Page 18 of Glass

Starting first thing tomorrow. Our new house guest is in for a rude awakening.

Kit abruptly turns, and I stare after him as he disappears down the hall towards his music room. Silas hesitates, half turning as if to follow before he thinks better of it. “I’m heading up. Ellen, you should get some rest.”

Once she’s gone, he turns to me. My older brother looks tired. “You should get some sleep too. Who the hell knows what tomorrow will look like.”

Our first full day with Anastasia. Not that she’ll see much of us as she starts to serve out hersentence.

Twenty years.

I shake my head as Silas watches me. “I’ll be up soon.”

He doesn’t argue, and I wave a hand as I head into the study Kit and I now share between us. His side of the room is spotless as always, a stark contrast to the chaos covering my desk. I settle into the battered leather seat, flicking through the latest stack of paperwork, agreements and contracts that we put together relatively quickly to temporarily free us up from our many business interests across Sorelle.

To be here. Withher.

We’ve redesigned our entire lives to fit around the girl sleeping in our kitchen, and Stasi has no idea. No idea how deep our anger runs. More deeply than she could possibly realize, and I lean back, considering her reaction to our arrival here. Her question about our father.

She doesn’tknow.

And somehow the thought of her not knowing what she did stokes the old anger even further.

She left us in ruins and strolled off to cause misery in someone else’s life, without a care in the world.

My hand tightens on the contract in my hand.

She lied to us, betrayed us, and then she left us.

And I fucking hate her for it.

I manage to hold out for another hour or so before throwing the papers down onto the desk and getting up. My feet carry me out of the study almost without thought.

I ease my way back down the steps into the darkness of the kitchen, lit only by the last of the embers in the hearth. They illuminate Stasi’s sleeping figure, highlight where she’s curled on her side to try to get comfortable. The dull orange glow glints off the edges of the shackles keeping her bound.

I settle down onto the step, my elbows resting on my knees as I watch, track the soft rise and fall of her chest.

Yes, I hate her.

Almost as much as I once stupidly thought I loved her.

And still, I sit here like a fucking idiot until my ass goes numb. I watch Stasi sleep restlessly, tossing and turning as she fights to get comfortable on the solid stone. Unable to believe that she’s here, back under the same roof as us.

Except this time, she doesn’t get the choice of leaving.

I only slip away when the pink glow of dawn starts to show through the window.

8 – Stasi

The fingers prodding at my shoulder shocks me into awareness. My hands jolt up instinctively, a shocked noise escaping my throat as I’m ripped from the deep sleep I was lost in.

It takes me a minute to adjust. The figure in front of me steps back, and I blink up at her in confusion until I remember.

That farce of a fucking trial.

Oakbourne Manor.

Them.

The woman that greeted us last night – Ellen - watches me closely, impeccably dressed in a tidy blue blouse and charcoal gray skirt. “Good morning, Anastasia.”