Page 5 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty

“Rich people like to sound rich. They give their kids old names. Most of my friends even have three or four names because their parents think it’s important to include family names. For example, my full name is Mairead Alessandra Alderidge. Mairead was my grandmother’s name, and Alessandra was my great-aunt. Do you have multiple names?” she asked curiously.

“Dorothee Odette De Loughrey the Second.”

Maisie visibly swallowed, her eyes darting around the corridor nervously.

“The second?”

I blinked. “My great-aunt had the name before me, I think,” I said softly, wondering why she seemed so uneasy.

Maisie nodded quickly. “Alright! Let’s show you the campus, Doe.”

CHAPTER THREE

DOROTHEE

“David placed allyour belongings in your new room, and I signed every allowance I had to. They know about your allergies and your dislike for meat. It should be fine,youshould be fine, Dorothee,” my mother said as I walked her back to the driver’s car.

“I’m doing this for you, Dorothee, and you could be thankful for it.”

“Thank you.” I didn’t want to say those words, but it was how I’d been raised. My mother was always right, and I needed to listen. Maybe then she would love me.

That last thought felt like a wish made by a child. Someday, I would have to stop craving something unreachable, even if it was my mother’s love.

“Very well, I should leave now.” She stepped into the car and closed the door. Her window rolled down, allowing her one last opportunity to speak.

“I’ve been informed that you’ll have the choice to decide whether to come home for the holidays or stay at school until summer. However, I want you to hold out until Christmas break.You know it’s a draining ride, and I’m terribly busy, darling. If you must, call me.”

With that, the car disappeared into the woods from where we had come. I stood there and watched it vanish. I didn’t even say goodbye, though I wasn’t sure I would have wanted to anyway.

It was a scary moment. For the first time, I was truly on my own. I suddenly wished I had memorised my grandmother’s number. She had been the only one who ever believed me.

But this was it.

I was on my own.

Since Maisie had already taken me on a tour of the entire campus, I didn’t feel the urge to wander around once more.

Walking toward the girls’ dorms, I counted the number of steps to my room.

Sixty-eight. That was the exact number of steps it took to reach room eighty-nine. If I had to run outside for air, it would take me about three minutes. That wasn’t ideal, but it was acceptable.

Hopefully, the room had a balcony. I wasn’t a danger to myself, so I prayed for one after noticing over a dozen from the outside.

The room was big, much bigger than I had imagined a dorm room to be. On the school’s website, it said Aquila Hall had around a hundred and forty female students, so I thought the rooms might be smaller. But then again, they had offered larger rooms, with balconies, for an extra fee.

The room could have been a showcase to demonstrate that the De Loughrey’s could easily fork out an extra nine thousand pounds for the upgrade... or maybe my mother wanted me to have the best.

I didn’t think much about it. I was simply grateful to have a balcony. It would give me more air than a simple window.

The queen-sized beds stood opposite each other. Half of the room was empty, while the other half was decorated with golden picture frames and mirrors, old flower bouquets hanging upside down to dry, and crystals scattered across the bookshelves, bed frame, and just about everywhere else. White candles and golden jewellery as well.

Maisie’s bed was covered in a soft pink sheet, and a tiny white lamb stuffed animal perched at the top. Her side of the room looked exactly as I had imagined it would.

My side was empty, with plain white sheets on the bed and old wooden furniture.

I grabbed one of my suitcases, set it on my bed, and unzipped it. This one contained only my clothes. My mother had always dressed me in smart outfits, checkered skirts, plain shirts, and solid-coloured cardigans.

Boring. That was how I’d looked for most of my life.

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