Sloane's voice was smooth and comforting in the way a snake might sound if it could speak. "But you need to be smart about this. You can't let her see she's getting to you."
"But she's so annoying! And Julian still—" Victoria's voice dropped and I had to strain to hear. "He still goes to check on her even after everything."
"Men are complicated." Sloane laughed softly with perfect understanding. "They don't always know what they want, but I know Julian and he'll choose me. He always does."
A pause stretched out, heavy with unspoken implications. Then: "You know what would really teach her a lesson?"
My blood went cold.