Chapter 6

Dahlia's POV

"Bad night's sleep?"

I jerked upright, my heart leaping into my throat.

Vincent was standing at the edge of the garden, his hands in his pockets, his expression carefully neutral. He was wearing a white button-down that was slightly wrinkled, like he hadn't bothered to change after the night before.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice sharp.

He shrugged. "Just checking on my dear stepsister. You seemed upset at breakfast."

He stepped closer, and I instinctively pressed back against the stone bench. His eyes raked over me, taking in my red-rimmed eyes, my pale face, my trembling hands. And he smiled.

"Rough night?" he asked, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Couldn't sleep? Kept seeing things you wished you hadn't?"

My face burned. "Stay away from me, Vincent."

"Why?" He took another step closer. "We're family now. Shouldn't we be close?"

"Don't pretend you care," I spat. "I saw you last night. With Miranda. You wanted me to see, didn't you?"

His smile widened. "Maybe. Maybe I wanted to remind you exactly what you are to me. A shadow. A nobody. Someone who watches from the darkness while I live my life."

The words hit like a slap. I felt tears prick at my eyes again, but I refused to let them fall.

"You're disgusting," I whispered.

"And you're pathetic," he said smoothly. "Pining after someone who doesn't want you. Drawing pictures of a man who'll never look at you twice."

I froze. "What are you talking about?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather-bound book. My sketchbook. The one I kept hidden under my mattress.

My blood ran cold.

"Where did you get that?" I demanded, lunging for it.

He stepped back easily, holding it above my reach. "Found it. Under your mattress. Really, Dahlia, you need to find a better hiding spot."

"Give it back!"

"Or what?" He flipped through the pages casually, his eyes scanning the drawings. 

"Interesting. You've been watching me for years. Sophomore year. Junior year. Even last month." He held up a page. "This one's from the game against Westbrook. You were in the bleachers, weren't you?"

My face burned with humiliation. "Vincent, please—"

"Please what?" He closed the sketchbook and tucked it into his back pocket. "Please don't tell everyone that the perfect scholarship girl has been obsessed with her stepbrother?"

"I'm not obsessed—"

"Really?" He pulled out his phone and held it up. I saw a picture of one of my drawings. "'Vincent on the ice. The way the light hits his face when he scores. I wish he would look at me just once.'" He read the words slowly, savoring each one. "You wrote that, didn't you?"

I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe.

"Don't worry," he said, stepping closer. "I'm not going to show anyone. Not yet." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch feather-light and mocking. "I'm going to keep this. As insurance."

"Insurance for what?"

"For your silence." His smile was cold. "You saw something you shouldn't have in Dean Prescott's office. Now I have something on you too. We're even."

"You're blackmailing me?” I said, my voice cracking.

"I prefer to think of it as mutual assurance." He stepped back, his eyes glittering with malice. "You keep my secret, I keep yours. Simple."

I stared at him, my hands shaking. "What do you want from me?"

"Right now? Nothing." He shrugged. "Just know that I have this. And if you ever step out of line, if you ever tell anyone what you saw, I'll make sure everyone at Bellmont knows exactly what their precious valedictorian has been doing in her spare time."

He turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the garden.

I sank back onto the bench, my whole body trembling. The tears came then, hot and uncontrollable. I hated him. I hated him more than I'd ever hated anyone.

And now he had something on me. Something that could destroy my school life.

Oh God.

I walked out, entering into the house.

My mother was in the kitchen with Robert, discussing wedding plans with excited voices. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries filled the air. They were planning the guest list, discussing venues, debating flower arrangements… at least those were the parts I overheard. 

I forced myself to smile when my mother looked my way.

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Much better," I lied. "Just tired from all the moving."

Robert smiled warmly. "You'll get used to it. This is your home now. You should feel comfortable here."

I nodded, keeping my eyes fixed on my plate. I couldn't look at Vincent's empty seat. He'd already left for school, probably with Miranda draped over him in his expensive car.

"Have you met any of the other students at Bellmont?" Robert asked. "Vincent mentioned you're quite popular there."

I almost choked on my orange juice. "He did?"

"He mentioned you're at the top of your class. Very impressive." Robert beamed at my mother. "You've raised an exceptional daughter, Julia."

My mother glowed with pride. "She's always been brilliant. Even when she was little, she'd spend hours reading. Couldn't get her nose out of a book."

I forced another smile, my mind racing. Vincent had mentioned me? To his father? What game was he playing?

But it was really a relief that he had already left for school.