[Brooke’s POV]
The setting sun paints the sky in shades of crimson and gold as I cruise down the winding road toward the Knight mansion. My stomach’s doing backflips of dread for the Wednesday night dinner ahead. The looming silhouette of the spires cos into view, and I can’t help but shudder.
“Get it together, Brookes,” I mutter to myself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “It’s just dinner with the family. And the Knights. No big deal.”
Yeah, right. As if anything involving the Knights is ever “no big deal.”
I glance at my phone sitting in the cup holder, an idea forming. Before I can talk myself out of it, I snatch it up and dial a familiar number. The ring echoes in my ear once, twice, three tis before…
“Hello? Brookie?” Lyra’s voice bursts through the speaker, brimming with barely contained excitent.
“Hello, Lyra.”
“Oh my goodness, Brookie, I can hardly believe it’s been a week already!” Lyra gushes, her voice a whirlwind of enthusiasm that makes my skin crawl. “Ti just flies when you’re growing a little miracle, doesn’t it?”
I force out a laugh, trying to ignore the bile rising in my throat. “Yeah, it sure does,” I say, injecting false cheer into my voice. “Just doing our check-in. How’s the second trister going?”
“Oh, it’s simply marvelous!” Lyra exclaims, and I can practically see her bouncing with joy. “I’ve been reading all these pregnancy books, and did you know that the baby can hear sounds now? I’ve been playing classical music for them every day. Mozart, Beethoven, Bach. Only the best for your little one!”
I sigh, utterly uncaring about Lyra’s maternal efforts at playing music. “That’s... great,” I mutter.
“Isn’t it?” Lyra continues, oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm. “I read that it helps with brain developnt. Oh, and I’ve been talking to the baby too! Telling them all about their daddy, about how brave and strong and handso he is.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens, my knuckles turning white. ‘Brave and strong? Is that how she rembers trapping and assaulting him?’
“I’ve even started singing lullabies,” Lyra prattles on. “I’m not very good, but the baby doesn’t seem to mind. Sotis I imagine Jason singing with , his voice so soft and gentle...”
I fight back the urge to vomit, my stomach churning at Lyra’s sickeningly sweet fantasies.
“That’s... that’s wonderful, Lyra,” I manage to choke out, my voice strained. “I’m sure the baby loves it.”
“Oh, I hope so!” Lyra gushes, her voice dreamy and distant. “You know, Brookie, sotis when I’m singing, I close my eyes, and I can almost feel Jason’s arms around . It’s like he’s right here, swaying with , his hands on my belly...”
I grit my teeth, fighting back a wave of nausea. The gravel crunches under my tires as I pull up to the Knight mansion’s imposing gates.
“That sounds... nice,” I lie.
There’s a mont of silence on the other end of the line, broken only by Lyra’s soft breathing. When she speaks again, her voice is small, almost childlike in its hesitancy.
“Brook?” she asks, her tone quavering. “Can I... can I ask you sothing?”
I suppress a sigh, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. I’m already cutting it close for dinner. “Sure, Lyra. What is it?”
“Well, I was just wondering...” she begins, her words coming out in a rush. “After Jason falls in love with again, do you think... do you think he’d be willing to give another baby? One we could raise together this ti?”
The question hits like a punch to the gut. Alarm bells start blaring in my head, drowning out everything else. I struggle to keep my voice steady as I respond.
“Another baby?” I repeat, buying ti as my mind races. “Lyra, don’t you think it’s a bit soon to be thinking about that? Let’s focus on this baby first, okay?”
“Oh, of course!” Lyra agrees quickly, but I can hear the longing in her voice. “It’s just... I love being pregnant so much. Feeling this little life growing inside , knowing it’s a part of Jason and ... I want to experience that with him by my side. To have him rub my feet when they’re swollen, to feel his hands on my belly as the baby kicks...”
Her voice trails off, lost in the fantasy. I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising panic. I need to get this baby away from her, and now she’s talking about having another one? This is spiraling out of control faster than I thought possible. She might try to be positioning herself to keep it.
“Lyra,” I say, forcing my voice to remain calm and reassuring. “Of course, Jason would want that. He’d be thrilled to raise a family with you.”
“Really?” Lyra’s voice soars with joy, and I can practically hear her beaming through the phone. “Oh, Brooke, you have no idea how happy that makes ! I’ve been having these wonderful daydreams, you know. I imagine Jason and in a cozy little house with a white picket fence and a big backyard. We’d have a swing set for the children and maybe even a treehouse!”
She giggles, the sound light and airy, like wind chis in a gentle breeze. “And in the evenings, we’d all sit around the dinner table, laughing and sharing stories about our day. Jason would make his famous spaghetti. And I’d bake a fresh apple pie for dessert. Can’t you just picture it, Brooke? It would be absolutely perfect!”
‘Jason cooked her spaghetti? Wait no that’s not possible I watched the video.’
I grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white as I force myself to play along. “That sounds lovely, Lyra,” I lie through gritted teeth.
