Page 57 of Jayson
Nina dabs the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Of course. The chauffeur will take you.”
I blink. “There’s a... chauffeur?”
She lifts one brow, amused. “Darling, of course there is. Our employees are unseen and unheard—but make no mistake, they are ever present.”
Right.Ever present. The kind of statement that’s somehow both comforting and chilling. I’m not sure if she’s warning me or reassuring me.
I nod again, even though my pulse is still skittering from the message.
As I leave the room, I keep my steps light, controlled, careful.
The further I walk, the more the house looms around me—arched ceilings, endless hallways, windows tall enough to let in the sky. I could live here for a year and still get lost. It’s the kind of place that has secrets behind its walls. The kind of place where whispers don’t echo—they linger.
And yet…
Jayson and Nina—strange, distant, dangerous as they might be—haven’t done anything to hurt me physically. I’m no longer locked in a basement. I’m not being screamed at or dragged around. I’m not... bruised.
Things could be worse. They could be so much worse. But that doesn’t mean I’m safe. It just means I’ve been placed in aprettier cage than the last one I was in. And someone out there is rattling the bars.
I dresslike a girl who has her life together.
Blouse ironed. Jeans clean. Hair pulled back with precision, as if neatness can cover the wreckage inside me.
I even spritz perfume—something light, citrusy—because I read somewhere that people who smell good are less likely to be asked uncomfortable questions. Not that anyone at this house ever asks me anything. I’m a guest who’s treated well, if nothing else, although I don’t know how long that will last.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, descending the wide staircase of the estate with the kind of cautious grace that doesn’t quite fit my age. I feel like a fraud in my own skin—like this polished version of myself is a placeholder for the person I used to be.
Nina’s not around, which I’m grateful for. Her eyes see too much. Her tongue never moves fast, but when it does, it’s like it slices through lies like a razor.
Outside, a sleek black car is already idling in the circular driveway. A tall man in a sharp black suit opens the door for me. He’s got to be in his mid-fifties, salt-and-pepper hair cropped close, and a mouth that doesn’t look like it’s smiled in decades.
“You must be Lionel,” I say, offering him a small nod.
He dips his head. “Miss Bishop.”
Formal. Polished. Deadpan.Perfect.
I slide into the back seat and buckle in. The doors click shut like I’m locking myself into a vault.
As the car glides away from the estate, silence fills the space between us. The ride is smooth, the interior luxurious. But my insides are a goddamn mess.
I don’t belong at that estate.
And I don’t belong at that university either.
I stare out the window, watching as the scenery bleeds from secluded wealth into the beginnings of suburbia. I keep my face expressionless, a skill I’ve perfected over the last few weeks. But my mind? My mind is screaming.
I don’t know why I’m hiding it—not from Jayson, not from Nina, not from anyone—but I’ve made up my mind.
I’m not going back to university.I’m done.
The idea of stepping foot on that campus again makes my skin crawl. It’s not just the stares, or the way whispers wrap around your throat like a noose. It’s deeper than that. More insidious. More violating.
They’d call ita bad experience.Anincident, if someone had the balls to file a report. But for me? It was the spark that lit the whole damn powder keg. The reason I packed my bags and ran back home in the first place.
Some people probably think I had it coming. And I get it—after everything that went down, after all the rumors and the headlines, I can see why I’d be an easy target. But what I don’t get—what I’ll never understand—is why I had to bleed for my father’s sins. Why I became the scapegoat for the chaos he created.
He’s not the Mayor anymore. That’s something, I guess. The accusations finally caught up to him—like shadows with jagged edges—and he had no choice but to step down.
