So that leaves me, Rylee Harley, twin sister to Rhianna Harley and older sister to Beckham, to fill the spot that’s left open. Our parents want to retire, live a life of luxury, which my father deserves. He is one of the hardest workers I know. Dedicated. Loyal. Committed.
I do adore them both, no matter what others think.
Even if my mother is overbearing, she’s still my mother.
It’s all about the pressure.
The pressure to be perfect.
And this crushes my spirit and steals pieces of me every day.
Anderson is right at the top of the list of pressure.
I did love him, once.
He’s handsome, all the women want him, and I can’t blame them. Anderson comes from money, is athletic, and could charm the panties right off you. Which was what he did to me.
I didn’t win any popularity contests in school like my sister. I kept my head down and was studious.
Until Anderson.
Then everyone knew who I was.
I was no longer Rhianna’s quiet twin sister. I was Rylee, Anderson’s girlfriend, and I have been for way too long.
My phone beeps, and I know immediately who it is. My head swings in that direction and I watch as it lights up, then goes dark. In exactly one minute, it’ll do it again. I watch, waiting. And like clockwork, it does just that. Lights up again.
Now, he’s apologizing.
And I will not read his texts.
I don’t want to read them.
Anderson set up my phone to show him when I read his messages, so he’ll know I haven’t. It’s just another way for him to control me.
And another way I let him.
Today wasn’t the first time he’s hit my face. He’s usually careful not to leave a mark like he’s done today, though. I lick my lip and still taste the blood lingering there.
I never thought I would be one of those girls, but here I am.
Staring at my phone from across the room, I and wishing it would disappear, I can’t stand to think about his fake apologies that lay on it.
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head and stand. Reaching for my phone, I don’t open the messages like he wants me to. Instead, I walk it to my bathroom and fill the bathtub. I watch as the water stills when I turn the faucet off and then I smile as the phone slips from my hand and drops into the crystal-clear water.
Tomorrow is the day I start living for me.
Or so I keep telling myself.
Chapter 2
August
My fingers tap on the table that my hands are cuffed to, and my leg bounces, unable to move or go anywhere unless I figure out a way to cut my fucking hands off. I wait for him to arrive—the only person left who has an ounce of faith in me, apart from my baby sister.
Why? Well, I’m still trying to work that out.
The loud noise doesn’t make me jump anymore as they open the doors behind me. His expensive shoes come into view, and I glance up to Noah, who offers me a smile as he takes a seat across from me. His eyes drop to my chained hands then he glances over to the guard.
“Undo his hands,” he snaps. “Now.”
The guard does as he asks, and my wrists are freed.
Noah flips through his paperwork and slides something across the table to me.
“This is your grandmother’s will.” I scrunch my face as I scan the document. “She left you the house,” Noah states.
My grandmother died over four years ago. Why am I only now hearing about this? “From the look on your face, it seems your last lawyer conveniently forgot to disclose any of this to you.”
He guessed right.
“My grandmother hated me,” I tell him. She was always telling me to get my act together and do something with my life, or I would turn out like my deadbeat mother.
Perhaps she was right.
“Yeah, well… it seems she loved you, regardless.”
“Paige?” I ask.
My little sister has a good father. He knew our mother was scum and took her away early, leaving me to clean up the mess my mother created. And my father? Well, I don’t even know who he is and couldn’t care less, either.
“She’s doing well. Your grandmother left her a car. Which I’m sure Paige has told you in her letters.”
Paige is almost sixteen, and in her letters, she’s told me how excited she is to start driving. She’s asked to visit me, but that’s not an option. This isn’t somewhere she should frequent. Not ever.
“I have some other news for you, August.” Noah closes the folder in front of him and leans back in his chair. His eyes flick to the guard, then back to me. “You’ll be released tomorrow. The judge approved your appeal.”
His words don’t register.
I don’t understand them.
I simply stare at him, as if he’s grown a second head.