That night, I'm plagued by nightmares and thoughts of escaping this world. When I wake up in the middle of the night, soaked through with sweat, I force myself out of the bed and try the door handle of my bedroom again.
As I suspected, it's locked.
I may not want to be a puppet, but one thing's for sure.
I am a prisoner.
Two
Pandora
A week after my arrival at Oakes Estate, I stand atop the cliffs the house is built on, admiring the silent threat of the ocean beneath me.
Every day since I’ve been here, I’ve wanted to run away.
My family is fucked up. My father is the puppet master, and the rest of us follow his orders blindly, too afraid to stand up for ourselves.
And I can’t get away. Not until I make some allies, some friends who I can trust.
The morning is cold, the wind kissing my flesh and making it erupt in goosebumps. I move closer to the edge to get a better look at the waves crashing against the rocky shore beneath me. In front of me, the sun is setting, tinting t
he sky in a shade of cotton candy pink.
The water beckons me. I want to feel the crash of waves pulling me under. I want my ears, my mouth and my lungs to fill with the bitter taste of saltwater. I want to swallow the pain away.
And yet I know I’m not brave enough to take that step, the one separating me from falling to my death and my miserable, sad excuse for a life.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Can’t I just have a moment to myself?” I cry out in frustration, my voice breaking over the words as I whip my body around to face the stranger.
Except he’s not a stranger at all. I’d recognize that face anywhere. After all, I’ve been staring at it every night before going to sleep.
He’s tall, dark and handsome. His ebony hair is longer on top and shorn close to the skin on the sides. His jaw is razor-sharp, and so are his cheekbones. He’s handsome in a way that’s almost offensive. The way no human should be. But something about his appearance says he isn’t a mere human. He’s like a god among these people.
A Firstborn.
I’ve been prepped and groomed for this very moment for years. A bitter realization hits me as his cruel eyes bore into mine. He must hate me as much as I hate him.
And in less than a year, we’ll be married.
“Dexter,” I breathe. “Dexter Booth.”
“The very one. And you must be Pandora.”
Time freezes as the name rings out between us. Nobody has called me by my real name in years. It was locked away with the rest of my past, never to be spoken of again.
“I was,” I admit. “But I’m not allowed to be Pandora Amberly anymore.”
He takes a step closer, a kind smile transforming his painfully beautiful face. “You’re Emilian Oakes’ Firstborn.”
“And you’re Scott Booth’s Firstborn,” I manage. “The only heir left to the Booth fortune.”
“Sounds like you read the manual alright,” he smirks. “I wanted to introduce myself.”
“You’re late,” I remind him. “The party started two hours ago. My father was looking for you.”
He grins, not responding as he takes a step closer. Thoughtfully, he wraps a strand of my dark brown hair framing my expertly painted face around his pointer finger. I inhale sharply. I’ve never been this close to a boy before.