Page 611 of Filthy Elites

She was by the stairs tending to the flowers in the vase.

From the expression on her face, I can tell she’s been dying for me to get in.

She called earlier, but I didn’t answer. It was just after I went to the principal’s office.

Mom spent the day doing charity work at the shelter. I guessed Cal must have gotten a hold of her and told her what had happened to me.

“I’m fine.”

“But someone slashing your tires is not okay.”

“I’m fine, Mom. There’s no need to worry.”

“Do you know who did it? Cal called the school and asked for a recording of the surveillance, but there was nothing there. No one can explain why, but it doesn’t change the fact it happened.”

Of course, I can’t imagine Chad leaving any evidence to incriminate himself. There are cameras in that area of the parking lot, so there should have been surveillance video, unless it was switched off or something.

I’ve already taken matters into my own hands, so I don’t want to make things worse by getting my mother involved.

“I don’t know,” I lie, and she knows my answer for a lie. She always knows.

“Billie, I just want you to be safe. If someone is bothering you, I need to know. This is just day two, and obviously, this has to be about your father. Nobody would do something like that to you.”

“I don’t want to talk about Dad with you.” I try to push past her, but she blocks me.

She reaches into her jacket pocket, pulls out an envelope with the UCLA logo on it, and holds it up for me to see.

Shit, shit, shit.

That has to be a response to one of my query letters. Or even my admission letter. I requested that all correspondence be emailed to me, but I forgot to ask for nothing to be posted.

“Can we talk about this?” Mom raises her brows.

“Why? So, you can scream at me again?”

She doesn’t want me in L.A. for anything. When we last spoke about this, she was adamant that I go to Raventhorn University next fall.

I made her think I’d agreed. The argument we had was one of the things that pushed me to look at the Decadent Agency.

I don’t want my life to be tied to my mother and Cal. And, I’m not comfortable having any link whatsoever to the Bratva.

Cal hasn’t been in my life long enough for me to fully know what to expect, but I know what I suspect—which is danger—isn’t far off reality.

I don’t want anyone dictating to me who I should marry or how I should live my life. Not to mention the threat of death and worry over threats in general.

Those are only some of the things to be concerned about, but they’re enough to give me every reason to want to leave.

I owe it to myself to find a way.

Mom sighs, and her face hardens. “The letter is about your application.” She turns the envelope so I can see it’s open—sheopened it.

“Youreadmy mail.” I glare at her.

“I know I’m wrong to have done that, but I couldn’t believe it when I saw it.”

“Mom, why are we having this conversation when you know what I want?” I bite down hard on my back teeth to tamp down my rage.

“Because I don’t want you there. Despite the fact that I’ve said so repeatedly, you do this.”

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