By the time Lark had then driven me back to Willowbrook after dinner to fetch my car, it was too late in the evening to do much else. The sun set hours ago, and after reassuring everyone I was fine to take myself home, I drove back, ready to shower and crawl into bed. Part of me hoped that the guys would be waiting here for me since I gave them a spare key. But it’s empty.
Sort of.
I’m frozen in the doorway, trying desperately to grasp what’s in front of me.
Stepping inside the house, broken glass crunches under my shoes, but I barely notice. I’m too grief-stricken and horrified by the smashed up bits of granite scattered at the end of the hall near my bedroom.
A small voice inside my head screams at me to stop and turn around, alarm bells ringing as I walk slowly down the hall.
How can I, though? I’m completely on autopilot, lured by the sight of Mom’s shattered name.
When I reach the largest piece of stone, my feet pause in front of it. Staring back at me on the hallway floor is Mom’s once intact tombstone. It looks like someone has ripped it out of the ground at the cemetery and taken to it with a hammer. Then following that, they’ve clearly gone through the rest of the house as if this wouldn’t be painful enough.
Everything is gone. Destroyed.
The walls have been smashed, chunks missing in various sizes. Our personal belongings have been ripped from their places, strewn all over the ground. Furniture is upended, nothing left untouched.
I enter the kitchen and find the same inspired mess—broken glasses and plates leaving a deadly sharp path. The fridge door is wide open and I think that’s what finally sends me spiraling.
For the first time in years, I had proper food in the house. It sounds ridiculous, but when I did my first proper grocery shop with my paycheck from the coffee house, I felt proud. I finally felt like I was landing on my feet and that everything would be okay. It was that small moment of achievement that gave me hope, believing I wouldn’t need to struggle again.
And now all of that is gone. Every single item has been touched. Spoiled food and drink is splattered across the floor and walls, the fridge entirely bare.
A light breeze whips the loose tendrils that have spilled from my ponytail around… and I realize it’s because I no longer have a window.
It’s all gone.
I feel sick when I walk the remainder of the house, hoping that something—anything—survived. Of course it hasn’t. Whoever did this ensured they were thorough.
Which means until everything is fixed, which could take weeks even if I had the money, I can’t stay here. My home is no longer liveable.
And I have nowhere else to go. No money to pay for accommodation.
It hits me. His promise.
I’ll make you leave.
Mayor Astor really kept his threat—driving me out of the one place I had security; the one certainty in my life. By cutting off Rylan’s access to money, he’s also ensured his son can’t step in to save me either.
I’m willing to bet that Hunter and Tai will be in the same boat. This was a planned attack—their long game. Everything was set in motion and we didn’t see it coming.
Stepping over the broken picture frames, tears well in my eyes at the ripped photos, my memories taken just like the photo in my locker at Cedar Heights. They’ve stolen everything from me. Things I can’t replace.
I can’t bring myself to check Mom’s room, not trusting I won’t break down entirely if I see it.
Lawless Dragons starts playing and being fully in survival mode, or shock, I reach for my phone. Steele’s name is flashing on the screen, and I know I should ignore it for now, but I answer anyway.
“Hello?”
“Hey Bex,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry for calling so late, but I needed to tell you something…”
I’m spinning in slow circles, staring blankly at the ruins. “It’s fine,” I murmur monotonously. “What’s up?”
I hear a deep sigh on the other end of the line, followed by a faint feminine voice in the background.
“Peyton said we should call. It’s about Astor.”
Apparently money can buy you just about anything. When finance is unlimited, there’s no rule that can’t be broken, no line some people can’t cross.