CHAPTER 4: TWISTED

​"Are you out of your mind?"

​The words ripped out of my throat. My hand connected with his jaw before I even realized I was moving.

​The slap echoed through the living room, a sharp, violent crack. My palm stung like fire. I breathed heavily, my chest heaving, glaring at him with absolute hatred. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to realize how sick and twisted he was.

​Vance’s head was turned slightly from the impact, but he didn't stumble. He didn't even raise a hand to his face. Slowly, he turned his head back to look at me. His jaw was clenched, a faint red mark forming on his skin, but his eyes were completely calm.

​That calmness made my stomach turn.

​"You're disgusting," I spat, shoving hard at his chest to get him away from me. "You're married to my mother!"

​Vance caught both of my wrists this time, his grip tight enough to bruise, and pinned them to my sides. I kicked at his shin, thrashing wildly.

​"Let me go!" I screamed.

​"Stop acting like a child," Vance said, his voice flat and commanding.

​"I'm going to tell her," I threatened, glaring up at him, my vision blurring with angry tears I refused to let fall. "The second she walks through that door tomorrow morning, I'm going to tell her exactly what you just said to me. You're done, Vance. She's going to kick you out."

​Vance slowly let go of my wrists. He took a step back, giving me space, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

​"Tell her," he said simply.

​I froze, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "What?"

​"I said, tell her." Vance tilted his head, watching me like a predator observing a cornered animal. "Tell Claire that you invited your little boyfriend over the second she left for a night shift. Tell her that you came downstairs dressed like that specifically to try and provoke me. Tell her that when I caught you and kicked the boy out, you got mad and made up a sick lie to try and ruin her marriage."

​My jaw dropped. The sheer manipulation of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

​"She wouldn't believe that," I argued, but my voice shook.

​"Harper, your mother has spent the last year bragging to all her friends about how perfectly we fixed this family. She pays half the mortgage with my money. She finally has the comfortable life she wanted." Vance took one slow step forward. "Do you honestly think she’s going to throw all of that away just because her rebellious daughter, who has hated me since day one, threw a tantrum?"

​I stared at him, absolute horror washing over me. He was right. My mom thought he was a saint. She thought I was just a bitter teenager acting out. If I told her, she would think I was lying just to get rid of him.

​He had already planned this out. He had cornered me before I even knew we were playing a game.

​"You're a monster," I whispered.

​"I'm just a man keeping order in my house," Vance replied coldly. "Go to your room, Harper. You're done for the night."

​"Go to hell," I hissed.

​I turned and bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. I practically ran down the hallway, slamming my bedroom door shut and twisting the lock. My whole body was shaking. I grabbed my desk chair and shoved it under the door handle for good measure, backing away until I hit the edge of my bed.

​I sat there in the dark, my heart hammering in my ears, staring at the locked door. I hated him. I hated him so much I couldn't breathe.

​Ten minutes passed in complete silence.

​Then, I heard the heavy, slow creak of his footsteps on the stairs.

​I held my breath. The footsteps stopped right outside my bedroom. A shadow blocked out the sliver of light under my door.

​I waited for him to knock. I waited for him to speak.

​Instead, the doorknob slowly, silently began to turn.