I won’t deny his anger has a shiver of fear running up my spine, but there is no way in hell I’m going to blindly follow his rules and do as he orders. He thinks he can intimidate me, scare me into obedience, but he has no idea who I am, what I have faced. That cesspit I grew up in hardened me, made me strong, a survivor, a fighter. I have lived through the capricious nature that was my mother’s emotions, survived the grabby hands of the strangers she brought home, endured a whole existence alone, without anyone to lean on. I can easily adapt to handle an egocentric, arrogant asshat.
This whole introduction has confirmed, though, that this man has no interest in getting to know me, in building a relationship with me, as he had claimed to Nicole. His assurances were nothing but empty words.
So why then am I here?
He must have his own agenda, some reason for why he brought me here.
I will have to look out for myself, have my own back, if I want to survive this house, this town. I’ll obey his rules, for now. It won’t do me any good to anger him unnecessarily and it’s not as though I have many choices. No, for now I’ll play along, get an education, save some money and bide my time until I’m eighteen. Then I’m getting the hell out of here.
Appeased by my obedience, Robert smiles at me. Not a nice smile, it’s a cruel slash across his face, as though he has no idea how to actually smile, like his muscles have never been used for such a mundane purpose.
Moving on, he gets back to what he was saying before he blew a gasket. “You are enrolled in Crescentwood Prep school. The semester started a few weeks ago so you shouldn’t be that far behind and I expect no issues when it comes to catching up. Remember that when you are at school you represent this family. I will be keeping an eye on you to ensure you acclimate without issue. Understood?”
Forcing out a final “Yes, sir”, my father nods and returns to the paperwork on his desk, effectively dismissing me. Not wanting to subject myself to his presence any further, I hurriedly get up and leave the room.
Thomas is waiting for me at the end of the hall. “Let me take you on a quick tour of the rest of the house, then I’ll show you to your room and let you get some rest.”
Following behind him, taking in my surroundings, my new home, I pick up on the details that I missed on my first inspection of the house. This time, I notice there is nothing personal on display - No photographs or anything to tell you about who occupies this house, the people that live here. Everything is so impersonal, almost as though it's staged.
Leading me back to the front of the house where I first arrived, Thomas starts the tour. “This is the entrance foyer, miss. You can meet your driver here in the mornings. The stairs lead up to the sleeping quarters. I’ve already pointed out to you the theatre room, so I’ll show you where the kitchen is, then we can move on to the library and swimming pool and I’ll point out the ballroom on our way past, however, it is only used for special occasions.”
As Thomas leads me down endless corridors, I realise I’m going to need a map to navigate this maze of a mansion.
Once finished showing me around the ground floor, Thomas leads me upstairs to the bedrooms. Once we have ascended the stairs, Thomas points to the suite of rooms on my left and informs me they are my father’s rooms and I am not to go down that side of the house under any circumstances.
Instead, we turn right at the top of the stairs, by-passing several closed doors, which Thomas explains are spare bedrooms, before we stop in front of a door at the end of the hall, right at the back of the building, far away from the stairs and the rest of the house.
Thomas opens the door and ushers me into the room. “This is your room, miss. I hope everything is to your liking.” Giving me a polite smile, he dips his head before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself, leaving me alone for the first time since I got off the airplane.
Turning to take in the room, I can’t believe the sight before me. This room is the size of one entire floor of my house back home. It has been tastefully decorated, with the walls painted in pale blue and grey and there is a huge king size bed with a simple grey and white duvet cover taking up a large portion of the room. To the side of the bed is a set of French patio doors made entirely of glass, enabling me to see the beautifully manicured gardens below and the surrounding forest beyond the property’s walls. There is a guard rail on the outside of the doors so they can be opened to allow fresh air into the room. A small seating area with a TV angled so you can see it from both the sofa and the bed is set up in front of the doors, with a desk off to the side. In the corner of the room is a small reading nook with a comfy-looking armchair and reading lamp.
On the other side of the room are two doors. Opening one of them I walk into a massive walk-in closet, complete with a dressing table to sit at and do my hair and make-up. There are already clothes and accessories filling most of the space. Rifling through some of them, I notice everything is in my size. That’s not creepy at all.
Not wanting to dwell on that disturbing bit of information, I make my way over to the other door, which opens into a modern bathroom done in black and white tile with spotlights along the ceiling. There is a rainfall shower and a huge deep tub that I could just sink into. Once again there is already a range of shampoos and shower gels in the cupboards for me, and they all smell amazing! Much better than the cheap supermarket crap I’m used to.
Okay, so maybe living here won’t be so bad, especially if I never have to leave my bedroom.
Later that day, after I have unpacked my sparse belongings, I’m sitting trying to work out what to do when there is a knock at my door. Opening it, there is a maid in the doorway.
“Miss, I’ve brought a sandwich up for you, Thomas thought you may be too jet-lagged to come down for dinner.”
At the mention of food, my stomach starts to growl, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since my flight. Thank God for Thomas! He’s right, there was no way I wanted to leave this sanctuary and risk running into my father. Thanking the maid, I take the sandwich over to my desk and dig in.
While I’m munching away on the tastiest sandwich I’ve ever had, I flick through the brochure of this new fancy school I’ll be starting tomorrow. The school looks nothing like my old one. From the pictures in the brochure, the main building is a large gothic-style stone building with a central tower and huge glass windows. It’s the sort of building you would expect to find at universities like Oxford or Cambridge, or I guess that you would find at Ivy League colleges here in the United States. Other pictures show stables, a brand-new Olympic sports stadium, and even a theatre that looks like it belongs on Broadway. The list of clubs and extracurriculars is a mile long and, unfortunately, it is compulsory to partake in at least one of them.
Looking down the list of options, nothing stands out as all that appealing. I've never been a team player, I don’t play a musical instrument and I refuse to do anything that involves getting up on a stage and looking like an idiot. Unfortunately, that narrows the list down quite significantly. Perhaps I'll join the track team. That's an individual sport and while I've never been much of a runner, I am used to physical activity from my previous jobs and walking everywhere, so I can probably run without keeling over and dying. Right?
Once I’ve finished my sandwich, I move over to the walk-in wardrobe to inspect my uniform before I climb into bed for the night. I'm amazed at the quality of the material. I wore a uniform at my old high school so wearing one tomorrow isn't an issue, but I'm used to over-starched shirts and uncomfortable knee-length grey skirts. This uniform is on a whole other league. It's so soft to touch when I run my hand through the pleats in the black skirt, which has a daring red trim. The shirt is also black with short sleeves and a red tie and there is an optional red and black jumper with the initials ‘CWP’ stitched into the right breast, which I can wear over the shirt when it gets colder out.