Page 9 of Liars

“This will be your home now. I’m sure you want a moment to settle in. We’ll go over the house rules later,” my guardian said, leading me inside.

More like my prison.

Did he say house rules?

I’d never had rules to follow. I hadn’t even had a curfew.

I doubted Donovan would very much like to hear my thoughts. Clenching my teeth, I stepped through the front door. It was like strolling straight into hell.

If a woman other than the staff lived here, it wasn’t visible in the decor.

The interior had an evident manliness to every touch. From the deep, rich floors to the moody color of the walls. The furnishings boasted dark colors and buttery tan leathers. They were oversized and plush, the kind of furniture necessary for big men, not little boys. The ceilings were high and impressive, beams of wood running along the seams. That same spicy smokiness lingered in the air. Not unpleasant but definitelymale.

Everything was such a stark contrast to my very white, neutral home.

A woman in a crisp black uniform approached, her demeanor professional but warm as she smiled at me with warm eyes. “This way, Miss Kaylor,” she said, gesturing for me to follow.

I hesitated in the foyer, glancing back at Donovan who still had his damn phone pressed to his ear, but he caught my gaze and gave me a curt nod before turning away, walking down the hall with purposeful strides.

My house might have been slightly larger, but my parents hadn’t employed staff other than a once-a-week cleaning service. Mom hadn’t wanted any other help. She loved to cook. The kitchen had been her domain. She’d been a stay-at-home mom while I’d been little, and once I’d been old enough to require less of her attention, she’d found other things to occupy her time, but she never worked.

Having so many people afoot would take some getting used to.

The woman led me upstairs to a spacious bedroom. It was elegantly furnished with a four-poster bed, a large desk, and a window overlooking the sprawling view of the woods. I was surprised to see the walls weren’t a shade of gray; however, there might be an overabundance of pastels. Fresh paint clung to the air.

“This will be your room,” the woman said. “If you need anything, just press the intercom by the door. I’m Amelia, by the way.”

“It’s not mine. I won’t be here long enough to call anything in this house mine,” I muttered, running a finger along the softest blanket tossed on the foot of the bed.

“Well, it’s yours until Mr. Corvo says otherwise.”

I nodded mutely as Amelia excused herself, leaving me alone in the room that felt like a hotel, foreign yet luxurious. Perhapsit would help to think of it like a hotel I was crashing at until I turned eighteen. The door clicked shut behind her, and I had this brief moment of panic where I thought she might have locked me in.

That was ridiculous, but my brain couldn’t quiet my flight response.

I stood frozen, staring at the unfamiliar room, unsure of what I was supposed to do with myself now. My chest tightened as the reality of my new life crashed into me. Somehow, being in the hospital had been safe, like I was sheltered from the world.

Now I was on my own.

My parents were gone. My home was gone. Everything I’d ever known was slipping through my fingers, and I felt so unsure…so damn lost.

I’d grown up in a loving home. I’d been lucky and was just now fully appreciating the advantages I’d taken for granted.

A second door caught my eye, and I padded over, pushing it fully open with curiosity. Relief had my tense shoulders loosening.

Thank fucking God.

My own bathroom.

I wouldn’t have to venture into the hallway or share one with a bunch of stinky, sticky boys.

The bathroom hadn’t gotten the remodel the bedroom had. Sleek black tiles covered the shower walls. A big soaking tub sat in front of a huge picture window that would make me feel like I was taking a bath with nature. I ran a finger over the marble counter and gasped as I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.

Who the fuck was this girl?

She sure as hell didn’t look like the spunky, foul-mouthed girl I was known at the academy to be. If my classmates could see me now.

Maybe it was better that they couldn’t see me. I sure as hell wasn’t ready to see them. I didn’t want the looks of pity. The “I’m so sorry for your loss” comments. Or the meaningless hugs.

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