Page 70 of The Favorite Girl

“Why don’t we all head to bed? Just wrap your finger in a Band-Aid and put the ring back on. Just wash it before you do since it’s still coated with hydrofluoric acid. Only a slight amount, though.” Dr. Ivory put his arm around his wife as they all looked at my finger, which resembled peeling, reddened leather.

I stood there, not knowing how I wasn’t even in shock. This was the least shocking thing that had happened to me here. Of course, my fiancé would attempt to burn my finger off. Conrad shoved his hand around mine and tugged me out of the room. I didn’t care where he was taking me. Secretly, I was hoping he’d push me off of a cliff and put me out of my misery.

“You’ll no longer be staying in the servant’s quarters. You’ll stay in here, and in a few short days, you’ll move to my floor with me.” He smiled down at me.

“Don’t you have to go back to medical school soon?”

“Yes, remember? I have to go back, my love, but we have time for the wedding, a honeymoon, and plenty of… well, baby-making before I leave.” Pursing his lips, he eyed me with desire. I desperately wanted to get into a shower and douse myself in soap. Bleach, even.

As soon as we turned down the monochrome hallway, I recognized it.

I was going to be staying in Bradley’s suite.

“The new housekeeper did an appalling job emptying it out and sanitizing it. I didn’t want any of Bradley’s filth touching you, but by tomorrow, everything will be gone. I promise, my queen.” Conrad caged me in against the wall and puckered his lips.

Turning my head slightly so I wouldn’t have to choke on his air, I quickly groaned in pain. “My finger is killing me.” I lifted my hand between our faces.

“I’m sorry, beautiful. It’s all about tradition. Go ahead and clean it up, and then get some sleep. Mother is thrilled to take you and the girls out shopping tomorrow,” he crooned.

“The girls?” I flung my head back toward him.

“Yes, your bridesmaids,” he added nonchalantly.

Nodding, the door slid open behind me as I walked backward inside the room that now held the one and only most beautiful memory of my life.

“Goodnight, Demilion.” Conrad’s lips ticked in an arrogant smile. Just as I opened my mouth to ask him how he knew the nickname Layla always called me, the door slid shut and I stumbled backward, terrified of all the secrets that seemed to be swarming around me.

The room was pitch-black, and I could have sworn I felt a presence. A sensation of someone breathing down my neck. Were they watching me in here? No, they must not have cameras in Bradley’s room, considering we had sex in here. I wouldn’t be breathing if they knew I had lost my virginity to him.

Turning slowly, I looked around. Shadows of furniture and a lamp, darkened reflections of paintings and frames taunted me. Humans aren’t afraid of the dark because of the lack of light; we’re afraid of the dark because we fear the places our own minds will take us.

Patting the wall, I looked for the switch until the groove brushed against my finger. Flipping it on, I fell backward, slapping my mouth to stifle the scream that escaped it.

Becca stood there, completely bald, in nothing but a stained white gown and a smile growing slowly across her face.

“Hello, Demi.” She smiled even bigger.

“Becca…” I swallowed the lump in my throat as chills spread all over my body. My eyes dropped to her hand, which clutched a knife.

“I miss him so much.” She did a complete spin with her thin arms wide. Her head tilted toward the ceiling as she let out a laugh.

“Brad-ley?” My voice cracked.

She immediately stopped spinning, using her heels as a way to steady herself. The eerie grin on her face melted off, turning into a darkened frown. Without her thick blonde hair and full face of makeup, she looked like a completely different person.

“He didn’t want me, Demi. He left me behind. He went away and took my heart with him. He saved me, you know? I was once a caged girl…” she trailed sadly.

“Wait, you were…?” The air felt colder as Becca opened her palm and held the tip of blade against her skin. She began jamming it in slowly.

“Becca…” I took a step forward, but she shot me a look, warning me to stay back.

“Bradley was allowed to choose one girl to release. We’re all such beautiful birds in a way, but he chose me. They needed a hair and makeup artist, anyway. You know how vain Mrs. Ivory is.” Becca cut into her flesh and a trickle of blood pooled in her palm.

“He didn’t choose Daisy?” I was stunned. His sister was held prisoner and being tortured psychologically, physically, and in every sense humanly possible.

“They didn’t let him choose her, silly. So, he chose me. Even though I think he’d have chosen me regardless. He loved me.”

“Becca, why don’t you give me the knife?” I reached my hand out as she looked lost in a completely different world.

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