Page 9

NINE

LENNON

A cage is still a cage, regardless of how brightly the bars gleam.

And lately, the bars surrounding me seem to be closing in, leaving no space to breathe. Each inhale is a pained reminder that every move I make is on display for the world to see and whisper words of judgment about.

I’ve spent my entire life trying to be the perfect daughter. To never make mistakes. To only be someone that my parents could be proud of, in all aspects.

Bleeding myself dry to be the perfect puppet for everyone to admire.

Turns out being perfect is fucking exhausting.

Somewhere along the way, resentment planted roots, deep and twisty, in my heart and bloomed into something else entirely.

Something that has me desperate to break the lock on my cage. To be free from everything I hate about my life.

“Would you like a glass of champagne, Miss Rousseau?” The waitress’s soft voice beside me jolts me from my thoughts. I glance over to see a large silver platter resting on her splayed hand, full of ornate glasses filled to the brim with bubbling Dom Perignon.

Pasting on a bright smile that I know won’t reach my eyes, I shake my head and politely decline. “No, thank you.”

“Of course. Enjoy your evening.” With a slight nod, she turns on her heel, leaving me with my thoughts once again.

Although I could never admit it out loud, I hate these events almost as much as I hate the people attending them.

They’re an opulent show of wealth and power that always has me feeling slightly dirty when I leave.

My gaze roams around the room packed full of people my father invited to tonight’s charity gala in hopes that they’ll donate, largely, to the cause.

The grand ballroom where tonight’s dinner is being held is lavish in the old-money kind of way.

The walls are painted a deep crimson that appears almost black and are lined with expensive oil-painted art framed in ornate gold.

The floors are original hardwood that’s been kept polished and pristine, dating back to when it was first built.

A large crystal chandelier is suspended in the center of the room along the vaulted ceiling, the intricate pieces catching the dim light and sparkling.

The scent of champagne and cigar smoke hangs in the air, draping over everything inside of the room.

It’s every bit of what you’d expect when hosting some of the wealthiest people in the state.

And I want nothing more than to leave and go back to the confines of my apartment, where I don’t have to play the perfect, dutiful daughter.

I’d even rather be facing off with Saint Devereaux for the second time today rather than be here, and that is saying a lot since I loathe him with every fiber of my being.

How ironic that tonight is supposed to be about raising money and awareness for charity, yet it feels like a fashion show where the wealthy are trying to outshine each other.

Everyone’s dressed to perfection in designer gowns and custom-tailored tuxedos, the wives dripping with Harry Winston diamonds, Cartier gold around their necks, Oscar De La Renta ball gowns cinched around their waists.

Outfits that likely cost more than the donation they’ll pledge tonight.

Eying the amount of money in this room causes the thin strand of pearls that my parents gifted me for my fourteenth birthday to suddenly feel heavy and constricting around my neck.

Usually, when I attend these events for my father, I spend the majority of the time watching the clock and counting down the minutes until I’m free to leave. And tonight is no different.

The last hour has dragged by even more than usual, the minute hand on the large grandfather clock on the wall seeming to tick by at an unnaturally slow pace, one that has my feet aching from these heels. Nearly as much as my face hurts from the fake smile I’ve worn the entire night.

God, I want out of here.

No, I need to get out of here before I scream.

I search for the exit to slip away to the bathroom, hopefully unnoticed, when I spot it across the room, the floor stretching so much farther than my feet can possibly carry me in these heels.

Everyone knows that you have to break in Louboutins, but when my mother presented this entire outfit for me earlier today, I knew that I couldn’t say no. Not unless I wanted to see disappointment in her bright green eyes, which are almost a mirror to my own.

My heels click along the hardwood in a low echo, even over the sound of light classical music by the pianist in the back of the room, and I put on another fake smile, mumbling apologies as I push through the crowds toward the exit.

When I finally get to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, opening the door and slipping inside, relief floods me in a wave.

It’s completely empty. The silence is a welcome reprieve.

A shaky exhale jumps past my lips as I walk over to the large mirror on the bathroom wall and peer into it, gaze roving over my reflection staring back.

