Page 122 of Plaything

I missed Niko.

Once I noticed Charles was nearly finished, I took a small spoonful of the soup, only to remember that I didn’t feel so good. Everyone was in conversation amongst themselves, and I was eagerly people watching.

Lestat seemed upset at the opposite end of the table as he and a group of men around him were in a heated conversation. I had only been watching for a few seconds before they all looked at me simultaneously.

Fuck. Turning away, I stared down at the soup. I didn’t know who had all gone up to Charles’ wing of the mansion... I assumed there were several if that was any indication. I didn’t feel safe in this group and wanted nothing more than to go home.

My soup was taken away and replaced with the entrée. A piece of grilled chicken seasoned to perfection sat on top of a leafy bed of greens, surrounded by colorful vegetables. It looked delicious until I looked around at everyone else’s plates. They were served filet mignon, mashed potatoes, pasta, and a side salad.

Great... I glanced at Charles, trying to hide my glare. Until recently, I thought this sort of thing was typical because that was how I was raised. My father always had savory meals, while I always had soup or salad. For a long time, I even believed that there was something wrong with my body and that I needed to eat this way. While living with my professors and often having them make my plates, I knew it was just another sign that Charles was an evil man.

Charles stood, gently tapping his fork against his glass, which made it chime. Here we go.

He cleared his throat once he had everyone’s attention, and the room fell silent. “Thank you all for coming this evening. I know the invitation was unexpected for many of you, as we haven’t spoken in years,” he began. “I’m sure you’re all curious as to why you’re here. Two months ago, I was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. They gave me four months to live.”

It felt like my body was sinking. Like a hole had opened up under me, and I was falling from a skyscraper. I never loved my father, and I’d always wanted him out of my life... but not like this. Not by death or sickness.

My stomach turned again for the millionth time this evening, and I placed a hand over it. Charles was dying... I didn’t know how to feel, but despite everything I felt towards him and all the horrible things he’d done, I was sad. Sad enough that tears pricked my eyes.

Everyone was muttering and mumbling, but I didn’t look away.

“The doctors told me that any treatment would only make me weak and sick, so I have denied any chemo and radiation,” he continued. “Everyone here knows that I am a very strong-willed man. I won’t let the cancer get the best of me. I have a scheduled euthanasia when my daughter, Odette, graduates from college. If I’m going out, I’m doing it on my own terms, not from an illness.”

Shaky breaths and trembling hands joined my tears. I didn’t make a sound as I stared up at him and cried. Why hadn’t he mentioned anything sooner? Did he feel sick now? Was he in pain?

Charles smiled. “That brings me to address you—all of you. You know I’m a generous man, and my fortune is no secret. Each of you in this room is either my family, trusted and loyal staff, or somehow aided in my success as a close business partner.”

Excited and hushed whispers traveled through the ex-wives, making me sick.

“Each of you holds a special place in my heart, and I will always take care of my family. Edmund, please bring over my will,” he gestured to a man holding a binder behind him.

Edmund stood next to Charles and placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The Tweedle brothers weren’t far behind, standing with notebooks, cameras, and tape recorders.

Edmund opened the binder and began reading. “One percent of all Charles Whitlock funds will go to each of his ex-wife’s and their respective families. One percent of his funds will go to each business partner, as disclosed in these documents. Half a percent of his funds will go to his appointed housing staff. The remaining percentage will go to Odette Whitlock’s husband after she is married.”

Everyone in the room was beyond ecstatic as they smiled and celebrated their new fortunes. They made me sick. A man just announced that he was dying, and all they cared about was a check. I was the person that had the most reason to resent him. Fuck, I should hate him! The only tears at the table were mine.

“It’s so good to see you again, dear. I love that dress!” Wife number one complimented while touching my arm. The greedy smile she had plastered on her lips made me recoil away from her touch.

While everyone seemed excited for themselves, most of their stairs were on me. I was the one with the potential to get billions while they had millions.

I never cared about money; no one needed billions of dollars to live a happy life. I didn’t want his dirty money; I never even planned to be married. The fortune would sit in an estate for the rest of my life; I didn’t care.

Everything around me seemed like a hazy dream as Charles said one last thing in a closing statement that I barely heard. Air was struggling to come in and out of my lungs. As I watched everyone eat, laugh, and smile as if we weren’t just told he was dying.

How did they have an appetite? Did they not realize the tragedy they just witnessed? Charles wasn’t a good man by any means; I knew that more than anyone. Still, he was my only family.

It had all been too much for a single night, and I found myself completely emotionally exhausted. I thought of everything and nothing simultaneously as I stared at the leafy greens on my plate that I wouldn’t touch.

All sense of time floated away as everyone started rising from their chairs, wandering around the first floor again. Now, their conversations were about plans they had with their new money. Not one of them seemed saddened.

“Odette,” Charles broke me from my thoughts as he stood. “Clean your face and meet me in my office,” he instructed.

Using my hands, I wiped the tears off my cheeks the best I could and stood on shaky legs. I followed behind him, feeling every pair of eyes in the room on my back.

Once we entered his office, he closed the door behind me. The room was soundproof, which I appreciated. Too many nosy people were outside the doors, including the Tweedle brothers.

He sat at his desk, and I took the seat on the other side. I didn’t know what to expect from this meeting. My best guess was that he had an explanation for the will being in my future husband’s name. It was unbelievably sexist—even for him.

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