“Oh, it does, doesn’t it?” Lyra sighs dreamily. “And you know what else I’ve been thinking about? I can’t wait for Jason to feel the baby kick! Do you think... do you think he’ll want to play with the baby while it’s still in my tummy? I’ve read that fathers can bond with the baby before birth by talking to them, singing to them...”
Her voice trails off, filled with such hope and longing that, for a mont, I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
“Of course he will, Lyra,” I assure her, the lies flowing easily now. “Jason will be thrilled to bond with the baby. And you know what? Once I adopt the baby, you can co and visit whenever you want. You’ll be a part of the baby’s life, I promise.” My fingers are crossed tightly.
“Really?” Lyra gasps, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh, Brooke, you’re so wonderful! I can’t wait to see Jason again and introduce him to our beautiful baby. Do you think he’ll cry when he holds them for the first ti? I bet he will. He’s always been so sensitive, so caring...”
‘He cried because you raped him.’
She continues to ramble on, painting a vivid picture of a future that will never exist. I tune her out, focusing instead on the gates of the Knight mansion as they slowly open before .
‘Just a little longer,’ I think to myself. ‘Just keep her happy and compliant a little longer, and then this nightmare will be over.’
I tune her back in. “I’ve even started a baby book!” Lyra continues, oblivious to my disinterest. “I’m writing down everything, every little kick, every craving, every mont I feel connected to our little miracle. I want Jason to be able to read it soday, to feel like he was part of this journey even though he couldn’t be here.”
“That’s thoughtful,” I mutter, gritting my teeth.
“And the nursery, Brooke! I’ve been sketching designs. I’m thinking of a woodland the with soft greens and browns. Little foxes and deer on the walls, and a mobile with leaves and acorns. Doesn’t that sound darling?”
“Very cute,” I agree chanically, pulling into a parking spot.
“Oh, and I’ve started knitting! Can you believe it? I’m making a little blanket, and booties, and the tiniest sweaters you’ve ever seen. I hope Jason likes them. Do you think he will?”
“I’m sure he’ll love them,” I lie, killing the engine.
“I’m so glad you think so!” Lyra chirps.
I feel my stomach churn. “Lyra, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’m at the Knight mansion for dinner.”
“Oh, of course!” Lyra exclaims. “I didn’t an to keep you. Give Jason my love, won’t you? And Brooke, thank you so much for everything. You’re going to be the best mom ever!”
“Thanks, Lyra,” I say, forcing warmth into my voice. “Rember, keep eating well and to take care of yourself. Jason will be so proud of how well you’re looking after the baby.”
“I will, I promise!” Lyra assures eagerly. “Every bite I take, I think of how it’s nourishing our little one. I want to give this baby the best start possible, for Jason’s sake.”
“That’s great,” I say, hand on the car door. “I’ve got to run now, but call if you need anything, okay?”
“Of course, Brooke. Thank you again. Bye-bye!”
I end the call and let out a long, shuddering breath, feeling like I’ve just run a marathon. The tension in my shoulders slowly begins to unwind as I lean back against the headrest, closing my eyes for a mont. The soft leather seat cradles , a stark contrast to the emotional whirlwind I’ve just endured.
“Thank god that’s over,” I mutter to myself, rubbing my temples. The setting sun casts long shadows across the Knight mansion’s manicured lawn, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. It’s beautiful, in a haunting sort of way, like a gilded cage.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the crisp evening air as I finally step out of the car. The gravel crunches satisfyingly under my feet, grounding in the present mont. A gentle breeze carries the faint scent of roses from the nearby garden, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly cut grass.
As I make my way towards the imposing front doors, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over . “Thank god Tessa’s going to be here tonight,” I whisper to myself, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “At least I’ll have one ally in this den of wolves.”
*****
The Knight family dining room is a study in opulence, with its high vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over the expansive mahogany table. The air is thick with the rich aroma of perfectly seared steak, the earthy scent of roasted vegetables, and the subtle, spicy notes of an expensive red wine.
I sit rigidly in my high-backed chair, the ornate carvings digging into my spine. Tessa’s reassuring presence beside does little to ease the tension coiling in my gut like a spring wound too tight. Across from us, Erica and Jason are seated side by side, a picture-perfect couple that makes my blood boil.
Erica leans towards Jason, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder like a waterfall of spun gold. With practiced ease, she picks up Jason’s knife and fork, cutting his steak into perfect, bite-sized pieces. The tal utensils clink against the fine china, the sound sharp and grating in the otherwise quiet room.
“Open wide, baby,” Erica coos, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. She lifts a morsel of steak to Jason’s lips, her blue eyes never leaving my face. There’s a challenge in her gaze, a smug satisfaction that makes want to leap across the table and throttle her.
Jason’s cheeks flush a delicate pink as he obediently opens his mouth, accepting the offered at. “Erica,” he mumbles around the food, “stop, I can feed myself.”
But his protest is weak, halfhearted at best. I can see the way his eyes sparkle, the slight upturn of his lips as he chews. It’s clear as day that he’s enjoying this display of dominance, this public assertion of Erica’s claim on him.
I grip my own fork tighter, knuckles turning white as I stab at my own steak with perhaps more force than necessary. The points screech against the plate, drawing a few startled glances from around the table.
