Page 3 of Vengeful Queen

She spins her phone around and slides it toward me. On the screen is my mother, years younger and so much happier. Her blonde hair is teased into an eighties pouf that competes with the bulk of her skirt. The bodice of the dress is tighter, with one arm exposed. She smiles at the camera while holding onto a young man, their arms intertwined. His blond hair is teased in the front and long in the back. He wears a burgundy tux that matches her velvet and satin dress. She smiles at the camera while he smiles at her.

“I’ll forward them to you,” Rawlins whispers. “Charlotte, I prayed Howland would do the right thing. You deserve your inheritance, regardless of your past.”

Rawlins hesitates a moment at the door, but I don’t look over, so she leaves. The chime on the door sounds, and I exhale the breath I’ve held in. One day, she’ll learn about the OnlyFriends account, and so will my real father. He’ll learn that his long-lost daughter is a slut. Never mind. I have to look strong and dominating in public, despite my stomach twisting into a gassy, bumpy lump.

I wave the waitress over for a takeout box, and she rushes over. It’s not the waiter from earlier who served us. And she keeps looking at me until I have to make eye contact with her.

“Are you Charlotte?” She smiles as if I should know her. And then gradually it seeps into my brain. Little by little, I recognize the girl grinning hard at me. It’s Saundra, one of the Monarch girls who shaved my head. My throat tightens as if I’m being strangled. Abruptly, I’m transported back to Monarch Academy, trapped in the girls’ room, my head shoved into a sink and held tight against the cold porcelain as I spit water out of my mouth. Laughter and insults drown out my pleas to let me go.

“I was hoping to see you again,” she says, never losing her friendly smile. “But they said you left town. I wanted to apologize for what happened at school. I know better now. That was no way to treat a person. Do you forgive me?”

I nod dumbly, unable to make my mouth work. Saundra stares at me with a tight smile and unblinking eyes. How long has she been rehearsing that speech? Something is off. My body can sense it as a chill grips my limbs. Is it a trap? I sense danger closing in as my peripheral vision checks out my surroundings. She must know about my inheritance. Who doesn’t in this town?

“You were lucky to get out,” she adds, boxing up my pastry.

“You could still leave.” I stand up from the table and tuck my purse under my arm. “You work here in Rockingham.”

She shrugs. “I’m trying to, but I can’t afford anything in Rockingham, even though I work here. I want to work at the hospital.” Her expression is hopeful as she waits for my response.

“Good luck.” It’s difficult to hurry out of a place without looking like you’re being chased.

Once outside, my eyes scan the street in both directions before I step away from the doorway. It’s impossible to run away. If they want to find me, they will. I need to build walls around me. Barriers to keep people out. Barriers made of people I trust. I have to make up my mind to trust Asher, Hudson, and Jaxon. I have to trust them not to hurt or use me. I have to ask for their help. But I can barely say the words when my pride is stuck in my throat. Money changes people. So how will it change us?

Old Charlotte hisses in my ear to start walking, and I lift my chin while I stroll down Main Street. I should feel free. After all, I practically own this snobby town. I’m Charlotte Howland. And the queen of Stonehaven has returned to Rockingham, you scruffy peons. My heels click on the pavement as passersby take another look while I ignore their admiring stares.

But all I want right now is to crawl back into my bed, pull the covers over my head, and never leave my bedroom again.

CHAPTER 3

Charlotte

Two weeks later, the memorial service is held at a local funeral parlor in the quaint downtown district of Rockingham. In the front of the ornate reception room, I sit beside Howland’s ashes in a plain gold urn. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to be buried or cremated, but burning him seemed like an appropriate send-off. The next day, an antique dealer arrives at Alva Park and pays for almost the entire contents of the house. I have no desire to hold on to the past, and Astrid formed no attachment to her father’s legacy. I want nothing to do with it anymore.

Mrs. Donohue is rehired to watch over the empty house. She weeps louder than she did at the service as the movers carry the old furniture out the door. Her over-the-top bawling tempts me to fire her again.

“If you’re staying here, you might need a table to eat off,” says Astrid, walking through the empty dining room. Asher, Hudson, and Jaxon have already returned to Ivymore. Howland’s death did not excuse them from two weeks’ worth of classes. Hudson was the only one to say goodbye in person.

“When are you leaving for New York?” I ask.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she replies. “Want a ride?”

Mrs. Donohue blows her nose on cue as the movers hoist the breakfront out onto the curb. I decide it is time for me to leave. She’ll be okay alone. A private security guard is on the payroll to check the house daily.

The town car arrives before dawn, and we drag our suitcases down the driveway as the driver jumps out to help us. My new LV bag is bulging with new designer clothes that I ordered online while I was in mourning. The minute I get back to Ivymore, I’m taking those vulgar Weymouth clothes out to the dumpsters, along with the dress Hudson gave me. I don’t want to relive the memories clinging to those clothes.

A limo ride back to school seems excessive, but not in our neighborhood. Astrid wants the privacy of glass between us and the driver, and I’m fed up with making do with Uber rides.

“Who’s in trouble?” Astrid asks as she stretches her long legs out on the seat facing us.

“What do you mean?” I adjust my new Persols on my nose.

“The look on your face.” She sighs loudly. “That’s the look you would give me when your pretty mask slid off your scowling face. I feel sorry for the people who did you dirty at Ivymore.”

“I’m not that bad.” My voice trails off because Astrid is right. My thoughts are very transparent today. I don’t want revenge, but a few people need to be smacked back down into their place and stay there.

“So, which guy are you going to start with first?” she asks. “If it were me, I’d start with Asher. Tame his trashy ass.”

My sunglasses slide down my nose. “Why him?”

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