The pale yellow Valentino draped silk gown is exactly the type of dress that my mother loves to dress me in, and admittedly, one that I would’ve chosen myself, given the chance.

Its hem kisses the floor, the cowl neckline showing a modest hint of my chest, the waist cinched with a dainty gold clasp.

Although it’s classic and beautiful, wearing it makes me feel like a shiny show pony trapped by my parents’ whim.

Each step is choreographed, every breath measured.

Captive in their relentless, never-ending parade.

My long, red hair is curled in soft, flowy waves down to my waist, with a small pearl clip pinning one side just behind my ear, showing off the pink sapphire earrings my parents gifted me when I was a freshman in high school.

Sighing, I brush my fingers through my hair and take one last, final look at my reflection, soaking up the few remaining seconds of quiet. Seconds I know I’ll undoubtedly wish for the moment I’m back out there.

I truly don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this until I break.

Until I lose even more of myself than I already have.

Swallowing, I swing the door open and step back into the bustle of people, instantly regretting that I didn’t accept the offer of champagne.

Maybe tonight would’ve been slightly more tolerable.

Suddenly, I feel a hand curving around my elbow, and my father appears in front of me. “Oh, Lennon, there you are, sweetheart. There’s someone here to see you.” The creases of his black tux are starched to perfection, his smile wide, causing the corners of his eyes to wrinkle slightly.

The person who steps out from behind him makes my stomach dip, and unease races down my spine. A giant lump settles at the base of my throat, and for a second, panic seizes my chest so intensely that it feels like I can’t actually breathe.

No. What is he doing here? I haven’t seen him since… since he cheated on me.

“Sweetheart, I know that you and Chandler had a slight disagreement in the past, but he cares about you, and he’s willing to look past the… rough spot. To give your relationship a second chance.”

My jaw falls open.

I shouldn’t be as shocked as I am that he’s done this, but then again, I never expected him to be so completely… heartless.

I met Chandler for the first time at an event our parents forced us to attend. Our fathers do business together, and we bonded over our common dislike of having to be dragged along to the events.

At first, we struck an easy friendship that was the result of our social circles spinning around each other.

But then in high school, that friendship turned into something… more.

Chandler Masters was every girl’s dream.

Senior.

Captain of the soccer team.

Insanely hot with tousled blond hair, a bright, blinding smile, and charm that could disarm anyone.

From the moment that he gave me the attention I was craving, he had me eating out of the palm of his hand. I was young and stupidly thought I was in love.

A deadly combination when it came to a guy like him. I fell hard and fast, not caring how hard it would hurt when I finally hit the bottom. Naivety will do that to you. Make you feel invincible when you have no idea what’s coming next, only the high of the feeling you can’t get enough of.

“Lennon, stop being silly. Talk to me.” Chandler’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, the timbre more whiny than I remember. He reaches for me, brushing his fingers along my arm, and I physically recoil, my stomach blanching. “Don’t be like this, baby. It’s gone on long enough.”

“Do not touch me. Don’t you dare put your hands on me,” I hiss, completely disgusted by the smug, arrogant smile on his lips.

Disgusted by him.

God, he actually thinks that I would fall for this? That I would allow him to touch me after everything he’s done?

Looking back, I hate the girl I became when I was with Chandler.

The one who shrunk herself to fit the box he placed me in, the same box my father wanted me in.

The one where I let all of my dreams and ambitions take a back seat to what they wanted.

I wasn’t Lennon anymore; I was Chandler Masters’s girlfriend.

Our parents were over the moon, and we soon realized they had been playing matchmaker for years, unbeknownst to us.

I was shaping up to be the perfect trophy wife, exactly what they expected out of me.

I stopped hanging out with my friends and only hung out with him and his friends.

I cared more about his hobbies, what he wanted to spend our weekends together doing, the restaurants we went to, the events he attended.

Everything was his choice. His decision.

Him expecting that out of me should have been the first red flag, but unfortunately, getting my heart shattered into a thousand pieces when I caught him having sex with a girl from my friend group without even having the sheer decency to stop when I walked in on them was the only red flag I ever saw. Until it was too late.

