My Stepfather, My Ruin

4

Roxy

I didn’t sleep, not really. Every time I closed my eyes, the memory played again: the violence of his thrusts, my mother’s moans, Dorian’s eyes finding mine through the gap in the door.

He caught me.

I didn’t need him to say it out loud. The only question was how long he’d been standing there before I noticed.

This isn’t who I am. The thought circled without going anywhere. What kind of person does what I did last night?

A knock cut through it. “Miss? Can I come in?”

“Yes.” I sat up straight against the headboard, clearing my throat.

Mary came in, two younger maids trailing behind her. They bowed in unison. “Good morning, young miss.”

I still wasn’t used to that. “Good morning,” I managed, forcing something like a smile.

Mary studied me a beat too long. “Young miss, was the bed uncomfortable?”

“No. Why?”

“Your eyes,” she said gently. “You have dark circles.”

“Oh. That...” Words failed me. “It’s nothing. Just... a restless night.”

“If you say so, young miss,” Mary said, approaching the edge of the bed. “Allow me to assist you with your bath.”

“I can manage on my own, thank you,” I said, already stepping off the bed before she could argue. “Please.”

“Very well. Call if you need anything.”

The door shut behind them, and I let the breath I’d been holding go. In the mirror, I looked like someone had taken a week out of me overnight, smudged shadows under my eyes, my skin washed out.

I hated what I saw there, and I hated even more what had caused it. If I hadn’t gotten thirsty. If I hadn’t walked down that hallway.

I showered fast, pulled on one of the plain dresses I’d brought from the apartment, and covered the worst of the damage with makeup before I could talk myself out of leaving the room at all.

Every step down that hallway toward breakfast felt like walking toward something I couldn’t take back. What if he had already told her?

Dorian’s laugh reached me before I did, low and easy, drifting out of the dining room like nothing in this house had changed overnight.

“Good morning, Roxy,” my mother said, glowing in a way that made my stomach turn.

“Good morning, Mom.” I looked toward the head of the table and made myself say it. “Dad.”

“Good morning,” Dorian said, calm and unbothered. “Honey.”

I sat, picked up my fork, and started eating faster than the food deserved. If I could just get through this, get to the door—

“Why are you eating like that?” My mother’s brows drew together. “Roxy?”

“I have to get to school. I’m late.”

“Late?” Dorian’s voice cut cleanly through the room, and I looked up despite myself.

“Yes, Dad,” I lied, forcing a tight, fake smile onto my face.

“I don’t think you are,” he responded smoothly, offering me a warm, fatherly smile.

He hadn’t said a word about last night. I’d spent the whole morning bracing to be exposed, and instead I got this, nothing. Silence.

He turned his wine glass slowly in his hand, his eyes staying on mine, steady and unreadable. Somehow, they pulled me straight back to that c***k in the door.

I looked down at my lap before he could see what that did to me.

“Mom.” The words came out before I’d planned them. “I’m moving out today.”

Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “What? Why?”

“I need to focus on my exams, I need—”

“You need nothing of the sort.” Her tone left no room. “This is your home now. You’ll stay and study here.”

“I can arrange a private tutor,” Dorian offered, easy as anything. “There’s no reason to leave.”

“I am talking to my mother!”

It came out louder than I meant, loud enough that the room went completely still.

My mother’s face changed. “Roxy. How dare you speak to your father that way.”

“He isn’t my dad.”

I said it before I could stop myself, and some small, reckless part of me almost wanted them to throw me out for it, because staying under this roof with him felt more dangerous than anything waiting for me outside it.

My mother stood so fast her chair scraped the floor.

The slap landed before I saw it coming, sharp enough to turn my head with it.

I pressed a hand to my cheek, the sting spreading under my palm, my eyes stinging with it too.

“You hit me,” I said, and my voice came out smaller than I wanted it to.