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“Oh my god, are you serious?” I shriek, a torrent of the tears that I’ve been fighting to hold back finally breaking free.
“Please accept my apologies, Miss Rhodes, I can check at our sister hotel?—”
“No,” I snap, interrupting him. “It’s fine, just give me the key to a standard room and I’ll move now, there’s no point waiting until the morning,” I cry, looking away, not wanting him to see my composure slip even further.
“Of course,” he says, clicking at the keys on the keyboard for a second. “Here is your new key, your room is number 459. Call down to reception once you’re ready, and I can send Henry up to assist you with your luggage if you need, and please feel free to order anything you’d like on room service as an apology for your inconvenience. Can I book you a wakeup call or breakfast?”
“No,” I gasp on a sob, grabbing the key from him and rushing away before he has a chance to say another word.
It only takes me a few minutes to collect my handful of possessions from my suite and move them to my new standard room. By the time I’m lying on my bed, staring at the tiny room around me, I stop trying to hold back my despair and collapse in a heap of loud, uncontrollable sobs.
I don’t know if I’m crying for the loss of my old life, the money, or the prestige, or if I’m just crying because I’ve never felt more alone in my life. Whatever the reason, I sob until my eyes are gritty and swollen and the pillow beneath my head is wet.
Grabbing my cell, I do what I’ve been doing for the last four years: I dial my mom’s number, knowing that she will tell me what to do. Only instead of hearing the voice of the woman who has spent every day for the last few years shaping both me and my life into what she decided it should be, I’m met with an automated message informing me that the number has been disconnected.
Pulling up my father’s number, I call it and receive the same message saying it too has been disconnected. With trembling fingers, I dial the landline for the house, then sag with relief when someone answers.
“Rhodes residence,” an unfamiliar voice says.
“Hi, could I speak to my mom, please?” I ask.
“May I ask who’s calling, please?”
“It’s Penelope, her daughter.”
“Oh,” the female voice gasps, clearly shocked. “I’m afraid your parents aren’t here, they’re out of the country.”
“I’m sorry, but who are you? Where’s Mrs. Humphries?” I demand.
“I’m the new housekeeper, Geraldine. Your parents advised me that they have no immediate plans to return and that the house would be empty for the rest of the year,” she says, sounding unsure.
“Right, of course,” I say, forcing my voice to become polite and calm. “I’ll arrange for a moving firm to collect my belongings.”
“Err, I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes have given me strict instructions not to allow anyone access to the house.”
Closing my eyes, I drag in a slow breath, scoffing lightly. “Of course they did,” I say slowly, then end the call.
Staring down at the cell in my hands, I don’t notice the tears that continue to fall from my eyes. I should have expected this. I did expect it, but to find out from a stranger that my parents have left the country and banned me from the house feels like a physical wound to my chest. They know I left their house with nothing, and they’ve made it so I can’t even go and get my things. This is their way of punishing me. The money is gone, and I’m guessing Mr. Kingston, the lawyer, told them there’s nothing they can do about me no longer being eligible to inherit. But they can do this. They can take my home and my things. I’d lay money on the fact that they’ve stopped my credit card, and that my cell will be disconnected soon too.
I took the future they wanted from them, so now they’re taking from me in the only way they can. I’m not sure why I’m even surprised, I know what they’re capable of because I’ve been their weapon of choice for years.
Dropping my cell to the comforter beneath me, I fall back to the bed, squeeze my eyes shut, and just lay there, heartbroken, stupid, and alone. I’m not sure how much time passes before I eventually force my lids open. I don’t have time to sit here and dwell on how awful my life is. Calling the lawyers who deal with my trust fund first, I have them arrange for a new credit card to be overnighted to me, then I contact the cell phone company and change my cell to a new plan in my name. Thirty minutes later, I at least have access to money and a cell phone my parents can’t disconnect, even if I only have a cocktail dress, the outfit I chose when Hawthorn took me to the mall, and two sets of school uniforms to my name, and I’m living in a hotel.
Sighing tiredly, I twist to the side, letting my feet fall off the side of the bed. As I move, my skirt ruffles up, leaving my bare ass to rub along the soft cotton of the comforter. Oddly, it takes me a second to remember that I’m not wearing any panties because they’re in Hawthorn’s pocket. I should have insisted he give them back, told him he couldn’t keep them, but I was too drunk on his words and the orgasms he’d given me to protest.
The filthy, depraved part of me wants to hand over every item of underwear I own as a gift to him, but right now, I only have a couple of pairs of panties and now I have one less because he decided to punish me for being a bitch.
Heat fills my cheeks, and my sex clenches. A pulse of sore pain tugs inside of me, and a warmth feels like it seeps out of me, reminding me that an hour ago his cock was inside of me, fucking me unapologetically hard while he demanded I play with my clit until he came inside of me.
Ignoring the thrill of excitement that rushes through me at the memory, I try to focus on something else. I need to get some clothes, I can’t stay in this room and only wear my GAA uniform, but the thought of going shopping is paralyzing. For the last four years, my mom has chosen all my clothes without exception. She even created outfits for me, not willing to allow me to pair shirts with skirts without her interference. She molded me into a walking, talking heiress Barbie doll, and I trusted her to do it, just like I trusted her to shape my actions and my behavior because she told me everything we did was for me, to help me and guide me because she loved me.
Walking into the bathroom, I strip out of my uniform and bra, then pull the hotel robe on so I’m not naked. Shoving my uniform into the bag for cleaning, I place it outside the door, then scurry back to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Once the water is warm, I shuck off the robe and step under the stream, using the complimentary shampoo and wishing I had my stuff from home.
Melancholy and anger war with each other as I wash quickly, then turn off the shower and dry myself with the white hotel towels. My parents are assholes, but I’m still their daughter. The people who created me shouldn’t turn their back on me the moment I stop doing exactly what they want me to do, especially when what they want me to do is awful and a felony.
Clean and dry, I shove my arms into the robe, wrap it around my naked body, and sit back down on the bed. Inhaling, I breathe in the scent of pink grapefruit and not the musky fragrance of sex and Hawthorn that I hadn’t realized I’d liked quite so much. A fresh batch of tears falls from my eyes, and I let my head fall forward into my hands and allow myself to cry over losing the smell of him on me.
Shaking my head, I wipe my cheeks with the hem of the robe, then grab the remote and turn on the TV just for some noise to fill the empty room. When my cell beeps, I grab for it, hopeful that maybe it’s my mom, that the new housekeeper told her I’d called and that she was reaching out to me, but of course it’s not her.
