Page 7 of The Invite (The Massacre Ball #1)

Nessa

Destiny works in mysterious ways.

It has never been on my side, even if it felt like it was.

Today, fortunately, it is.

I’m still scared shitless. An emotion that’s taken perpetual residence in my heart, mind, and soul. Especially deepened more since the second I stepped foot in this town. While it has sunk its claws inside me, I’ve also learned to manage it and forge ahead.

The recording stops playing and my right foot seizes tapping on the hardwood floor.

Deadly silence descends.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

The clock chimes in time with my heartbeat and I wait for Mr. Crane to speak up. He seems to be at a loss for words, his face expressionless as he stares hard at the Dictaphone I placed on his desk twenty minutes ago.

Luck was on my side because it never turned off. It ended up recording a muffled version of the entire conversation between Augustus and me—the full sordid tale of what transpired last night, how unapologetic he is, and his plan to repeat it.

It turned out to be an ace up my sleeve.

The proof that will become my saving grace.

“This is shocking and abhorring, to say the least,” says Mr. Crane after clearing his throat. Scrubbing a hand across his jaw, he regards me with sympathy. “I’m very sorry it happened to you and I’m glad you came straight to me first.”

Whether or not he helps me get justice in the way I want, I won’t be going to the cops. It’ll be opening a can of worms that’ll eat me alive.

I don’t tell him that.

“I cannot believe Augustus would do this. He’s one of the top students in our school. Exceptional in studies, debate, sports… you name it.”

It’s probably the reason why teachers are lenient with him, because it didn’t appear it was the first time he entered the class late.

Thank God I had proof or else Mr. Crane wouldn’t have believed me when I accused his star student of a crime.

Before coming to him, I looked up Augustus Grayson—yes, Scarlett is his twin sister; his Irish twin, that is—in the student’s database. Augustus isn’t just one of school’s top students. He’s first in everything.

Apart from this, I didn’t bother learning more. My priority is to get him punished so I can live my life without looking back over my shoulder.

“He also had a friend, Mr. Crane,” I reveal.

“Who?”

“Maverick Sinclair,” I reply, and demand, “I want them both expelled.”

“You’ll be ruining their lives.”

“If I don’t, they’ll be ruining mine.” I’m aghast he would even suggest it. “Did you not hear the same threat I did? You have a responsibility toward your staff too.”

He raises his hands. “Yes, yes… you’re right. I apologize.”

“They traumatized me, Mr. Crane. I got lucky when that girl showed up when she did, or else I would’ve been in no shape to turn up this morning.

I won’t sit by idly while they do this to another innocent girl, who may not be as lucky.

Don’t tell me it’ll ruin their lives when they are remorseless about what they did. ”

“I understand your anger, Nessa. However, I have a responsibility to investigate and listen to all the parties involved before I make such a big decision. But rest assured, it will happen today and I promise that your safety and well-being are our top priority.”

“Fine.”

A look of relief crosses his middle-aged face. “Let me make some calls and gather everyone involved before we discuss this further.”

I sit back and watch him call his assistant, who he instructs to get Augustus and Maverick to his office immediately. Next, he phones their parents and asks them to come to the school saying it is urgent.

Meanwhile, I’m on pins and needles. Low-key nervous to face Augustus again, his last words ringing in my ears like a bad omen. I haven’t taken a moment to let them sink in. Because I’m spooked by the confusion and contradicting emotions I’m having when I allow myself to feel.

Most alarming is the fact that while I had no qualms about replaying our conversation, I couldn’t bring myself to hand over the sketch he drew.

It’s still sitting heavily inside my purse.

The weight of it taunts me that I’m a hypocrite.

Tormenting me with a sick truth that a gray part of me enjoyed his touch.

Perhaps my body is still dazed and running on adrenaline and not understanding the enormity of the danger Augustus poses.

After all, I haven’t had a chance to process it all.

Yeah. That’s it.