And when I cried and confronted him, brokenhearted and betrayed, he admitted that he was tired of me not sleeping with him. So he simply found it somewhere else.

My entire life, I was raised to hold on to that piece of me until marriage, a gift to my husband, something only he should cherish.

Now I know how utterly fucking ridiculous and archaic that notion was, along with the promise ring my parents gave me, and the ideology of saving myself for this.

For a “good guy” like Chandler, who tossed me aside like trash, who disrespected me, cheated on me, had no regard for my feelings.

That was what I was saving myself for, and at that moment, I knew I was done saving myself for anyone.

After the breakup, everything slowly started to unravel, thread by thread. I questioned my entire outlook on relationships. The road to hell was paved with guys like Chandler.

The kind that seem utterly perfect, but beyond that mask, they’re a poison.

As badly as it hurt, it opened my eyes. The clues had all been there. And the more I looked around, the more I saw that my father’s world was full of men just like Chandler.

And I have no intention of dating anyone like that ever again.

Despite the music and people around us, the words carry, and my father steps closer, palm curving around my forearm tightly, “You are not going to make a scene, Lennon. This is neither the time nor the place to do so.”

I gather any and all courage I have, simmering to a fiery hot boil inside of me, feeding off the anger coursing through my veins as I rip my arm free, stepping back from both of them.

“Apparently, it is since you brought him here… knowing. How could you do this to me?” I somehow choke the words out, even though I feel the bitter sting of tears gathering in my eyes.

“He cheated on me, Dad. You know what he did! You know that I walked in on him having sex with my friend, without an ounce of remorse.”

When I told my parents what happened, my mom at least apologized for what I went through, but my father? He chuckled and said that sometimes we look past a person’s missteps for the greater good.

That our families’ alliance would pay off more than I could ever understand.

An alliance.

That’s what he was concerned with. His image. His reputation.

His business.

Clearly, that hasn’t changed. I can’t wait to hear his reasoning behind suddenly shoving Chandler into my face again. I’m waiting on bated fucking breath.

“Lennon…” My father sighs raggedly, as if I’m the issue in this entire scenario. “Please, enough of the dramatics. We’ve discussed this, and Chandler would like to speak privately with you about this and apologize for his misstep.”

A humorless chuckle spills from my lips at the same moment the first tear falls, wetting my cheeks. I quickly reach up and brush it away. “A misstep is forgetting my birthday , not sleeping with my friend.”

Chandler opens his mouth to speak, but I shake my head, lifting my hand to stop him before he can say anything at all.

I don’t care to hear another word out of his mouth ever again, and I thought I had made that abundantly clear when I threw everything I owned of his in his front yard and told him that.

“There’s nothing you could ever say or do to change the fact that you used and disrespected me. In case you’ve suddenly forgotten what’s happened… Fuck you, Chandler. Do you understand now? This is never happening again, despite my father’s disregard for your cheating, lying bullshit.”

I turn back to the man I’m beginning to learn is nothing like I thought he was.

“I could expect something like this from him”—I gesture to Chandler—“but you? I’ve never been more disappointed in you in my life.”

My father has completely ignored my feelings, my wants, my needs for whatever suits him.

And I am so done.

I’m beyond done.

Parading the man who cheated on me in front of my face and demanding a reconciliation despite his infidelity is apparently my breaking point.

This isn’t who I am. This isn’t the life that I want.

I’m very well aware of the privilege that I have when it comes to schooling, housing, and all of the things that my parents have supported and provided for me, and I am grateful for them. It’s just those things come at a cost, and I’m done paying the price for my parents’ love.

No one should have to feel like they’re suffocating.

No one should have to feel so… alone standing in a room full of people with all eyes on them.

No one should feel caged in a life they don’t want.

And I’ve done it for so long. I’ve fallen in line and done everything I’ve been told because as suffocated as I’ve felt, I hate feeling the weight of my parents’ expectations.

I want to make them proud, to be everything they wish for, but I’m exhausted and weary.

I can’t do this anymore.

I won’t.