Page 123 of Plaything

“Tears, really?” He noted.

“You could have warned me. Would you rather I celebrate like everyone else?” I deadpanned.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his cheek. “Considering you’ve always made me the villain in your story, I’m surprised you’re not,” he said.

“Why am I in here?” I asked. I wanted to tell him how twisted that statement was, but I didn’t think arguing would be appropriate.

He placed two folders on the desk in front of me. “Do you know what these documents are?” He questioned.

My eyes locked on him for several moments before cautiously opening the folders. At first glance, I had no idea what they were, and it took me a few minutes to read each of them over before I had a thorough understanding of what was happening.

Encased in one of the folders were four restraining orders. I read the names and absolute dread. Wyatt Wright. Niko Moreno. Aiden Anderson. Dominic Owens.

In the other folder, there was some kind of certificate with the manor’s address on it.

“What is this?” I couldn’t help but let the words come out as a hiss.

“Restraining orders against each of the men who are taking advantage of you and the deed to their house in my name.” He answered casually.

Taking advantage of me? “There’s nothing going on. I just live there by your doing,” I defended.

“It was a mistake I may never live down,” he admitted. “Don’t disrespect and lie to me, Odette!” He slammed his hands against his desk, making a loud bang.

I flinched further into my chair and averted my eyes. “They didn’t do anything wrong,” I tried again.

“The fact that you believe that shows your naivety. Tell me, if you heard about a young woman living with four male teachers, all almost a decade older than she, what would you assume about that situation?”

Anger replaced my sadness, and I glared at him. “I’d assume a careless father who never gave a fuck about his daughter sent her to live in a house with four complete strangers. What would you assume?” I snapped.

“Never gave a fuck?” He laughed once. “You’ve always had everything you ever wanted. Have I ever told you no? Have I ever given you a spending limit? That tree was filled with extravagant gifts every Christmas, was it not? You are educated, your teeth are straight, you’ve vacationed to places people only dream of, you’ve had the absolute best life, and you dare tell me that I never gave a fuck about you?” He spat.

“You were never there on Christmas! Or any of my birthdays, every school concert or play, you were never in the crowd! I don’t care about things or money. I wanted a dad, and you never gave a fuck about being my dad,” I cried back with my voice cracking.

My skin was hot with anger as we yelled at each other. It was the first time in my life that I didn’t feel scared of him, and it was the first time I’d admitted these things out loud.

“You just told a room full of people that you’re dying, and they were happy about it. Do you understand that? Somewhere along the line, you’ve traded your soul for dollar signs and possessions. Money and your image in the media is all you ever cared about,” I ranted.

“That’s enough!” He yelled, standing from his chair. I shrunk in my seat as he loomed over me, a deadly scowl on his face. “If one more idiotic syllable comes out of your mouth, I’ll shut you up the hard way,” he threatened.

As I looked at the documents again, liquid anger spilled from my eyes. “What are your intentions with those?” I asked.

“It’s an ultimatum,” he answered before sitting again. “I worked incredibly hard to erase that headline of you being a whore in high school. Now, you disrespect me by letting not only one but four of your professors fuck you? Do you know how that makes us look?”

“They’re not—”

“I saw the way they gathered around us at the gym. I was there when Aiden Anderson interrupted our conversation. Don’t you dare lie!” He scolded.

There was no denying it now. “It’s not like that. They’re not taking advantage of me; they didn’t do anything. It was all my idea—”

“Those men are despicable. Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth, Odette? Do you see the similarity between what you’re saying and Stockholm Syndrom? You’re a young, beautiful, naive girl, and these men are manipulating and using you.”

He doesn’t know what he’s talking about…

“I can’t have them fired or reprimanded without also exposing that my daughter is a dumb little slut. So, I was forced to get creative.” He grabbed the folders and placed them on his side of the desk. “You will sign each of these restraining orders and never speak to these men again for the sake of your reputation. If you do not sign them by the time you graduate, I will evict them from that house they seem to love so much, and it will be your fault.”

“You can’t do this,” I trembled. The manor was their home, and they loved that house, even with all of the cracks and issues. Not only was their home being threatened, but their jobs, reputation, and credibility—everything was being threatened because of me.

“I bought that house from the school; I own it; it’s mine. As the owner of the house, I have full capability to evict the current residence at my leisure,” he smiled. “I’m doing this for your own good, Odette. You’re lucky I don’t have them sent to prison.”

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