Page 205 of Plaything

Wincing from the touch, she pulled her hand away and squinted at it. There was a small amount of dried blood that came off with the tears on her palm. “Is that blood?” She asked aloud, touching her cheek again before examining it.

She really couldn’t see with one eye swollen shut and the other tearing up.

She stood abruptly, placing the folder on the couch where she sat before stumbling to the bathroom. I quickly followed, holding her arm (in an area that wasn’t bruised) to help her walk. “You’re not bleeding anymore; it was dry blood,” I tried to calm her.

“I didn’t know I was bleeding,” she responded before standing in front of the mirror.

She rubbed her blurry eye, ridding it of tears as she saw herself. I could only watch as she froze again, a look of terror on her face. It dawned on me that this was her first time seeing the damage Charles had done to her.

Touching her stomach, she looked down at the shoe print. She ran her fingertips over her cheek, where his knuckles cut her skin open.

I gently pulled her hand away from her face, turning her away from the mirror as she faced me. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking—”

Turning quickly, she fell to her knees, heaving over the toilet. Acting quickly, I grabbed a cloth and dampened it with cool water. I grabbed her hair, pulling it away as she emptied her stomach. “I’m sorry, Baby. I swear to God, no one will ever lay a hand on you again,” I promised.

The sight of herself, her admittance to us, or the fear of what was in that folder could have made her sick. Whatever it was, she was officially done for the night. I was calling it. No more talking. Her mind and body couldn’t take it. She was exhausted, bruised, and mourning any fond memories of Charles. She wouldn’t remember those; she’d remember this.

Once she had nothing left to give, I lifted her into my arms. She was trembling, and the freezing temperature of the house did not comfort her.

“I’m taking her to bed; that’s enough for tonight,” I announced as I passed the living room.

“Wyatt—”

“No. We’ll talk in the morning,” I denied.

“You own the manor,” Aiden deadpanned, making me stop in my tracks.

Both Odette and I turned to look at him. “Excuse me?”

Aiden held up the folder. “He put it in your name. It’s completely paid off, and the property taxes are covered for the next ten years. All you have to do is sign.”

This time, it was my turn to freeze. I didn’t understand. I suppose I should have felt happy, but I was struck with confusion. “Are you certain?” I began taking steps toward them. “Wyatt William Wright, that’s the name on the paperwork?” I pushed.

Dominic took some papers from the folder and we watched as his eyes scanned them. Minutes went by as he carefully read everything, looking for a catch.

In this economy, this manor, no matter how dated, was worth millions. Unless Odette scared the life out of him with her threat, Charles Whitlock did not buy the manor for us.

We were all silently watching Dominic read page after page until he got to the last one. He looked up at Odette in astonishment. “All Wyatt has to do is sign,” he repeated Aiden’s earlier statement. “The restraining order is voided,” he added while holding up a document with a red void stamp across the front. “Odette, what exactly did you say to him?” He asked.

She dropped her legs, and I let her stand. She held the back of the couch as she spoke. “I think I might have mentioned I’d be the only one in attendance at his funeral. And that I’d spit in his grave?” She cringed at the harshness. “There was also a cold-blooded remark he didn’t appreciate much. And as a cherry on top, I told him that his death was in my hands and I would drag his name through the mud...”

A quick scoff left my lips, and Niko even chucked once. Odette was a timid person. It must have taken her a lot of courage to stand up to Charles the way she did. For her to make such threats was very bold.

“It worked,” Aiden deadpanned. “Whatever you said to him convinced him to undo his plans,” he ran his hands through his hair. I couldn’t tell if he was in shock or relieved. This was a lot to take in in a single night.

It was safe to assume this was Charles trying to make up for beating his daughter. It was also safe to assume he picked me randomly to sign the house over to; I wasn’t any more preferable than the others, and I’d never officially met the man.

Odette closed her eyes and breathed deeply, her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled. I admired her and the happy expression in her features.

She went through hell tonight. Yet, she only seemed to care about us and our well-being. Earlier, she said she couldn’t tell us because she was selfish. That wasn’t true. She was trying to protect us from Charles. Her actions were altruistic. She’d been protecting herself from him for her whole life; she was trying to keep her life with us as separate as possible from him.

“Odette,” Niko said. She opened her eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he relaxed. “And by the way... we don’t hate or detest you for keeping this from us. This was hard. I’m sorry you thought you had to face it alone. If we had known, we could have helped you. We can only be there for you if you allow us, Cariño,” he gently reprimanded.

“You know that we love you,” Aiden bluntly said. “So let us,” he begged. “The best way we know how is to care for you. We can’t do that if you face everything alone,” he finished.

She sniffled. “I know...” she looked down at the couch. “I’ll work on it, okay? It’s difficult for me to admit when I’m not okay or I need help,” she looked up. “But keeping that from you felt worse than this,” she gestured to herself.

“Even if something as mundane as a bad day,” Dominic joined in. “We want you to share that with us. No more keeping things in.”

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