Twelve

M:

After Remington had dropped me home last week, I walked into the foyer with a silent, desperate prayer that I wouldn't bump into my father.

The house felt particularly cold that evening, the marble floors echoing every footstep like a heartbeat.

My prayers weren't answered.

He was there, perched on the edge of the one-seat sofa like a gargoyle, his eyes already fixed on the door the moment I stepped through.

"And what took you so long to get home?" He asked, his right brow arching with practiced precision.

"Coach wanted to speak to me about our routine," I replied quickly. I clutched my bag tighter and made a move to retreat up the stairs, hoping to escape the interrogation before it truly began.

But his voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Okay. So why didn't you take your car with you today?"

"Heather offered to give me a ride so we could catch up." I shrugged nonchalantly, forcing my expression to remain flat. I could feel the sweat start to prickle down my back.

Where was he going with this?

"I see. So, who dropped you off just now?" He stared at me, his gaze unblinking, waiting for a crack in my facade.

"It was—"

"Before you lie, I know what kind of car every friend of yours drives."

The trap had been set before I even walked in. My stomach dropped. So that was the main reason for the rapid-fire questions. He'd been watching from the window.

"I had someone from the basketball team drop me off, Dad," I said, offering the half-truth as I usually did to survive his scrutiny.

"I'm certain I know everyone on the basketball team, Margaux."

My patience was wearing paper-thin at this point. My skin felt too tight for my body. This wasn't a home; it was a game show where he acted as the host, demanding answers at every turn.

"He's sort of new to the team, joined weeks ago." I shrugged my shoulders again, trying to project a sense of boredom I didn't feel.

My father just hummed, his eyes narrowing as he weighed my words. He wasn't completely convinced, but he seemed to decide against pushing it any further for the moment.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Thank you for the small mercies.

"Well then, I'd like to meet him someday to get acquainted. Seeing as you never let anyone take you home." He delivered that final blow of a sentence and turned his attention back to his newspaper.

That was the end of the conversation. I spent a few awkward seconds shuffling in place before turning toward the stairs and bolting for the safety of my room.

The second I crossed the threshold, I turned the lock with a satisfying click. I plopped face-first onto my bed, the silk comforter cool against my skin.

Today had been an eternity. I was utterly exhausted, my body aching in a way that sleep couldn't fix. I was in desperate need of a massage.

I'd been having these relentless back cramps all day, and they were finally getting on my nerves—which went a long way in explaining why I'd been yelling at my cheer squad for every microscopic mistake they made.

I was immensely glad the weekend had finally arrived. I needed time to decompress, to relax, and to reclaim some semblance of my free time before diving back into the hectic chaos of the school week.

My phone beeped on the nightstand. I groaned, reaching out to see who the fuck could be disturbing my peace.

It was a text from Heather: Party at Wellington's house at 8pm. Can you make it?

I rolled my eyes at the screen. I sure as hell wasn't attending a stupid, loud party in this mood.

I typed back a quick response: I can't. Seriously busy rn. Enjoy.

I hit send and threw the phone back onto the bed, letting out another groan of pure frustration.

After my little fit of exasperation, I forced myself to get up. The clothes I was wearing suddenly felt restrictive and wrong against my skin.

Changing out of the outfit didn't take me more than five minutes. I was desperate to catch even a few minutes of shut-eye before the inevitable summons to the dining room.

You could not miss dinner in this house, especially when my father was in residence. To do so was to invite a lecture I didn't have the stamina for.

A light, rhythmic knock on my bedroom door pulled me out of a heavy, dreamless sleep. I was surprised I even heard it, given how deeply I'd crashed.

I guess I was a light sleeper after all, constantly on edge even in my rest.

"Yes?" I asked, stifling a small yawn as I pulled the door open.

"Madam Dubois, your father requested for you to come join him for dinner." It was Mariam, one of the housemaids. She stood there with her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Oh, uhm, tell him I'll be right there in a minute. And Mariam? You can call me by my name when my father isn't around." I gave her a small, tired smile.

"I'll do well as to let him know...but you know I can't do that. I might lose my job if Mister Dubois ever found out." There was a visible tremor of fear in her eyes.

