Page 24 of On Edge

6

SAGE

Iwant to haul off my dress.

His woodsy leather scent still clings to the fabric from when I wore his sweater in the library. It smells like a deep, dark forest, clean and fresh, and masculine. It somehow subdues the anger bubbling in my chest, which only makes me more furious with myself.

Why did I put it on? Of course, that sweater washis; who else would it belong to? This is his house. Severin owns everything on this wretched island.

Even you.

“Oh shut up,” I hiss at Nell’s stupid ghost. “Not anymore.”

I dig out the phone in my pocket to see one new message. It vibrated a few minutes ago when I was staring at that stupid warped mirror. I don’t know why I rushed into the bathroom to read it.

If it’s a message from Laine and Nola, I want to read it alone, not with my own reflection staring at me. But it’s not from either of my friends.

It’s from my father.

If he tries to send you home.Remind him of the morality clause, which impacts all contracts, including the property deal.

What property deal? My mind immediately goes to the property agreement I found in Severin’s office this afternoon. Why is my father involved in that?

When I read it, it felt connected. The language was too similar to how my grandfather’s law firm writes contracts—old-fashioned and wrapped in antiquated Victorian legalese to hide the awful parts in plain sight. My family has always done it that way, to control everything. Did my father help put together the sale of Grayfleet? And does Severin have other agreements with my father that I don’t know about?

A morality clause that impacts all contracts.

At least I know what a morality clause is. The phrase sends a chill through me, even now, I’m older and don’t care so much. Father made me read every word of my trust fund agreement when I turned eighteen. How could I forget a clause that has controlled me my whole life, forcing me to stay a virgin before marriage? An arranged marriage at that.

It almost made me throw up.

“These clauses protect family reputation and ensure proper conduct,” my father had said at the time. And now his cryptic text suggests there are implications to my staying here at Grayfleet before a wedding.

It occurred to me last night, while I had the worst insomnia ever, that Severin might send me home. No one here seems to have been expecting me. Severin, least of all. But my father has just given me a weapon.A way to force the monster to keep me here.

Oh, I want to leave. Don’t get me wrong. Every nerve in my body is screaming to escape while I have the chance. I had to grip my chair just now to keep myself from running out the door and diving into the next boat. Severin is horrible, and the rumors of what he’s done to get where he is, I now believe, are true. They were right; the newspapers, the gossip, even my mother.

Troy Severin is horrid.

And he definitely killed Nell. He practically admitted it just now.

For that reason alone, Ineedto stay.

Urgh.

And now I have nothing to wear because I wore his sweater, and my dress smells of him. I feel sick even having it against my skin. I’d rather walk naked around the estate than wear it again.

At that, a twisted giggle sticks in my throat, which turns into a strangled sob. Then, it comes; hot tears burning the backs of my eyelids. I sit on the bathtub’s edge, my dress half undone, letting the grief I’ve kept inside so long fall. I haven’t cried this hard since my father informed me that this was my future. I don’t want to cry. But it’s all coming out now, no stopping it

I cry for the longest time, until no more tears are left in me. And then I take a deep breath, wipe my face, rebutton my dress, and exit the bathroom. I must have been in my room for a while because the light has dipped outside when I look out the window. The rain has ramped up, and the wind seems to have taken a dislike to the walls of Grayfleet, battering tree branches against it. It feels like nature hates this place, too.

The sooner I leave, the better. I don’t know why I came here.

Yes, you do.

Before I can protest against the voice in my head, I catch my reflection instead.

Twisted by the vintage glass mirror, I don’t look like myself. My features blur slightly at the edges, eyes too large, mouthblurred. I don’t recognise the girl staring back at me. She looks lost or trapped. Without stopping to think why, I take the blanket off the end of the bed and throw it over the glass.