Chapter Two: Behind the Gate

The word hits so deep that it brings me to the reality that mom is never ever coming back. How am I supposed to live with people I barely know, when it’s this hard to look the person I call dad, in the eye? What do I do, mom? 

“Your mom would have wanted that for you. She wouldn’t want you living alone.”

The word sinks and a little bit comforting as if he could read my mind on this, as if it was mom speaking through him but it’s still not fair. I mean, mom just died and I’m supposed to move on with my life like nothing happened? 

“So I’m supposed to what? Move in with you and act like nothing happened? Oh! You need a reason for mom to forgive you?"

He was never there for her when she needed her the most, maybe he left, because I really am cursed, because if I wasn’t, why would someone like mom die? Just like that?

“You have no choice, June.”

The bluntness of it steals my breath, because he’s right, and we both know it.

“This is your fault,” I whisper. “She worked herself to death, because you weren’t there. We had no one.”

“I know.” His voice breaks. “I know, and I’m sorry. But June, please. Let me help you now. It’s what she would have wanted.”

“Fine.” I honestly don’t have a choice. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, just pack few things you might need.”

The drive to the estate takes two hours. Dad tries to make conversation;asks about school, my friends and what I like to do but I give one-word answers until he stops trying. Outside the window, the city gives way to suburbs, then to sprawling properties with gates and security cameras.

When we finally turn onto a private road, my stomach drops.

The Kingsley mansion looks like something from a movie. Stone facade, multiple wings, windows that gleam in the afternoon sun and the garden that’s so perfect that they look painted.

We park near a side and dad grabs my duffel bag from the trunk while I follow him inside.

The interior is even worse. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers and artwork that belongs in museums. Staff members move through the halls with practiced efficiency, barely glancing at us. 

“Thomas! There you are.”

A woman rounds the corner, and I’m struck by how warm she looks. Round face, kind eyes, graying hair pulled into a neat bun in a nearly ironed apron.

“Mrs. Margaret, this is my daughter, June.” 

Dad’s voice is different here; almost formal. 

“June, this is Mrs. Margaret. She’s ……well, she does everything , really.”

Mrs. Margaret’s smile is genuine as she pulls me into a hug that smells like vanilla and cinnamon. 

“Oh, you poor dear. I’m so sorry about your mother.”

The kindness cracks something inside me that I feel tears threatening and I force them back.

“Let me show you to your room,” she says gently. “You must be exhausted.”

She leads us through a maze of hallways,past rooms and I glimpse through open doors, each more extravagant than the last and finally, we reached the staff wing. The rooms here are smaller but still nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived.

“Here we are.” Mrs. Margaret opens a door to reveal a clean, modest bedroom with an actual attached bathroom. “It’s not much, but….”

“It’s perfect,” I interrupt, because it’s actually way bigger than my bedroom at home was. 

“Thank you.”

She pats my hand. “I’ll let you settle in. Dinner is at six in the staff dining room. Thomas will show you.” She hesitates. 

After she leaves, I sit on the bed and let myself look around. There’s a desk, a dresser, and a window overlooking the gardens. It’s clean and comfortable.

Dad hovers in the doorway. “I know this isn’t ideal…”

“It’s fine.” I can’t look at him. “I’ll manage.”

“June, I want you to know….”

“Please just go.”

He stands there for a long moment, then nods and leaves, closing the door softly behind him. 

Alone finally, I pull mom’s sweater from my duffel bag. It still smells like her lavender soap. I bury my face in it and let myself cry, for her and for us.

I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard the crash.

Glass shattering and someone shouting. I jump up and rush into the hallway. Other staff members are hurrying toward the noise with concern on their faces.

I follow them to a grand sitting room where a priceless-looking vase lies in pieces on the marble floor and standing in the middle of this is a boy around my age with dark hair falling across his forehead and eyes that are red-rimmed and wild.

He reeks of alcohol.

“Who the hell are you?” he slurs, looking right at me.

Before I can answer, a woman appears;tall, thin, perfectly put together. Her face is beautiful but cold.

“Adam.” Her voice could let hell loose. “Go to your room. Now.”

He laughs bitterly.

 “Yes, Mother. Whatever you say, mother. I’m such a disappointment anyway, what’s one more….”

“NOW!”

Adam’s eyes lock on mine for one more moment and I see something there beneath the anger and alcohol. I can’t really explain.

Then he’s gone, stumbling down the hallway.

That must be Mrs. Kingsley. She turns that cold gaze on me. Staff members are already cleaning up the glass, moving with efficiency.

“You must be Thomas’ daughter.” She looks me up and down, and I feel catalogued and dismissed in seconds. “I’m Vivian. Welcome to our home.” The words are polite, but her tone makes it clear that I’m not welcome at all. “I trust your father explained the arrangement? You’ll attend Belmont Academy on my husband’s scholarship, keep your grades up and stay out of trouble. And always remember to stay out of my son’s way. Is that clear?”

This doesn’t sound like a question. I manage to nod as she sweeps from the room like she owns the world.

Mrs. Margaret appears at my elbow. “Don’t mind her. She’s… protective of Adam, especially since Julian’s.”

“Julian?”

Curiosity suddenly creeps in and I can see the look on her face like she’d said something she was not supposed to say and she dismissed the conversation in a way that keeps drawing my attention to the name.”