As usual, it made a wave of guilt wash over me. I hated that he instilled such terror in everyone who walked these halls.

I was never mean to the household staff. I'd practically grown up under their care while my father was off playing businessman.

They were more like my family than he was; he was just the man responsible for my existence—nothing less, nothing more.

"Okay. I'm sorry for bringing it up. Stay safe, Mariam. I'll see you downstairs." I didn't wait for her to respond before stepping back into my room and shutting the door.

I took a moment to breathe, leaning my forehead against the wood. Then, I went to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, giving myself a silent pep talk before heading down.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence." His voice, deep and resonant, boomed through the dining room the moment I entered.

"I had just woke up from my much-needed nap," I replied, shrugging as I took my seat. I sat directly opposite him, but the distance between us felt like a mile given the unnecessarily long table he insisted on using.

It was a formal, clinical setup, but I wasn't complaining about the space between us.

"Mariam told me that."

I hummed a response, staring down at the perfectly arranged food on the plate in front of me. I suddenly wasn't feeling hungry at all. My stomach felt like it was tied in knots.

"Something wrong with the food?" I clenched my jaw at the question. Could he just shut up and let us eat in silence?

"No, I'm just not feeling hungry. Maybe I'd just take some snacks and call it a night." I made a move to stand, but the glare on my father's face made me flinch back into my seat as if I'd been struck.

"You will eat your food, savor and finish it before going to bed." He didn't leave any room for objections. He went back to eating his peas in the most posh, methodical way possible. It was agonizing to watch.

I huffed under my breath and began forcing the food down my throat, swallowing against the lump in my neck just to please His Highness.

"I'm done," I announced once my plate was clear. I didn't really see the need in announcing it, but in this house, everything was a performance.

"Sit and wait for me to finish."

Are you fucking kidding me right now?

He really took his sweet time, meticulously cutting his steak into tiny, identical cubes. It was like he was savoring my irritation, prolonging the meal just because he knew it bothered me.

I had to grip the edge of my chair to keep from going over there and forcing the fork down his throat. I have a thing for throats—sue me.

My dark thoughts were interrupted when I saw him finally stand up out of the corner of my eye. Final-fucking-ly.

"Come with me." Was all he said. I stood up and followed him like the good, obedient daughter I was supposed to be.

He wishes.

He led me into his study. He kept his back to me for a moment, and a hundred creative ways to end him flashed through my mind before I shook my head, driving the intrusive thoughts away.

"I remember telling you to stay away from that new student, correct?"

"You did, and I obeyed."

"You never were a good liar, Margaux, but you should know I have eyes and ears everywhere." He sat in his heavy leather office chair, staring straight into my soul with a look that made me feel like an insect under a microscope.

"What are you saying?" I played dumb, trying to see how much he actually knew.

"I know you never kept your distance from that... unnatural girl..." He trailed off, watching me intently. I didn't even truly care about Remington at that moment, but I felt a hot flash of anger for the way he said it.

"I've been making her time at school insufferable, Father—"

"And I told you to stay away from it!" My jaw clenched hard at his use of the word 'it'.

"But—"

"You will do as I say, Margaux. Do you have any idea what people will say when they find out about your indulgence with a person with mud colored skin? I would lose investors! I would lose face! Since your mother died, everything went to shambles."

And whose fault was that? I bit my tongue, saying nothing. I just bowed my head in a mimicry of 'shame' so he would dismiss me sooner.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the sound of a man burdened by his own ego.

"You know I'm just trying to look out for our family name." His voice took on a softer, almost manipulative tone.

My brows furrowed in confusion. What was happening? He hadn't spoken to me, or anyone, like that in years.

I remained silent. He finally dismissed me with a final, chilling warning to stay away from Remington, or he'd be forced to take matters into his own hands. I had no idea what that meant, and I didn't want to find out.

I retreated to my room, my head throbbing. I needed to sleep this off and hope that morning brought some clarity.

The alarm I'd set as a default woke me from a surprisingly relaxing slumber. Usually, I woke up feeling like I'd been in a wreck, but today I actually had a small smile on my face.

I had no idea why, and I didn't want to overthink it.

