Page 27 of Blood and Thorns (Twisted Ever After #1)

Arabella

So tonight was the first night Sebastian hadn’t been home for dinner, which meant I’ve been left alone for hours. Hours of nothing but my own thoughts, worrying whether my father was okay. Whether he was still even alive .

Brushing my hair, I sat on the side of the bathtub, steam fluttering around me from the shower, leaving a warmth across my skin. But inside I felt cold. Empty.

I’d always felt like everyone else around me was moving at a different pace. As if I was never really living, just going through the motions of survival. And now I didn’t really know what pace I was anymore.

Placing the brush on the sink, I wiped a hand across the misty mirror—and then jumped at the reflection. “Chip?” I turned, my heart thundering against the inside of my ribs.

Chip stood in the doorway, three books stacked in his arms.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said calmly.

“How long have you been standing there?” I eyed the books, tugging the towel tighter around me. “I didn’t expect–”

“What were you thinking about?” he interrupted, closing his distance and tilting his head. “You were frowning.”

“Frowning? Oh, I was thinking about my dad.”

Chip held the books tighter to his chest, brows drawing together. “Why?” He wasn’t wearing the same suit as earlier but was still more dressed than I was.

“Chip, I’m in a towel, and how did you even get up here anyway? I thought the lift was locked?” He hadn’t looked at my half nakedness even once, which was good because this could’ve been a lot more awkward.

“Don’t worry, I have my ways.” He gestured to the books. “So, why the sign language?”

I glanced at the books. I’d only asked for one, but he’d brought me three. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be here for, so I thought it was fair to learn Langdon’s language.” It was either that or French, and this seemed easier.

How else would I figure out what they were discussing in my presence? Knowledge was power, and right now I was deliberately being kept in the dark.

“Mr Devereaux will likely kill you before you learn anything.”

“Well,” I said, tightening my grip on the towel and offering a faint, wry smile, “then I’d better get started.”

I took the books from him carefully, the weight of them grounding me, or trying to. A chill slipped down my spine, and it wasn’t from the air. Something about this felt heavier than it should. Riskier.

“Thanks,” I added, my voice softer now. “I really do appreciate you doing this for me. I just… don’t want you getting dragged down with me.”

He looked up, shrugging. “It’s fine, there are no cameras in here.”

The blood drained from my face. “Wait, there’s cameras?”

“Everywhere, but I was here when they were fitted so I know the black spots.” His head tilted to the side, seemingly to study me. “Why were you frowning while thinking of your father? He literally gave you over to a man like Mr Devereaux.”

“I offered myself,” I said quietly.

Chip shook his head, brows drawn together. “Same result. And even if he didn’t push you into it, which I know for a fact he did, he sure as hell didn’t stop you. Why are you letting yourself be used like that?”

“You don’t get it.” I moved to step past him, but he blocked the hallway, his expression unreadable. I gritted my teeth. “Chip, let me through.”

“I’m not trying to upset you,” he said gently. “I just want to understand.”

“What’s there to understand? He’s my father.

The man who gave me life. He fed me, clothed me, raised me…

maybe not well, but at least he tried.” My voice cracked, but only slightly.

“Regardless of what he’s done, he’s still my father .

All we have is each other, so if I don’t try to help him, who else will? ”

“That’s what I don’t get,” he said, almost to himself. “That kind of blind loyalty to someone who clearly doesn’t care for you. I don’t understand how you can defend him.”

“I’m not defending him,” I argued, swallowing down the ache in my throat. “I’m choosing me. I couldn’t live with the guilt of doing nothing. Of knowing there was something I could have done and walking away instead.”

I already carried that guilt from one parent, I didn’t need it for the other.

With a huff, I barged past, my shoulder hitting his as I entered my bedroom to place the books down. A learn to sign BSL book, and two cute romances.

Chip lingered in the doorway to the bathroom, his expression stoic.

“Do you have any friends looking out for him?”

I let out a short laugh and sank onto the edge of my bed. “Yeah, I’m not exactly drowning in friends.” And my dad had even fewer. “I tend to trauma-dump,” I added with a dry smile. “People don’t usually stick around after that.”

It was easier to make a joke of it rather than acknowledge the truth, that in reality I struggled to trust anyone.

It was easier, especially when Dadliked to move us around a lot.

Starting over again and again thanks to the endless need to outrun his own messes taught me that connections didn’t last. So I stopped trying to make them.

Books made it easier, fictional worlds breaking through the loneliness. The only person who’d been a constant was my dad. He wasn’t dependable or steady, but at least he was there. And when you grew up without roots, his dysfunctional chaos became home.

So yeah, he was all I had. Maybe that was why I kept choosing him, even when I shouldn’t have. Even when it hurt.

“You can trauma dump on me,” Chip said, his smile gentle. “You can trust me, I promise. And if it helps… I can check in on him for you, if you want.”

My voice came quieter than I intended. “You’d do that?”

Chip nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Would you show me how to get out of here?”

Chip froze, his face that of a statue. “I don’t think Mr Devereaux would like that.”

“What happens if there’s an emergency? Like a fire?” I needed a plan, a way to get out if it got to be too much. I just had to wait long enough for Dad to disappear before I risked anything.

“There are stairs, but the door’s locked. You’ll need a keycard, like mine, or unless there’s an emergency, and the lift is compromised, then the door will automatically unlock.”

“There are stairs?” That knowledge settled like a weight. “Where’s the door?”

He took a moment to respond, lips curling with amusement. “Beside the kitchen.”

Holy shit. There was an exit, and Sebastian didn’t know I knew. “Thank you, I really don’t want to get you into trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Chip’s smile widened. “What are friends for?”