Page 31 of No Longer Mine (Rags & Riches #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Scarlett

Between the ring and the next heist, I couldn’t get away from Dimitri Cristof.

He was the last person I wanted to see—which was a lie I told myself—and the last person I wanted to be around.

But I knew that if I didn’t return the ring, he would pull another stunt on my apartment.

The last thing I wanted was to be blindsided by him when I returned one night.

Oliver begged me to stay at the safe house, but I knew I would be okay. I didn’t think Dimitri would hurt me, but then again, there had been hatred in his gaze the night of his celebration. I was walking a thin line, I knew it.

Thankfully, Oliver hadn’t tried to talk me out of breaking into Gavin Crenshaw’s home.

He didn’t like it, especially since Sinclair Cristof was involved; I didn’t blame him.

The last place I wanted to be was cozy with the viper, but there was an itching under my skin that I’d never felt before.

A need to see what he was doing with Dimitri’s father.

Instead of breaking into Gavin’s home like I wanted to immediately, I decided it was best to take a trip to remind me why I did everything that I did.

I hadn’t refreshed my memory in three years.

It was so easy to get lost in the glitz and the glamor of the high life, but I needed to be reminded of where I came from and everything I fought so hard to get out of.

The Uber slowed at the end of the road, and I thanked the driver. He eyed the overgrown weeds that had taken over the long gravel drive. “Are you sure this is right, miss?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “Thank you.”

The man turned his head slightly. “I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving you out here all alone.”

With any other driver in the city, I would have felt uneasy with the comment but I could see the sincerity in his eyes. He really didn’t like me being out here in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t like it either. I gave him a gentle smile.

“I’ll be fine.”

It was times like these that I regretted not hiring my own personal driver.

It would have made things so much easier on me.

It was too late now. Maybe on my next stroll down memory lane I would be smarter.

I shoved my hands into my coat pockets as the Uber drove away, and I began my trek down the overgrown driveway.

The gravel crunched beneath my boots, the uneven stones shifting as I moved deeper into the past. The cold bit at my cheeks, sharp and unforgiving, but I barely felt it. My focus was on the looming structure ahead, its silhouette barely visible against the overcast sky.

Vanewood Manor.

The place that made me.

The place that nearly broke me.

I exhaled, my breath curling into the air in front of me like smoke, and forced myself forward. The long driveway stretched on forever, the weeds and wild grass reclaiming the land around it.

By the time I made it to the rusted iron gate, my breath was coming out a little faster than usual.

I wasn’t winded, but I definitely hadn’t worn the right shoes to walk down this never-ending drive.

I always forgot how long it was. I was surprised the iron gate was still standing.

It creaked as I slipped through, and I shivered against the chill.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come out here all alone.

The house was even worse than the last time I visited—neglected, crumbling in some places, the windows shattered in others.

This place had been full of talent once. Of children who could paint, compose, build, think beyond their years. Children who had been tossed aside, forgotten, unless they were of use to the right people.

I wasn’t sure which category I’d fallen into. I curled my hands into fists and took a deep breath. My feet stopped just before the front steps. There was a massive hole in one of them with weeds growing through it.

My chest ached with something unnameable as I stared up at the massive front doors, the ones that once seemed so grand to me as a child.

I swallowed hard and stepped up onto the porch. The wood groaned under my weight, unstable and fragile, much like I had been all those years ago. My fingers traced over the worn doorframe as memories flooded my mind.

Oliver, a scrawny kid with too-big glasses, was always hacking into something he shouldn’t have been.

Cleo, wild and fearless, pushing me to take bigger risks, to believe in myself.

Vivi, whispering secrets under the covers late at night, dreaming of something more.

And then there was me. The girl who watched and learned. The girl who found her talent in taking.

I scrubbed my hands down my face. What was I doing here? Why did I like to torment myself so? Why did I need this reminder of where I came from?

It was dangerous to be out here. It was dangerous to trust that I hadn’t been followed. It was dangerous to think that no one would uncover my secrets if they figured out this place was still standing.

No matter how many times I came out here, no matter how many times I planned to burn it to the ground, I never could.

My fingers tightened around the doorknob, and a cloud of dust exploded around me as I shoved the door open.

The hinges groaned in protest, the sound echoing through the hollow remains of Vanewood Manor.

The stale scent of rotting wood and forgotten lives hit me like a slap, thick with dust and decay.

The past lived here, tangled in every creaking floorboard, in the peeling wallpaper that once held the dreams of the discarded.

I stepped inside.

My boots left fresh imprints in the dust, disturbing the untouched surface. No one had been here. No squatters, no scavengers—just ghosts. I exhaled, watching the dust swirl in the dim light filtering through the broken windows. I closed my eyes and immediately memories flooded my head.

“He touched you?” Oliver’s eyes rounded behind his glasses. “You have to tell someone!”

It didn’t matter. The headmaster started it. He certainly wasn’t going to stop it. Tears filled my eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“I’m serious, Red. You need to tell someone.” Oliver gripped the top of my arm as I turned away from him. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. I was worthless now. No one would ever want me. Bile rose up in my throat, which I fought to keep down.

Cleo watched from the other side of the commons area.

Her lips turned down as she realized what was happening.

Cleo was the only one who knew what was happening with the headmaster and Jameson—his son.

The only reason Oliver knew was because he followed us when he saw James pull me into the stairwell.

