Page 44 of Picture Perfect

"Understood," I say, though the words taste like ash on my tongue. I keep my face an emotionless mask, even as my insides churn with resentment. I am Adelaide Winthrop, forged by fire and unyielding as steel. They will not break me.

The air is thick with the scent of polished wood and judgment as Cheryl's voice slices through it, "We've discussed this, Adelaide. Your conduct in public is... unacceptable."

"Your slutty behavior has consequences," William says, his words like a whip-crack in the silence that follows. Of course it does. But Wesley's sure doesn't. I know for a fact that he slept with four different girls at the last party he attended, two at the same time.

I fight to keep my breath steady, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. It’s a familiar dance, their accusations and my deflections. Each word they hurl feels like a stone aimed at a glass house I’ve painstakingly built around myself.

"Genevieve Whitman invited me out," I cut in, my voice steady despite the storm brewing within. "Her cousin and friends joined us." I pause, watching as they process this. "It was just a meal after school."

"Genevieve Whitman?" William's tone shifts, a note of interest now threading through the disapproval.

"Considering the deal you're working on with her father, I thought it prudent to accept her invitation." My heart hammers against my ribcage, but I let none of it show. "To make nice," I add, almost innocently.

Cheryl's lips tighten, and I can see the gears turning in her head, weighing the social chess game we're perennially entangled in. My statement hangs there, a lifeline thrown into tumultuous waters.

The room is a battlefield, and I stand my ground, my own armor forged from years of navigating treacherous emotional landscapes. The walls, adorned with portraits of stern ancestors I share no blood with, seem to watch in silent anticipation.

The air, thick with tension, parts like a curtain as William's face undergoes a startling transformation. His eyes, which had narrowed into slits of disapproval moments ago, now widen with the gleam of opportunity. The rigid set of his shoulders relaxes and a smile, sly and calculating, breaks across his face.

"Genevieve Whitman, you say?" His words curl around my name, drawing me closer into an intricate dance I never asked to join.

"Indeed," I affirm, my voice a soft chime amidst the brewing storm. It's a delicate balance, aligning myself with their ambitions without losing my footing.

"Adelaide," he begins, and there's a warmth in his tone I don't trust, "that was quick thinking on your part." He takes a step forward, and I resist the urge to recoil. "It's important to maintain good relations with the Whitmans. Very strategic."

"Thank you," I murmur, the words taste like ash on my tongue.

"Whatever Genevieve or her cousin want," he continues, his voice buoyant with newfound approval, "you accommodate them. Understand?"

"Absolutely." I nod, the action automatic, a puppet responding to its strings. The praise feels like another shackle, a reminder that my worth to them hinges on my usefulness.

Cheryl's gaze lingers on me, cool and assessing, and for a moment I wonder if she sees through my facade. But then she nods, a silent endorsement of William's command.

"Anything," William repeats with emphasis.

"What do I do about Preston, then?"

"His father's been dragging his feet in his end of things. I think it's time he realizes I'm not someone to fuck with," William's menacing smile grows as the gears start turning.

"We need a relationship with Mason Whitman. It's far more important than the deal with Montgomery," he continues. "We'll have to push harder. Whatever they want, Adelaide. If they tell you to jump, you ask how high. That boy is hardly up to our standard, but he could be our ticket to Mason. Just... keep it behind closed doors, Adelaide. Your reputation is our reputation after all."

I stiffen at that. He's always pushed for purity... outside of the dirty, disgusting things he does to me in the darkness of my room, of course. Is he... is he asking me to whore myself out for this deal?

"Is that a problem, Adelaide?" William's voice turns to ice as he steps closer to me. "You are my property. Mine. As in mine to rent out to whomever I please, whenever I please. Until I finally sell you off to the highest bidder, of course. What use are you to me if I can't use you to get what I want?"

"None," Cheryl smiles that Cheshire smile. "The fat little slut might do us some good after all. Maybe we won't have to toss her back to the gutter we found her in."

“Just a prime cut of beef,” Wesley sneers.

"Do. You. Understand, Adelaide?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good girl," William says, and every syllable is steeped in the poison of patronization.

I am the good girl, I remind myself, the mantra a shield against the bitterness welling up inside. The obedient daughter. The impeccable student. The perfect pawn in their ceaseless game of power and influence.

"Of course," I reply, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear—a nervous tic I can't quite suppress.

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