Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
How Skylar has made it at all in the real world is anyone’s guess. At this point, I don’t care. I’ll take her word that the reason she hates me is because our dad divorced her mom and married mine. Whatever, I just need my twin, and for her to get out of my room so I can pack.
“Yes, things. You show up being all perky and happy, thinking you’re so beautiful and special and that everyone will fall at your feet. But look at you—you’re no more special than any of us. Just another notch in Brett Powers’s bedpost.”
Breathe, just breathe, Alex. She’s goading you. Do not fall into her trap.
“Out, please.” I try to smile, but it’s tight and forced. Turning back to my closet, I reach for my clothes.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to admit it. Because I know the truth, and seeing you like this is all I needed,” she says.
I look up at the dark ceiling, willing myself not to cry in front of her.
“I do need to go. Today’s the big day, you know? Dean Murphy is stepping down, passing the crown to Brett. You sure you don’t want to see it?” she calls out.
“No, you go ahead.” I grab another handful of clothes and walk out, putting them in my suitcase.
“One more thing, Alexandrea, and I was going to wait to tell you this, but seeing as how you’re leaving…” She lets her voice trail off, I guess to be extra cruel, but whatever. I’m past caring. Nothing she says can hurt me.
With a sigh, I look at her.
“Brett Powers dips his dick far and wide. When you get back to Daddy’s house, find a good gyno, and get yourself checked out. He wasn’t just fucking you.”
Check. Mate.
This was her endgame all along. I school my face to look calm even though my heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. She knows it. She fucking knows she finally got to me, and she smiles triumphantly.
“Ever heard of Misty Daniel, the porn star? She’s Brett’s neighbor. He’s been fucking you and her at the same time. He’s got a dirty fucking dick. You have a good day, Alexandrea.”
Then she’s gone, and I slowly slide to the floor. That knife hovering around my heart all these days, teasing me with tiny pricks, full-on inserts itself.
And what’s funny is I don’t even know if it’s true, but the damage is done, it’s out there, and I can’t stop hearing her words.
“It’s not true.” I shake my head. “Dirty fucking dick,” I repeat Skylar’s words, closing my eyes against this pain, like waves in the ocean crashing on me, threatening to pull me under. Crawling to grab my phone, I google Misty Daniel.
“Goddammit,” I scream as I angrily wipe under my eyes. I’m crying again and can’t read the words on the stupid phone’s browser. Leaning my head back against the bed, I close my eyes. This is stupid. None of it matters. Just get up and keep packing. You do not need to appease your sick curiosity or torture yourself more than you already have.
But what if I have an STD?
A porn star?
“She’s lying.” Lifting my phone, I stare at every woman’s nightmare. Bleached-blond hair, enormous fake tits, lips, and who knows what else. I scroll through all her porn movie titles, pictures of her wearing almost nothing while hugging and kissing Hugh Hefner.
“Jesus, how old is she?” I mumble as my fingers type, not caring that I’m full-on stalking… Forty-two and she’s married.
I lower my phone. Skylar really is a psycho bitch. This woman is married, not sleeping with Brett. Then, because I can’t stop myself, I continue to read. She is married, but to an old rich man, and they live in Malibu.
“Oh my God.” I stand and run to the bathroom, barely getting the toilet seat up in time as I heave and gag out what little I’ve eaten the last few days. I’m too tired to move. I’ll take a shower later. Right now, I just rest my head on the cool toilet and close my eyes.
This pain will end.
I will be fine.
Lies.
I’ll never be the same again.
BRETT
My phone vibrates again as I head up the sidewalk toward hundreds of people on the front lawn, my jaw clenched.
“Christ.” I crack my neck. This is nothing but vanity, a big song and dance to kiss donor and alumni asses. I hope Richard has a big speech planned because mine is pretty much two words: “Thank you.”
Straightening my tie, I nod, and Pam, Richard’s secretary, almost trips in her heels to get to me.
“Oh, thank God,” she says. “I thought Richard was going to have a heart attack.” She steps back to look at me in my black tailored suit. “You look so handsome. After the announcement, I need to go over your new schedule. And don’t forget you have that trip to India next week.” Pam looks down at her phone while she walks and talks to me.