Once I go home and regroup, I will burn the sketch into flames.

A knock sounds on the door and I go ramrod still. When it opens, I don’t turn around but hear multiple footsteps enter.

The tension and the gloominess in the air thickens. The walls of the office are closing in on me. That’s how powerful and extreme his aura, is and he hasn’t even said a word. He probably isn’t even scared, which is dreadful.

Does he ever get afraid?

“Augustus… Maverick,” greets Mr. Crane. “Do you both know why you’re here?”

“I can wager a guess,” says Maverick amusedly, too cocky. “But I don’t think you’re in the mood for a fun game, sir.”

They come and stand to my right.

I cross my legs and sit up straight, refusing to look at them. Augustus’s intense gaze burns into my profile.

“Cut the sarcasm, Mr. Sinclair,” angrily warns Mr. Crane. “It’s your future we’re about to discuss here.”

I realize they’re young and cocky but I don’t feel guilty. I promised myself a long time ago that I’d never let anybody bully me. The only solution is to stand up for yourself, even at the risk of losing and battling a thousand wounds.

“Why are we here?” asks Augustus calmly.

A full-body shudder jolts me from head to toe at his detached voice.

“Miss Davenport came to me with a very serious complaint,” the principal says, pointing at me but looking at them. “Is it true you sexually assaulted her last night? We have proof. So, confess the truth.”

“What proof?” pipes in Maverick. His humor is gone, for a change.

“Answer me first,” demands Mr. Crane.

“We are not answering anything without a lawyer present,” Augustus states. “It’s a very serious allegation Miss Nessa is making.”

“You confess here and we can all come to a resolution without involving the police, Mr. Grayson.”

“What might that be?” he counters.

“A suspension and an apology, for starters.”

“Is that what Miss Nessa wants?”

The hint of a taunt in his cold tone snaps my head toward him, and I angrily retort, “What I want is for both of you to get expelled. Call a lawyer or the police, but with the proof that I have they’ll take my side.”

“Where’s the proof?”

“I have your confession on record, Mr. Grayson.” It’s my turn to be smug.

“Did I consent to the said recording?”

My confidence falters and I’m unable to answer because, of course, I did not have his consent. Hell, I didn’t even know we were being recorded.

His chest expands wider at the hesitation on my ashen face, and he says, “Now, I may not be a lawyer, but even I know it’s inadmissible in court.”

My heart thuds, splintering into pieces.

I, of all people, shouldn’t have missed that minute detail. I was too busy celebrating my little victory. However, that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave this room scot-free.

“Whether or not it comes to that, you still cornered and threatened me.”

A second knock on the door interrupts us.

It swings open, and a stunning middle-aged woman steps inside, followed by an equally posh man. Authority and power drips from their posture and clothes.

It’s the woman who has me going perfectly still.

Elizabeth Grayson isn’t supposed to make me nervous.

Yet I can’t help but be on edge.

I immediately see similarities between her and Augustus. While the other person is an older and meaner version of Maverick. Even perplexing is how neither of them appear motherly or fatherly.

Maverick’s father looks pissed while Elizabeth looks bored.

“Mrs. Grayson and Mr. Sinclair, thank you for coming,” greets Mr. Crane after rushing to stand and waving at the empty chairs beside me. “Please have a seat.”

“What’s the urgency, Kevin?” asks Elizabeth after glancing at her son. The fact she calls the principal by his first name doesn’t sit well with me.

A bad feeling rises in my gut.

Mr. Sinclair is impatient, and it shows in his tone when he barks, “What has he done now?”

“He assaulted one of our teachers last night.”

His menacing glare shoots to his son upon hearing the accusation. “You what?”

“I didn’t, Dad,” Maverick replies, gaze hard.

“Miss Nessa has proof,” states Mr. Crane, and cautiously mentions to Elizabeth, “and it also involves Augustus.”