I went through my morning routine—the usual hygiene and skincare.

After the bathroom, I started towel-drying my hair. I wasn't in the mood for the noise of a blow dryer, so I decided to let it air-dry.

My phone chimed on the nightstand. I walked over to grab it, rolling my eyes at the barrage of messages from Heather and the rest of my 'friends.'

They were spamming the group chat with pictures and videos from the party last night. Looking at the blurry photos of red solo cups and packed basements, I didn't regret staying home. At least I didn't have a hangover.

I sat on my windowsill, letting out a long sigh as I stared out at the sprawling estate. It was a beautiful Saturday morning. The sun was hitting the trees just right.

I wonder what Remington is up to. The thought was shut down instantly.

No. Stop it.

"I really need to find something to keep myself busy," I mumbled to myself. I grabbed my phone again and began the mindless scroll through I*******m.

After liking a few aesthetic posts and sharing some memes, I was suggested Remington's account. My thumb hovered over the 'follow' icon. Should I? Shouldn't I? What was I even doing?

I shook my head, deciding that a follow was too much of a statement. But looking at her posts? That was harmless.

I scrolled through her feed until I hit a photo that stopped my heart for a second. It was a girl holding the camera, a wide, genuine grin on her face.

Remington's arms were wrapped firmly around the girl's waist from behind.

My brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and anger. They looked so...happy. Were they together? Why did the sight of it make my blood simmer?

I clicked on the girl's tagged profile and began a deep dive into her page. Remington was everywhere.

Shirtless photos, casual shots, professional headshots, swimsuits—you name it.

Wait...was this her girlfriend? Was this why she never spared a glance for any of the girls throwing themselves at her at school? My blood was boiling for a reason I couldn't quite explain.

I'm probably just angry seeing her happy when I want her to suffer, I told myself. Yes. That's exactly what this is.

I spent several excruciating minutes staring at their smiling faces until I couldn't take it anymore. I shut the phone off, my chest tight.

I decided to go grab breakfast; it was Saturday, so the chances of bumping into my father were a hundred to one.

The day dragged on. I spent most of it binging horror movies in the media room. I liked watching slashers in the middle of the day—sue me.

"Madam Dubois." I heard a voice behind me and turned to see Mariam holding my ringing phone. I hadn't even heard it over the sound of the movie.

"Thank you, Mariam." I took it from her with a small nod. She bowed and disappeared into the hallway. She really was a sweet young woman.

"You've reached the Dubois household, how may I help you?" I said into the phone, sounding as bored as possible as I checked my nails.

"Bitch, where the hell have you been?" Heather's voice exploded from the other end.

"Watching TV. Why?"

"I wanted us to have a girl's night or something!" There was a lot of shuffling in the background, but I ignored it.

"Oh, so now you care about me? I thought Remington had all your attention. What changed?" I spat the words out before I could stop them. I hadn't meant to sound so bitter.

"Whoa, why are you saying this? You know I've always cared about you, Marge." Her voice sounded genuinely hurt, and the guilt hit me instantly.

"It's no reason. Sorry. I was just being immature," I said, shrugging even though she couldn't see me.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Marge. I get that I was giving my silly crush way too much attention lately, and I'm sorry for that." I frowned. I was the one being silly and irrationally jealous, yet she was the one apologizing.

"No, you shouldn't apologize either."

"How about we just both accept each other's apologies since we're clearly not going to take them back?" Heather suggested. I couldn't help but smile.

"I'd like that."

"Good! Now, about that girl's night—how does tomorrow sound?"

"Why don't we just have a girl's day and night?" I suggested, feeling a sudden surge of excitement.

"It's Sunday, we could even get sundaes." It had been way too long since we'd hung out outside of school.

"It's a date then! Can we visit the mall too?"

"Well, duh! What's the purpose of a girl's day out if we don't go to the mall?"

"Yay! See you tomorrow!"

"I'll come pick you up. Bye!" I ended the call with a genuine smile. I couldn't wait. Heather was the sister I'd always wanted but never had.

I leaped up from the couch and raced upstairs to my room, ready to find the perfect outfit that screamed: my bestie and I are finally hanging out again.