Picture Perfect - Page 158

“Saint will sign that contract,” I say aloud, trying the words for size. “He’ll give me everything he promised—college, freedom, a future.” The thought steels my resolve, even as the taste of betrayal lingers bitter on my tongue.

I just need one more thing. It’s time.

Chapter sixty-nine

Addy ?

Islide the key into the lock with trembling fingers, easing the front door open just wide enough to slip through. The moment I’m inside I press my back against the door, closing it with a silent click, and take a few steadying breaths.

Cheryl’s probably lurking somewhere, her hawk-like senses tuned for any sign of my presence. I need to be a ghost, in and out without a trace.

I tiptoe across the marble foyer, each step deliberate, avoiding the creaky board near the staircase. I make it to the base of the stairs and hesitate, listening for any sound that might betray Cheryl’s location. Silence greets me, and I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe she’s out, or maybe she’s busy with one of her charities, pretending at benevolence.

Slowly, I ascend the staircase, keeping to the edge where the steps are less likely to betray me. When I reach the top, I pause again, ears straining. Still nothing. A sliver of sunlight spills across the hall from a window, casting long shadows that seem to reach for me like skeletal fingers. I shake off the eerie feeling and inch towards my bedroom door. Safety lies just beyond, a few seconds away.

Before my hand can touch the knob, pain explodes on my scalp. Someone yanks hard, dragging me backward then shoving forward. My face collides with the wood of the door, a burst of stars clouding my vision. A familiar, venomous voice hisses in my ear, “Look what we have here. The prodigal daughter returns.” Cheryl.

“Have those heathens tired of you yet?” she spits out the words as if they’re poison, her disdain wrapping around me like a shroud.

“Cheryl,” I gasp, the name a plea, a curse. She doesn’t relent, her grip ironclad, every word a lash against my already scarred psyche. I brace myself against the door, trying to find purchase, to find some semblance of strength in this unexpected confrontation. How much more I can withstand before I break?

“Let go of me,” I grit out, but the command comes as more of a whimper. Cheryl’s grip is unyielding as she wrenches open my bedroom door with her free hand. Her strength is uncanny, fueled by whatever twisted satisfaction she derives from this torment. With an effortless tug, she rips the backpack from my shoulders, and in one swift, cruel motion, shoves me into the room.

I stumble forward, catching the edge of my bed with my hip before crumbling to the floor. The dull ache in my head throbs with each heartbeat, a stark reminder of the brutality that just welcomed me home, compounded by the blinding pain in my hip. My eyes dart around, searching for the familiar—anything to ground me—but it’s the unfamiliar chill of isolation that wraps around my heart.

“You dare show your face here again?” Cheryl sneers, her voice slicing through the air like a blade.

Ignoring her, I focus on my immediate need. My phone. I pat my jacket pockets. Panic coils in my gut as I realize it’s in my backpack, now in Cheryl’s clutches. I scramble on all fours, a sudden desperation clawing at my chest. I can’t be cut off. Not completely.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

I spin around, my gaze locking onto Cheryl. “Give it back,” I demand, my voice steadier than I feel. She stands there, leering down at me, my backpack hanging limply in her hand. I meet her cold stare, trying to muster any semblance of defiance I have left. But inside, I’m frantically assessing my options, the walls feeling like they’re closing in on me.

The shadow in the doorway coalesces into a figure I know all too well. William, his sneer barely distinguishable from his usual expression of disdain, steps into the light. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawls, the words dripping with venom.

“William,” I say, my voice a low hiss, trying to shield myself with bravado I don’t feel.

“Still think you’re something special, Adelaide?” He advances, the mockery in his eyes now replaced with a darker glee. “Whoring yourself out to those boys like some disgusting little prostitute. What are they promising you? Hm?”

I flinch at his words as if they are physical blows. The term ‘whore’ hangs heavy in the air, a noxious cloud of judgment. I want to scream, deny it, but the lump in my throat is like concrete, and my voice fails me.

“Thought you could be their little slut and not face consequences?” Cheryl joins in, her tone a sharp contrast to her husband’s mocking lilt. “You’ll never see those boys again.”

The room seems to tilt as the two close in on me. I’m trapped between the bed and their looming figures. My heart races, a frantic drumbeat echoing the fear coursing through my veins.

“Pathetic,” William spits out, reaching down to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so that tears spring to my eyes. “Look at you. All dolled up for them, but underneath, you’re nothing. Worthless.”

Cheryl’s hands are just as unforgiving, clawing at my shirt, twisting the fabric. “We’ll find you a purpose,” she snarls, her breath hot against my cheek. “Something that suits your… talents.”

My scalp burns, my skin crawls, but it’s the promise in their words that sends a fresh wave of terror through me. A better use. What did that mean? I struggle under their grip, knowing that whatever plans they have for me, I need to escape them.

“Let go,” I manage to choke out, my defiance as thin as paper, but it’s all I have left. It’s all I can do to hold onto the frayed edges of my courage, to keep fighting even when every part of me screams that it’s hopeless.

The door slams shut with a finality that seals my fate. They lock it from the outside, the click of the mechanism louder than it’s ever been. I’m alone, save for the stinging cuts scattered across my arms and face where their nails broke skin. My breaths come in short, ragged gasps, and I can taste the copper tang of blood on my lip.

I stumble to the window, desperation giving me strength. But it’s futile; the window is sealed shut, glued and nailed beyond any hope of opening. Panic claws at my insides as I bang my fists against the unyielding glass, but it’s as if I’m striking at solid stone. I can see the security personnel roaming the groomed lawns—guards who will do nothing to aid me.

“Help!” I shout, knowing my voice won’t carry past these suffocating walls. “Somebody, please!”