Page 143 of The Dollhouse

I could do this.

It was about halfway through dessert when I pretended to get a call. I excused myself from the table, earned myself a few harsh glares from my mother and sister, and went into the hall. I used the opportunity to share the video I had ready with my sister’s iPhone; she hadn’t changed numbers, so all she had to do was get to her phone and she’d see it.

She’d see it, and she’d flip her shit.

Willow might be trying to keep her cool tonight, but that video would be the last straw. All I had to do was mention her phone, she’d get curious and excuse herself to go upstairs. Her calm and cool demeanor would be toast the moment she saw the video. I didn’t even care if she showed our parents. Tonight had already turned to shit where my parents were concerned; the Oakes would not keep tonight’s events to themselves.

But… that still wasn’t enough of a public spectacle for me. They needed more. Tonight was mostly about my sister.

I sent the video, and then I returned to the dining room, saying, “Sorry, it was Roman. He’s on his way back to Hillcrest, but I told him not to worry about it.” I gave a smile to the Oakes, mostly because they sat across from me and were staring at me with big eyes.

“What does this… Roman do?” Mrs. Oakes spoke, taking the tiniest bite ever of her mousse.

“He’s a business owner, actually,” I said. “He does really well for himself, too.” I offered no other details about Roman or what he did. He wasn’t just a business owner, and technically he’d only bought the Dollhouse so he could own my place of work and control me a little better. He was also an enforcer, a hitman, an assassin. None of those my parents had to hear, though, and the Oakes definitely didn’t need that information.

“Well,” my father grumbled, “I do hope to meet him again someday. I’d like to learn more about him. He seems… like a worldly gentleman.” He chose his words carefully, and if I was not trying to be on my best behavior tonight, I would’ve laughed.

My father didn’t give a shit about Roman. And him calling him a worldly gentleman was his way of calling Roman old. My parents, you see, never said what they meant. There was always a hidden meaning, but I was fluent in rich people. I knew what they meant.

We finished dessert, and as the waitstaff came to take the plates away, my father invited everyone into the study for more drinks. The Oakes accepted the invitation, probably because they assumed there’d be more drama, which there would be, and I also accepted. More sparkling water for me, I assumed. Yuck.

Willow, on the other hand, excused herself from the table, saying, “I think I’m going to go upstairs. I still have some work to do before tomorrow. It was good seeing you, Mr. and Mrs. Oakes.” After they told her goodbye, she spun and walked away from the table, not saying a single word to me, but that was fine.

She’d go upstairs, check her phone, and then she’d have a hell of a lot more to say.

My parents and the Oakes abandoned their wine glasses at the table, but I grabbed my sparkling water glass before following them back into the study. It was late now, late enough the world had turned dark outside. I considered tonight a win, although I did wonder how I could make more of a public shit show of my parents. The Oakes were a start, but I really needed to dig deep and smear the Marbella name throughout the whole community.

I lost myself in my head as I sipped from my glass, standing in the corner of the study, tuning out of the conversations my mother and father had with the Oakes. They weren’t talking about me, but I could tell they wanted to. The Oakes did, anyway.

My parents, on the other hand, wanted me to forget everything I’d done these last few months and return to being the daughter I used to be.

They didn’t know the old Zoey was dead, but they would soon. They’d know she was long gone and the new Zoey wasn’t going anywhere. And, guess what? Neither was my fucking hair. This pink was a part of me, just like my tattoo was. Done in defiance, but they meant so much more to me now. They stood for my independence, for my strength, for everything I was and would be without using the Marbella last name and connections to my advantage.

Because that’s how you got along around here. It was all about connections, who you knew. If you were born to a CEO, you’d inherit the company. If you were born to a doctor, you were expected to follow in their footsteps. Archaic and annoying, if you asked me.

I waited, and then I waited some more. After that, I waited more. Willow wouldn’t take that video lying down. No, she’d come back down here and try to start some shit with me, not caring if the Oakes saw.

What happened was even better than I ever imagined.

A shrill scream rang through the house, and my mother’s eyebrows creased as she glanced at my father. “Was that the staff, or was that Willow? Perhaps you should send one of the girls up and see if there’s a spider in her room.” My mother trying to explain away the frustrated scream was kind of funny.

I didn’t know anyone who screamed like that when they encountered a spider, but then again, I didn’t know many people who would scream in annoyance and frustration like they were a petulant child and not an eighteen-year-old in college, either.

My father didn’t get a chance to leave the room, for within a few more moments, my sister stormed back into the study, eyes aflame. “You bitch!” she screeched, racing towards me, seemingly forgetting there were other people in the room. Her phone was in her hand, but that didn’t matter. She still lunged for me, shoving me back into the wall and causing the sparkling water in my glass to slosh out and splash onto the carpet below.

“Willow!” my mother hissed as my father set down his drink to try to pull Willow off me. “What on earth has gotten into you?”

“You’re such a fucking bitch,” Willow sneered, pushing our father aside and dropping her phone to the floor in the process. The screen fell onto the carpet, so the video wasn’t visible to anyone else. Her hands found my hair and pulled, sending tiny shockwaves of pain radiating through my skull, and I responded in kind.

I dropped the glass to the floor, letting it shatter quite dramatically, and grabbed the white fabric around my sister’s boobs, jerking her body towards me as I lifted a knee and got her in the stomach as hard as I could. Her fingers released my hair in what must’ve been an involuntary reaction to getting kneed in the stomach, and I used the opportunity to slap her right across the face.

Oh, God, that felt good. I would’ve settled for a punch, but a slap was much more dramatic.

“Enough,” my mother shouted, stepping between us and stopping us from further going at it. Willow glared at me from around our mother’s shoulder, and I knew she wanted to kill me. She wanted to hurt me, physically, mentally, however the fuck she could.

Well, ditto.

“What on earth is going on? Willow, explain yourself now! And Zoey, don’t you dare lift a hand to your sister again.” My mother’s voice came out stern and menacing, and I managed to hold most of my retort in, minus a laugh. A very bitter laugh that I just couldn’t stop from escaping.

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