Page 133 of The Rival's Obsession
Mom always says how well-adjusted she is. How strong.
I think she’s just pretending.
Saving her tears for the dark. Mourning when no one’s watching.
Mom’s been talking to Dad about adopting her.
He said no but Mom will do it anyway.
She always gets what she wants. She decides, and Dad... he just smiles and lets her. He loves her too much to stop her. Probably always has.
I glance down at my phone as we turn onto the long drive that leads to the estate. A new email pings with a delivery confirmation, and my stomach flips.
Shit.
The package has been delivered.
I shift in my seat, fingers tightening on my phone.
Mom doesn’t notice. She’s still humming. Still driving us up the winding path like everything is normal.
I lean toward the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the front step. The way the driveway curves makes it hard to see anything past the hedges and columns out front, but I already know it’s not going to be there.
We don’t leave things outside.
Not in this house.
Housekeepers bring everything inside. They open packages, discard the boxes, and leave the contents arranged neatly on the round table in the center of the foyer like we’re living in a damn museum.
And I never get packages.
Which means if my father sees it, he’ll open it.
And if he opens it...
There’s no fucking way I’ll be able to explain what’s in there.
My chest tightens as Mom pulls into the garage.
Before she’s even shifted into park, I’m out.
My feet slam into the tile, and I move fast, cutting through the back hall into the kitchen, then through the open archway to the main atrium.
I skid to a stop at the edge of the table.
Empty.
No box.
No packaging.
No telltale stack of mail to hide it beneath.
My stomach coils.
Please no. Please. Please.
“Grant?” Mom’s voice calls from the garage. “Everything okay?”
