AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
Summer?
My eyes remain focused on the street below, the hustle and bustle of tourists going about their evening. Taking in the immense city lights, the sea of smiles and cheers as the fountain below dances to the tune of Louis Armstrong – What a wonderful world. I close my eyes as a single tear trickles down my cheek, taking in those beautiful words that offer me little comfort. Inhaling a deep breath, my body screams in pain, but I hold my silence, refusing to allow him to win again.
Allowing my fingers to trace over the double scotch I poured myself, my gaze lands on the engagement ring, which now feels like a vice wrapped around my entire existence. I gently close my eyes again and hum to the peaceful tune, allowing the silent tears to fall further. Lifting the glass to my lips, I try to stifle my cries as the sudden pain shoots through my ribs. Slowing my movement down, I finally take a sip. Allowing the warm liquid to pass my lips, quietly numbing the utter turmoil in my mind and quilting over the pain surging through my body.
He said it wouldn’t happen again; I smirk to myself. Knowing that man is a compulsive liar, I shake my head again at my stupidity for believing the deceit. The empty glass clinks as I set it back down. Bracing my palms on the table, I whimper. The pain courses through me once again as I try to stand. Shaking my head, I don’t allow myself to fall back into the seat. I can’t because if I do, I’ve admitted defeat. Once I do that, I may as well just let him kill me. The large engagement ring on my finger keeps catching the light as my entire body shakes and sweats with pain. As I go to take it off, I hear those cutting words.
“Why are you removing your ring? Is there someone else, you fucking WHORE? Who do you think you are? Without me…you’ll die alone!”
I sigh heavily, glancing around the dark suite and moving slowly towards the bathroom. Switching on the light, the entire mirror lights up as I stare back at my reflection. Pulling closer, I lift my shirt and finally see the damage. Black bruises imprinted on my skin, a familiar reminder of what happens when I question Harry after a cocaine bender. I’m not too sure what sent him into a rage this time. It could have been because I wore a red dress to dinner and not a black one, or possibly because my mother decided to order champagne at the dinner table. Either way, it happened, and here I am. Looking back at a shell of the person I once was, the sad reflection looking back at me is a stark reminder that I’m alone.
I know what you’re thinking. The day the person who loves you or claims to lays their hands on you, run. Run for the fucking hills and never look back. That would make a lot of sense if I had somewhere to even run to. My mother chooses to ignore her husband and Harry’s awful behavior because they have money. Eric would never dream of laying a hand on his wife, but that doesn’t stop him from enjoying the dancers at his clubs most evenings. As long as Rachel remains the good, dutiful wife, she’ll remain lavished with designer clothes, luxury holidays, and a lifestyle royalty may even consider “extravagant”.
My mother left my father around fifteen years ago, so long ago that I barely remember them being together in the same room. She took me away from New York and ran into the arms of Eric Stanton. A successful, well-connected, and well-known businessman from Los Angeles.
Men always seemed fixated on Rachel Harper. She’d always looked after herself and taken great pride in her appearance, her shoulder-length blonde curls were always perfectly set, and her immaculate makeup always showcased her high cheekbones, red lips and large hazel eyes. But there had always been something ruthless about her, too. She always got what she wanted. Whether that would be to throw a tantrum or wear those around her down, I never liked it.
I can’t really complain. However, I had more than most growing up. Only in the last few years did I wonder what Eric did for a living. My mother claimed he was a “businessman”. But a couple of nightclubs and strip joints can only take you so far, right? Then, a couple of years back, in walks Harry Maine. My stepfather introduced us. In the beginning, he seemed caring and attentive, sweet even. But it didn’t take long for the demon lurking beneath that well-cut, expensive Armani suit to rear its ugly head.
Harry and Eric went into business ventures together, but that was when I noticed his behavior shift dramatically. He was angry, erratic, and on edge. The first time he hit me was when I found him snorting cocaine at a family dinner. He clearly didn’t like being questioned, and that night, when we arrived home, he backhanded me so hard that I fell into the glass coffee table, which required stitches in my hand.
Fearing for my safety, I rushed back to my mother’s house, bleeding all over her floor. Yet she didn’t seem bothered. Turns out Harry had already called her and smoothed it over as a minor disagreement. I knew from that moment; I was on my own. My mother had chosen money and expensive gifts over her own daughter. I think that moment broke my heart more than Harry hitting me, I guess because deep down, I always knew my mother was a vindictive bitch, but I hadn’t yet seen it for myself.
Switching on the tap, I pool the cool water in my hands, splashing my face. I hope it’ll reduce the redness before I face my family tomorrow at breakfast. Part of me hopes Harry just stays out all night and stays the fuck away from me. Then the other part hopes he overdoses with one of his whores and dies in some seedy motel somewhere. As soon as that thought comes into my head, I shake it away. Trying to remind myself, one bad day doesn’t mean a bad life. I need to be smart and push through this, or else it’ll fucking eat me from the inside out.
I jump, hearing a firm knock ring through the hotel suite. I wince. Clutching onto my ribs, I turn the tap off and dry my face. Padding along the marble tiles, I reach the front door. Opening it slightly, my brows pinch in confusion as I’m face to face with my stepfather. His eyes are solemn, and his voice is almost gentle as he speaks.
“Could I come in?”
Blinking a couple of times, I open the door further as he whisks past me. The smell of cigar smoke and whisky woven into his evening suit. To avoid bringing attention to my current injuries, I move slowly into the vast living space, which overlooks the Las Vegas strip. Eric stands at the window, his hands firmly placed in his pockets.
“Eric, is everything ok?” I ask quietly.
His entire demeanor is unusual. If anything, he’s usually brash and overbearing, very much like his lifestyle. Turning towards me, he looks down to the ground for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Summer, but your father is dead.” His words are firm and clear.
As those words leave his mouth, I brace my hands onto the back of a chair before I lose my footing completely. A wave of nausea passes by, which I manage to work past. Taking a couple of deep breaths, my teary eyes meet his again as he rushes over, pulling me into a tight hug. The pain rushing through my entire body causes me to cry out. Eric backs away immediately and only offers a knowing look. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I manage to finally speak.
“How?” I ask as my tears roll down my cheeks, unable to meet his eye.
“He was shot. That’s all I know. Your mother is very upset but wanted you to know immediately.”
I nod my head, trying to process what the fuck is going on. A loud thud enters the living space. Eric's eyes meet mine once again as Harry's garbled, angry demands can be heard. He staggers into the room, his sandy blonde tousled hair looking messier than usual, and his grey suit is dishevelled.
“I don’t know what the….” His bloodshot eyes darting between both Eric and I.
“I came by to inform Summer that her father is dead.” Eric cuts him off immediately, likely so Harry can calm the fuck down and not make a complete fucking show of himself.
Harry visibly swallows as he turns to me. His rage-filled eyes somehow now replaced with sincerity and concern. I flinch as he takes a couple of steps towards me, but he plays the part of concerned fiancé well.
“Oh, baby, you poor thing. I’m so sorry.” I wince as he pulls me into a tight embrace, the pressure on my ribs causing my breath to shallow, the pain shooting through me.
He knows exactly what he’s fucking doing.
Eric eyes the scene before him suspiciously, yet he doesn’t say anything. Mustering some courage from deep within, I step back, straightening myself up and ignoring the pain. I now stand defiant in front of Harry, but I feel safe enough to know he wouldn’t say anything with Eric here to witness it.
