Page 1 of Ruthless Chaos

PROLOGUE

ALIZE

I slidethe blade across my thigh quickly.

The line of pressure erupts into a slicing pain that chases away the anxiety building in my chest. Red beads near the mark, then spills over, mixing with the other bloody lines.

With a hissing sigh I take the blade to my skin twice more until all I can feel is pain.

The blood trickles down my thighs and into the shallow puddle of water in the bath, tinging it pink. This should hold me over, at least until I can talk to my father. That man always puts the fear of god in me, and this is the only way I can get myself calm enough to tell him what I need to.

A tendril of shame curls in my chest, but I ignore it.

I’ve lost track of the times I’ve told myself that I’d stop this. That I would find a better way to deal with my anxiety. But nothing ever works. My options are few in this gilded cage.

I’m walking on a tightrope, and this is my safety net.

It’s my comfort. When the feelings get too much and threaten to swallow me, it is the only thing I can trust. It’s the only thing I can depend on.

When I feel like the pain has purged me enough, I continue with my morning routine.

The blood still leaks from my thighs while I shower, but I hardly pay it any mind. The bloodletting is cathartic, and I spend a second admiring the color of it swirling down the drain. Once I’m out of the shower, I dress my wounds with antibiotic ointment and change into some loose-fitting clothes.

I’m in the middle of taming my curly mane when the door to my bedroom creaks open. The steps are too light to be my father’s. There’s only one other person who would come into my room without knocking.

Dolores.

When I get out of the bathroom, I find her setting the table in the corner of my room. A serving cart is nearby, and the aroma wafting from the food makes my stomach rumble.

Today is a special morning, so I get a special breakfast.

Dolores smiles at me while I sit, and she places a napkin in my lap. I smile back, genuinely. She’s the only person I can trust in this house, the only person who won’t rat me out to my father.

And she’s suffered for keeping my secrets. I’ll never forgive him for that.

“I had them make your favorite,” she signs when she’s finished setting the table. “Croissants.”

I bop my head, signing back. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

A choking sound leaves her, but I know it’s meant to be a laugh. I remember what it used to sound like. Her laugh was practically the soundtrack to my childhood.

While she plates my food, I take a sip of the orange juice and study her movements. Though she’s doing her best to hide it, I can tell Dolores is just as nervous as I am. Her eyebrows are drawn together, her jaw set. Even her hairstyle is more reserved today—instead of letting her salt-and-pepper curls free, they are swept back in a bun.

I’m sure everyone on the estate feels varying degrees of anxiety about my father coming home today. He’s like a storm.

Michel Moreau always leaves destruction in his wake.

“You promise to be good today?” Dolores asks me.

I put my half-eaten croissant down and give her a smile that I hope hides my uneasiness. “Yes, I will be.”

“And you will tell the master that I have taken good care of you?” Dolores’ fingers tremble, and guilt pricks the hairs on the back of my neck.

It’s a conversation we always have before my father returns, but it never gets easier. Especially when Dolores wears the evidence of my father’s rage. It took years for me to be able to even look at her without bursting into tears.

I’m eighteen now, but she still suffers for a childish mistake I made when I was six.

“I will,” I sign, locking eyes with her. “I know I say this often, but I wish I hadn’t snuck away to the lake when you told me not to.”