Tessa leans in close and whispers, “Easy there, tiger. Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you riled up.”
I nod stiffly, forcing my grip to relax. But it’s hard to stay calm when Erica’s gaze keeps flicking back to , her lips curled in a triumphant smirk. Each ti she feeds Jason another bite, her eyes lock with mine as if to say, ‘See? He chose . He wants this. He wants .’
“More wine, Brooke?” Vivian’s voice cuts through the tension, sickeningly sweet and utterly oblivious to the silent war being waged across her dining table.
I turn to Vivian, grateful for the distraction. “Yes, please,” I say, my voice a bit strained. Alia, the Knight family’s impeccably dressed maid, glides over with the grace of a ballet dancer. Her crisp uniform rustles softly as she bends to pour the wine, the deep burgundy liquid cascading into my glass like a miniature waterfall.
Just as I’m about to take a sip, Mom’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. “So, what’s the deal with you two?” she asks bluntly, gesturing between Tessa and with her fork. A piece of asparagus dangles precariously from the prongs. “Are you two lesbians?”
The question hangs in the air for a mont, as heavy and suffocating as the perfu Vivian’s wearing. I nearly choked on my wine, and the expensive vintage suddenly tasted like vinegar in my mouth.
Tessa just laughs. It’s a rich, full-bodied sound that seems to dispel so of the tension in the room. “No, no,” she says, her grey eyes twinkling with amusent. “We both only like n.”
I nod vigorously, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Neither one of us is gay,” I add, my cheeks burning. I can feel Erica’s eyes on us, practically boring holes into my skull.
Weirdly Jason seems to be eyeing Tessa the sa way.
‘Why are they so surprised?’
Mom studies us for a mont, her eyes narrowing as if she’s trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the gentle clink of silverware against China. Finally, she nods, a wistful expression crossing her face.
“I thought I wasn’t either,” she sighs, her gaze drifting back to Vivian. The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken aning.
Vivian reaches out, her manicured hand covering Mom’s. The gesture is intimate, possessive. “Relax, dear,” she coos, her voice as smooth and rich as lted chocolate. “Don’t let your toxic femininity show.”
The phrase’ toxic femininity’ rolls off Vivian’s tongue with practiced ease, as if it’s a term she uses often. I feel my eyebrows shoot up, a retort forming on my lips, but before I can speak, Tessa interjects.
She sets down her fork with a soft clink, dabbing at her mouth with a white napkin. Her grey eyes sparkle with mischief as she announces with the grace of a wrecking ball, “I have to take a shit.”
The blunt declaration cuts through the tension like a hot knife through butter. Erica bursts into laughter, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. It’s a genuine laugh, not the polite titter she usually affects in company.
“You know where it is,” Erica manages between giggles, waving her hand towards the hallway.
Tessa nods, pushing back her chair with a scrape that seems to echo in the suddenly quiet room. She stands, towering over the table in her chunky boots and flowing black dress. “Yup,” she says, flashing a grin that’s all teeth and confidence.
As Tessa saunters out of the dining room, her boots clicking against the polished hardwood floor, I feel a wave of panic wash over . She’s leaving alone with these nightmare people. The thought makes my palms sweat, and I reach for my wine glass, desperate for sothing to do with my hands.
*****
[Tessa’s POV]
I slip into Erica’s bedroom, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps as I move through the dimly lit space, my eyes darting around for the perfect hiding spot.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter under my breath, fishing the tiny cara and microphone from my pocket. The devices are sleek and black, barely larger than a button. “Can’t believe I forgot to do this the other night. Thank god Brooke invited tonight.”
“There.” A small space where two pieces of wood join. Perfect. With nimble fingers, I wedge the cara into the gap, angling it just so. The bed is in full view, along with most of the room. A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine what I might see through this lens.
“Now for the mic,” I whisper, scanning the room. My gaze lands on the ornate vanity in the corner. Bingo.
I tiptoe over, my reflection ghostly pale in the mirror. The nearly imperceptiable microphone finds a ho behind a gilded picture fra, a snapshot of Erica and Jason, her arm possessively wrapped around his waist. I snort softly. ‘If only she knew what was coming.’
With both devices in place, I take a step back, admiring my handiwork. To the untrained eye, nothing looks amiss. But I know better. Every whispered word, every muffled moan, every secret shared in this room will now be mine to hear.
A grin spreads across my face, wide and wicked. “Oh, this is going to be good,” I chuckle, already imagining the juicy tidbits I’ll overhear. The power dynamics, the intimate monts. It’s all going to be at my fingertips.
As I turn to leave, a floorboard creaks under my foot. I freeze, heart in my throat, straining my ears for any sound of approach. But the house remains silent, the distant murmur of dinner conversation barely audible.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Close one,” I mutter, shaking my head at my own carelessness. “Gotta be more careful.”
With one last glance around the room to ensure everything is as I found it, I slip out, closing the door behind with a soft click. The hallway is rcifully empty, the sounds of clinking cutlery and muffled conversation drifting up from below.
“Too easy.”
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