Page 1 of Fractured Loyalties
One
IVY
“Welcome to Woods’Estate, Miss Christianson.”
Oh shit.
I startle backward as the black, gothic door swings inward, and the deep voice comes from seemingly nowhere. My eyes jump back to the Uber that brought me here…
But it’s already pulling away.
It’s too late to escape.
“Um…” My gaze returns to the towering shadow now filling the doorway. I give him a terrified smile, my heart pounding in my ears. “Hi… I…”
I’ve obviously forgotten how to speak.
The man, who wears a black suit, lifts one brow, and steps to the side, gesturing for me to come in. “Mrs. Woods is waiting for you.”
Well, that would be a first.
I purse my lips and clutch the handle of my suitcase as I follow him inside the castle-like house. It’s the first time I’ve ever been here, despite my mother having been married to the esteemed Robert Woods for almost all of my life.
The man with the booming voice leads me through the entryway and into a sitting room, and with every step, I feelmore unnerved. The entire house seems to be decorated with creepy statues and odd art, depicting goblins and whatever else might haunt the average child’s nightmare.
No wonder she didn’t want me to live here.I almost laugh at the thought. I don’t think she kept me away because of Robert Woods’ taste in art. Let’s be honest, it’s not that she didn’t want me here; she justdidn’t wantme anywhere,period.
“If you’ll take a seat here,” the butler directs me toward a blood-red, velvet-covered couch. “Mrs. Woods will be right with you.”
“I thought you said she was waiting for me,” I say, rolling my suitcase to a stop and meeting the man’s chocolate eyes.
“She’s always waiting on someone,” he retorts, a twinge of amusement in his expression. He looks about ten years my senior, but there’s something kind there in his regard—something very different fromthisplace.
I wonder if he does everyday things, like normal people…or if he’s perpetually stuck in the gothic era of this rich shithole.
Either way, sucks for him.
“What’s your name?” I ask, as I plop down onto the couch and brush my blonde hair out of my face.
“Edward,” he answers, his eyes taking in my black leggings and baggy white T-shirt. “Please, don’t go anywhere. You might get removed from the premises accidentally.”
I nod at the civilized warning, and Edward ends his pleasantries at that, exiting the room. I straighten my posture, and try to refrain fro picking at my leggings while I sit on a foreign couch, in a foreign house, waiting on a mother whom I haven’t seen in over ten years.
Honestly, she might as well be foreign to me, too. And that thought kicks off all the intrusive, ever-lingering questions.
Why is this happening? Why did you have to leave me, Dad?
My chest starts to tighten as grief squeezes my body. I’vejustturned eighteen a few months ago. I shouldn’thaveto live with mymother. I should be staying with a friend, a teacher,anyone…
Anyone, but her.
“Ivy,” my mother’s clipped, yet sultry voice echoes in the empty room, startling me…again.
I guess this is going to become a thing here.
I look up to see my mother filling the threshold of the room, backlit by the pale gold light of the hallway’s sconces. She looks almost statuesque in her cream suit. The skirt stops an inch above her knees, the jacket is cinched tight to emphasize a waist she’s probably paid a small fortune to maintain, and her hair is the same shade of ashen blonde that I remember, cut perfectly around her chin.
I stand as she approaches, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. She doesn’t step forward to hug me. Instead, it seems that she wants to avoid getting too close. She folds herself into the armchair opposite the couch.