Cleo marched across the rug and wrapped her arms around me. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

I pulled out of her grasp. We were at the mercy of the headmaster. We couldn’t do anything about it. We were trapped. We were children. What could we do?

“I have a plan.”

A shudder ran down my spine as I forced myself back into the present. My fingers curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. The air in Vanewood felt suffocating now, thick with dust and history.

I had come here for clarity. For a reminder of why I did what I did. Instead, I had dredged up ghosts that should have stayed buried.

I let out a slow, measured breath and opened my eyes. I kicked a rock across the floor, and it hit the wall with a thud. I shouldn’t have come here, but it was too late now.

Carefully, I walked up the once grand staircase to the second story. The big oak doors were falling in on themselves, but I could still somewhat tell what each of the rooms had once been.

Once upon a time, the second story housed all of the musical instruments, art supplies, and anything else needed for the gifted to thrive here.

Now, it was nothing but decay.

The thick scent of mold clung to the air, mingling with dust and rot. My boots creaked against the warped wood as I stepped carefully around the debris, my fingers grazing the splintered banister.

The sound of music and laughter had once filled these halls. It was hard to think of anyone enjoying this place when my memories were full of terror and fear.

I stepped through the remains of a doorway, the door itself barely hanging on its hinges. Inside, broken violins lay in the corner, strings snapped, bodies cracked. A grand piano, or what was left of it, sat in the center of the room, its lid missing, its keys warped and yellowed with time.

This had been Vivi’s favorite place. She used to sneak in at night, her fingers dancing over the keys, playing softly enough that no one would hear. I remembered sneaking in after her, sitting beside the piano, watching the way her eyes fluttered shut as she got lost in the music.

It had been one of the few beautiful things in this hellhole. I crouched down, brushing my fingers against the dust-covered keys. A soft, broken note echoed through the empty space. I clenched my jaw and stood up. I wasn’t here to relive the past. I wasn’t here to mourn.

I was here to remind myself why I kept moving forward.

With a deep breath, I turned on my heel and made my way down the hall, past rooms that used to be filled with brushes and canvases, clay sculptures, and sheet music. Everything had been stripped away, either by time or by scavengers. There was nothing left but echoes.

I reached the last door at the end of the hall.

I hesitated, my fingers tightening into a fist. I didn’t need to go in there.

But I did. The door groaned as I pushed it open, revealing the ruined remains of the dormitory.

Rows of rusted bed frames lined the walls, the mattresses long since rotted away.

The window at the far end was shattered, letting in a sliver of sunlight that illuminated the floor.

My bed was still in the same place.

The blankets were gone, but the frame was still there, the marks I’d carved into the wood with a stolen pocketknife still visible.

A tally of stolen days. A reminder that I had survived.

I stepped closer, running my fingers over the notches.

Eighty-six. That was how many days I had counted after the first time Jameson laid his hands on me.

Eighty-six days of holding my breath, of flinching at shadows, of waiting for the next time.

Until I stopped counting. Until I made sure there wasn’t a next time.

“I said, ‘don’t touch me again’.” My voice shook, but I didn’t care. I was tired of being taken advantage of.

The headmaster let out a breath as his fingers ghosted over the back of my neck, and he walked back to his desk. “You would be dead if it weren't for me.”

“I would rather be dead than let you continue to touch me, defile me.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He shook his head but moved away from me. Had standing up to him actually worked? “Scarlett, if you decide to continue on this silly mission of yours. You will find yourself dead.”

I pressed my lips together. “You would kill me?”

He ran his fingers through his thick hair.

When I was first brought here, I thought he was pretty.

I was flattered he paid so much attention to me.

I thought he was a man I could trust. He was a man I wanted to trust. “No. But you wouldn’t survive out there.

You will be picked up by a thug or a gang, and you’ll be used and defiled much worse than what you say I do.

I swallowed thickly. Was it that bad out there in the world? I didn’t know. This was all I’d ever known. Was I making a mistake?

I clenched my fists. “I’d rather take my chances.”

The headmaster sighed as if I were a particularly frustrating child. “You’re too na?ve to understand the dangers out there, Scarlett. But you’ll learn soon enough.” He turned toward his desk, flipping open a ledger, dismissing me like I was nothing.

Like I hadn’t just threatened him.

I turned on my heel and marched out of his office.

Once I was far enough away from the headmaster, I took off running.

I didn’t stop until I found Cleo in the gardens.

She was digging up something, but I didn’t care what it was.

I collapsed at her feet, the tears I’d been fighting back leaked from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. “We have to do something.”

Cleo yanked me into her arms like she wasn’t two years younger than me. She was more of a child than I was, but she held me like a mother would have. She ran her hands down the back of my hair. “I told you I had a plan.”

“I’m all in.”

I exhaled sharply, yanking my hand back like the frame had burned me.

My throat felt tight, my pulse thrumming too fast beneath my skin.

I strode toward the door, my footsteps loud against the silence.

I didn’t stop as I walked down the stairs.

I didn’t stop as I stepped outside. I didn’t stop until I was back on the road, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I looked back over my shoulder at the garden we had planned in and let a few tears roll down my cheeks before I swiped them away and yanked my phone out of my pocket.

I should have dialed an Uber a long time ago, but now I would have to wait at the side of the road.

I didn’t mind. It gave me time to think about what I was going to do next.