Not a single muscle in her stoic face moves as she meets her son’s eyes. “Is it true, Augustus?”

It takes every ounce of control not to wither when Augustus skirts his dark gaze to mine, and answers, “There was a misunderstanding and the proof is a recording of me admitting the same to Miss Nessa.”

“I would like to hear the recording,” demands Elizabeth.

“Of course.” Mr. Crane plays it for everyone and I listen to the entire conversation again. There’s no missing the trepidation in my voice. The shock at the end when he promises to finish what he started.

Palpable anger emanates from Mr. Sinclair and as soon as the recording stops, he turns to me and demands coldly, “What’s it going to take for you to let it go?”

“I don’t feel safe around them and I want them expelled.”

“No.”

I whip my dismayed gaze to Elizabeth. “I’m sorry?”

She doesn’t bother answering me, like I’m not even worth her attention. Like I’m dirt below her expensive heels. Why did I think she’d react any differently?

Instead, she orders Mr. Crane, “I want to speak to you alone, Kevin.”

I’m even more stunned when he nods and looks at me apologetically. “Just give us a moment alone, Miss Davenport.”

“You’re kidding me,” I snap.

“Please. I listened to you and I believe Mrs. Grayson deserves the same respect.”

Bullshit. He’s just scared.

All the hope I felt when I came to him gets squashed in an instant. On shaky legs, I stand, grab the Dictaphone, and march out of the office. Greta’s shrewd gaze flies to mine and I’m surprised when she follows me to the couch.

Since I don’t have the patience for her, I open my mouth to rebuff her.

But she’s quicker, and quietly says, “I told you.”

My shoulders slump, my throat gets tight, and I hoarsely say, “You did.”

“Those boys’ last names hold a lot of sway in this town, Miss Davenport.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” she replies. “Not because it’s happened before, but because you’re the first person to stand up against them.”

Her answer scares and crushes me. Whatever is happening behind those closed doors and whatever the outcome, I do know I just made enemies.

Greta returns to her desk and half an hour later, I’m called back inside the office.

As soon as I step in, my gaze is drawn to Augustus and I see him leaning against the bookshelf, arms folded across his chest and ankles crossed. Under naturally hooded eyes, he studies me as I move to the seat across from Mr. Crane.

His emotionless face gives nothing away.

Strangely, when we’re alone, his eyes tell me everything.

Our stare-off breaks when my spine touches the chair and I wait for the other shoe to drop. I cannot afford to go to court and fight a battle if that’s what they’ve decided. Because there’s no way they’re admitting the truth.

“Miss Davenport, we’ve decided to suspend Augustus and Maverick for a month. At Fallthorne Elite , we believe in giving our students second chances. To learn from their mistakes and become better human beings,” informs Mr. Crane.

He sounds more like he’s parroting someone else’s words.

Doesn’t take a genius to know who.

“If I decide to go to the authorities and file an FIR?” I counter.

“You would’ve done that already and we wouldn’t be sitting here,” arrogantly points out Mr. Sinclair. “This is the best you’re going to get, even if you go to court. I suggest you take the win.”

Mr. Crane leans forward and sighs. “If you can’t accept this, I’m afraid the alternative is letting you go. However, if you decide to stay, I can guarantee you this incident will never be repeated.”

Penniless and orphan with no living relatives, I have nowhere else to go. At least, not for the foreseeable future.

I have no choice but to accept this, though it’s not an offer but an ultimatum.

Deliberating for any other option and coming up empty-handed, I seal my fate as I lock eyes with my boss, and say, “Okay.”

I’ve never felt more humiliated and inconsequential than I do now.

“One more thing,” interrupts Elizabeth. It’s a miracle I don’t cower when she finally meets my gaze, and demands, “You will sign an NDA and never speak of this again.”

“And if I refuse?”

She smiles and it’s deadlier than her son’s as she warns, “You don’t want that, Miss Davenport.”

I believe her.