Ren

Things could’ve gone much worse, I remind myself. My father’s assistant sat me down weeks ago in preparation for this. Father stayed silent; he couldn’t look me in the eyes. Mother sent herself into a psychotic breakdown and ended up in the mental ward. Things could’ve gone so much worse.

Levi shows me to my room after we return from the mall, and A.J. runs off to who knows where. Levi’s voice is chipper in that typical way of kids without a care in the world. “If you need anything, ring the bell, and it’ll alert the maids in the kitchen,” he offers helpfully. “I’m sorry you had to witness that earlier, by the way,” he grimaces, looking embarrassed.

“Witness what?” I ask, looking around, committing the layout of the house to memory. Levi’s voice brings me back to reality.

“A.J.’s tantrums,” he sighs. “There’ll be many more of those in the future,” he says, resigned.

“I’d be upset too if my family ditched me on my birthday.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “They’re barely around...” He looks like he’s about to say something else but instead shakes his head and mutters, “Oh, and I’m sorry about your mom, but it’s good to have you here.”

Knowing he’s a chatterbox, I open the door and bid him farewell. “Thank you.” I try adding a smile, but I’m too drained to make it look genuine. “Good night.”

“Good night,” his voice echoes back in a sing-song as he walks down the hall to his chambers. I want to lock myself in immediately, but of course, there aren’t any locks on the door. Great.

...----------------...

Five minutes before midnight, a knock on my door jolts me awake. The door begins to creak open before I’m even out of bed. The maid who walks in is the same one A.J. had thrown the game console at earlier today. She stares at me through long lashes, her face stoic. “The master of the house is ready to see you. Get dressed,” she orders.

She does not budge as I quickly change into my day clothes, her face impassive, and I try not to feel exposed. It doesn’t work. Once I’m halfway decent, she starts walking out of the room into the dark corridor, and I skip after her, trying to tie my shoelaces in the process. The mansion is chilly during the day, and at this hour, it feels even colder.

After descending a set of stairs and passing through a maze of hallways, we end up in front of an arched oak doorframe. She knocks twice, and a voice on the other side ushers us in. I note her back stiffening as she leads me inside. The man sitting behind the desk waves his hand in dismissal, and she leaves, closing the door behind her.

His face is weathered with age, smile lines etched into his skin. He looks up at me through thick spectacles. “Come, sit.”

I walk toward the desk, the draft sending goosebumps up my skin. I start shivering. Carefully taking a seat, I stare back at him, trying to maintain eye contact. He gives me a magnanimous smile, and if I didn’t know better, I might fall for it.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“No, sir.” My tone is clipped. Another shiver runs up my spine, and I fail to hide it.

“There are coats in that closet. Get one.” His demeanor reminds me of an old grandpa. I’m out of my depth, but I comply. My walk toward the closet feels agonizingly slow, my control over the shivers abysmal.

I open the closet and look inside. A pair of hazel eyes stare right back at me. The figure in the closet raises a finger to their mouth in the universal signal for keep your mouth shut. I hiccup. Picking a coat at random, I shut the door of the closet and go back to take a seat.

“It deeply saddens me that things have come this far,” Donnie James says, laying down the papers in his hands. “Your father was always a dear friend of mine,” he adds, his eyebrows furrowing as if in deep turmoil. I clench my fists but remain silent.

“In a couple of days, a client will come to meet you,” he continues. “You are to be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, sir.” He nods and raises his hand for me to leave. Before I get to the door, he issues one last threat.

“Oh, and Vera,” he starts. “I trust you do not need to be told this, but the boys are better kept in the dark.” He looks at me pointedly.

After a beat of silence, he shakes his head, and says, “Such a lovely woman, your mother. It would be a shame...”

“Of course, sir,” I counter. I would need not say anything when your youngest likes hiding in your coat closet, I think to myself.

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