Page 31 of SNOB

The cigarette dwindles in my hand as my gaze hardens at the wooden doors in front of me. Taking a long deep breath pushes down that nausea.

To others, this historic mansion is an oasis sprawling three floors with pools, libraries and a ballroom. To me, it’s a cell. The vines crawling up the spires only give the elusion of privilege. And the fountain behind me doesn't bring calmness.

Flicking the cigarette to the concrete, I stand tall, turning the wrought-iron handle. Heat hits me the minute I walk into the grand hall, so does our sweeping iron staircase. Father wants me to be grateful for all this but what he offers is far from joy.

My shoes squeak against the checkerboard marble as I move towards his domain. Her eyes flash in my mind as move past the large paintings of my grandparents judging me on either side of our vintage grandfather clock. When we dropped her off at the matchbox she calls home, I knew I'd need some of Ryung’s stuff to shake The Valley off me.

But first, I have to deal with my father.

My muscles tense when I reach the stained glass doors. An ‘S’ etched into them. A soft light glows from the other side, telling me he’s there.

“Come in.” Without a knock, his voice from the other side confirms it.

When I open the door, the smell of tobacco hits me, a cloud of smoke coming with it. Father sits in his leather chair behind his ebony desk, the polish gleaming under the candelabra chandelier. No music fills the space. The only noise comes from the crackle of a fire at the front of the room.

Does he know?

Relax.

If anyone can smell fear, it’s my father.

My shoulders fall as his eyes dart around me. Shoving my hand into my new slacks means he can’t see me scratching my fingers against my thumb. I had to beg Ryung to open his mom’s store so I could take something off the rack instead of my soaked clothes. Despite that, something tells me my father sees right through me.

His eyes narrow, the soft lighting around him making them appear darker. My eyes fall to the antique rug before I open my mouth to speak. When nothing comes out, I hear his voice instead. “I’ll handle it.” My eyes flick up as he lights another cigar. “Was anyone else there?”

My mind flashes back to Ember on the grass, shaken and confused. Her lips. That moan I wanted so badly to silence. Her wet clothes stuck to her curvy body like the perfect fucking glove. A glove I want to slap her with.

“Mac?” My father shakes me out of my thoughts. “Was anyone else there?”

This is my time to take her down. It’s my time to get vengeance for what she did. “No, sir.”

He takes a long puff, leaning back in his seat. “No one finds out about this and if they do, I'll have you and your psychotic behaviour banished from The Hill.” He reminds me I’m disposable. The usual. “Cleaning this up will not be easy.” He’s right where he wants me, and I know what’s coming next. He’s about to dangle that golden carrot. “I’m putting everything on the line for you, you sad sack of shit.” Told you. “Now, clean yourself up while I clean up your life. Again!"

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow at the Legacy Gala.”

My jaw tightens. That's the same time as practice and Coach just put me back on the team. But I turn for the door anyway. Saying anything else is a bad idea.

From this day forward, I’m his puppet.

“Oh, and Malcolm?” I’m almost at the door again when he calls to me. “You can add working on the school mural to your agenda.”

My brows furrow and now I’m confused. “Why?” Turning around, I find my words, taking the topic change as a relief. A small one. Art? Me? “You know hockey is my?—”

“My agenda is your agenda now, Malcolm,” he says. “If you can find time to work on hockey with your upcoming engagements, fine. Otherwise, business comes first.” I open my mouth to protest again, but he continues. “You’re a Crown. I’m sure you can figure it out.” He waves his hand, dismissing me.

This is unsustainable. There’s no way I’m giving up hockey practice for something as lame as art. “Father, I?—”

“If you’re about to tell me no after what happened tonight, you really are psychotic. Do you want this handled?”

Turning to leave, I don’t let him see any emotion. Ever. I know better.

There’s no use taking the fire boiling in me out on my father.

But there is one person who deserves every bit of my rage. And right now? I’m about to find her.

“Amateur,” I mumble, the flimsy window popping through. Either The Valley isn’t as bad as we think, or she’s asking for it.

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