She stood immediately, glancing at the clock once more, likely worrying that Daddy wasn’t going to show up on time. I don’t know why she bothered. It was the same thing every week. Daddy showed up fifteen minutes late, and the Taylors asked questions. Everyone was always asking questions. That’s what happened in a city full of socialites.
She let out a thankful sigh when the back door opened, and the sound of my daddy’s expensive dress shoes moved on the marble tile towards us. “Anyone going to answer the door?” he called from across the house. He turned the corner and rubbed at the back of his neck.
“Hey, Daddy,” I said robotically. There was no affection in our greeting.
He eyed me suspiciously, taking in the cut on my lip. I don’t know why I was bothering to greet him. Family dinner night put him on edge, and I gave it about negative four seconds before he ignored me and started looking for reasons to bitch at Mama. It was kind of their thing. He was much easier to handle when it was just him.
“You going to let her go out in public looking like that? Did she get into another fight?” he asked Mama before sliding his eyes back to me.
“I told you. I’m handling it,” she replied, her teeth and fists clenched.
“I’m right here, you know,” I piped in, earning another clinical once-over by Daddy. I wasn’t bothered by his lack of affection. Normal, loving families were a rarity. Dysfunction was to be expected in our tax bracket. It’s what happened when you could pay off your problems.
“Yeah. You told me. Switzerland, huh? Pretty soon you’ll run out of places to send your problems, Porchia.” Ouch. I almost felt bad for her.
The doorbell rang again, and they both looked expectantly at me. I almost opened my mouth to argue, but decided not to. At least I could sneak out if I opened the door while she whisper-yelled at Daddy for being late. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to them fight or watch him wash off the bright red lipstick stain that his new girlfriend left on his collar.
I opened our large, ornate front door to greet Mr. and Mrs. Taylor on the other side. “Good evening!” I said, forcing a cheerful smile on my face, despite spotting Godfrey behind them.
Mr. Taylor owned the law firm my father was a partner at. He had every judge in his pocket and every criminal within a fifty-mile radius on speed dial. He was known for getting the worst of the worst off, and prided himself on it. He looked like an older version of Godfrey—the same cocky smile, the same pretentious air about him. Blonde hair, blue eyes, handsome and suave. I didn’t like him one bit.
Mrs. Taylor was a tiny woman but had hair bigger than her husband’s head, and red lipstick that was always smudged at the corner of her lips. “Hello, Scarlett. Your father here?” Mr. Taylor asked while dragging his eyes over me. Like most men, the only attention he paid a woman was to her body. He never really bothered to engage in conversation with me.
“He’s just in the sitting room with Mama,” I replied, while slumping my shoulders, as if slouching could direct his creepy gaze away from my breasts.
“You look good, Scar,” Godfrey said from behind them, his eyes lingering on the short hem of my dress. “Get dressed up for me?” His parents shuffled past me and made their way inside.
“I’m going out,” I replied with a shrug, before nervously checking the inside of my clutch in my hands.
“Oh, really?”
I thought of how he let Stephanie suck his dick with my blood practically still on her knuckles, and decided to irritate him. “Thought I’d go see Rogue, Bonham, and Luis,” I added with a wide smile, lingering on Rogue’s name just long enough for it to get under his skin. It was nice, no longer fearing things. I wouldn’t be here anymore, anyway. It would be nice to taunt them for a change, instead of the other way around. I was going to wear this new fuck-it attitude with pride.
Godfrey laughed. “You’re going to an Heir party?”
“Yep,” I replied. “Figured I should tell everyone goodbye.”
At that, Godfrey’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, goodbye?” he asked in a dark tone. I didn’t delude myself into thinking Godfrey was actually upset about me leaving. He just had that toddler mentality of lashing out when his favorite toy was taken away.
“My fight with your fuck buddy was the last straw. Mama enrolled me in a new boarding school in Switzerland. Apparently, it’s where all the reject rich girls spend their senior year. I leave Monday,” I explained with a shrug. I was proud of myself for managing to keep my voice even. I didn’t even stutter.
Godfrey went deathly silent for a moment before taking a step closer. “Do the others know?” he asked in a whisper, so low and threatening that I had to swallow back the trepidation his tone had caused.
I eyed him warily. “Since when do I have to tell y’all what’s going on in my life?” I barked back.
Godfrey straightened, a self-satisfied smirk on his tanned face. “Scarlett Livingston,” he sighed my name like it was a prayer. “We know everything. We control everything. And if there’s something that we don’t know, then we sure as hell make sure to find it out quick.”
My heart began to race as Godfrey grabbed my arm, guiding me outside. He shut the door behind us, not bothering to tell our parents that we were leaving. Now that I was being sent away, I didn’t really care enough to stop him.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he opened the passenger door to his Mercedes and gestured for me to sit inside. Once I was settled in the red leather bucket seat, he bent over me so that his nose was just inches from mine. I breathed in his minty breath, hating how I loved having him so close.
“Even forgotten Heirs deserve a proper goodbye, Scar,” he whispered.
I tried not to, but a shuddered breath escaped from between my lips, and Godfrey grinned. The asshole just loved screwing with me.
But he was wrong. I wasn’t forgotten. The loneliness reminded me of what we once had every fucking day.
Chapter Seven
Godfrey drove the way he did everything else—always keeping me on the edge. He flipped through the music every couple of minutes, never letting it be. He constantly revved up the speed of his car, making me white-knuckle it with my fingers digging into the leather of the seat, and then he’d slow back down right as I got used to it. He shifted his hands on the steering wheel, never staying still. Godfrey liked movement. He liked to keep people guessing.
“You really think this is a good idea, Scar?” he asked.
I decided to pretend to be oblivious. “What do you mean?” I asked with a smartass smirk.
“Cut the shit. You think showing up to an Heir party is gonna end well for you?”
“You’re an Heir,” I reminded him. “If you’re so worried about it, why are you driving me?”
He snorted. “I’m just here for the front row seat.”
“At what?”
He sent me a sidelong glance. “At the shitshow you’re about to star in.”
His taunting words made me look out the window. Every street we passed was like an advertisement for the ritzy life. Mansions, manicured lawns, million dollar parks, and pavement that would never be allowed to have a single pothole.