Chapter 14 - The Midnight Call
|
That evening, Arthur and I returned to the Montecito mansion.
The sprawling estate felt remarkably different. It was quiet. Clean. The suffocating presence of parasites had been scrubbed away. There was no trace of Phoebe’s cheap floral perfume lingering in the hallways. I couldn't hear Martha’s heavy keys jingling in the kitchen. Carter and Jackson’s heavy combat boots were no longer stomping through my private corridors, and Preston’s loud, entitled voice wasn't echoing off the marble.
For the first time in my life, the house actually felt like it belonged to me.
In my mother’s elegant sitting room, Arthur placed a large, recovered jewelry box on the coffee table. Piece by piece, the stolen heirlooms seized from the maid's quarters had been legally cleared, cataloged, and returned. Some pieces were gone forever—pawned or fenced on the black market. But sitting directly in the center of the velvet cushion, professionally cleaned and gleaming under the lamps, was her platinum rose-clasp bracelet.
I reached out and picked it up.
Suddenly, a memory that did not belong to my original soul rose up from the depths of Blair’s body. I saw her mother standing before a mirror, fastening the diamonds to her wrist before a massive charity gala. The young Blair was begging to try it on.
“One day, my darling,” her mother had laughed, kissing her forehead. “You can wear it when you finally learn the difference between being admired, and being respected.”
My throat tightened painfully. Arthur, ever the professional, pretended to inspect a speck of dust on the windowpanes to give me a moment of privacy.
“Arthur,” I asked softly, staring at the diamonds. “Do you think she would hate what I’m becoming? What I had to do today?”
Arthur’s answer was slow and measured. “I think your mother would deeply hate what those people forced you to survive. But no, Miss Whitmore. She would never hate you for learning how to stand.”
Outside, the first heavy drops of an approaching storm began tapping against the reinforced glass.
My cell phone buzzed on the table. It was an unknown number.
I answered it without saying a word. For three long seconds, there was only the sound of ragged, heavy breathing on the other end of the line.
Then, Phoebe whispered into the microphone. “You ruined everything.”
I leaned back into the sofa. “You did that to yourself, Phoebe. Have a nice life.”
“You think you won, don't you?” she hissed. Her voice was entirely stripped of its usual sweet, innocent cadence. It was cracked, bitter, and hungry for blood. “But Preston knows things, Blair. Julian knows things. Your precious parents’ car accident wasn’t what you think it was.”
My fingers tightened around the phone like a vise. Arthur turned away from the window, his posture instantly rigid.
May you like
“What did you just say?” I demanded, the blood roaring in my ears.
Phoebe laughed softly, a broken, manic sound. Then, the line went completely dead.
