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I was supposed to be safe tonight.
What the hell is he doing home so early?
Without giving him another chance to shout for me, I exit my room and walk over to the railing, leaning over as I stare down at the first floor. “Yes, Uncle?” I mutter back, hugging my robe tightly against my body, hoping it’s not an actual conversation he wants from me today. I am already stressed out enough.
“Get down here now!” he demands, and I know this won’t be the end.
So much for a peaceful night. I can already hear the echoes of what he’s about to say to me.
Stella, why are you such a pathetic piece of shit who can do anything right?
Just like I always do, I'll have to nod and agree my way through every reprimand, listening to him attack my every insecurity. The perfect way to start my already disconcerting night.
I quickly dress, throwing on some gray sleep shorts and a matching top I’m sure will go over nicely compared to his perfectly tailor-made suit, but it's the first thing I find in my drawer. Add that to the list of flaws he’ll find and point out tonight.
Rushing downstairs, I find him waiting in the grand dining room, sitting at the head of the expansive table like the prophetic king of the world he claims to be.
The self-proclaimed King of the Underworld.
I never understood why we have such a large dining room table. Five people live in this house, three of which are never home. We rarely host dinner parties or any other societal events in the house either, except the rare occasion my uncle has someone to impress, or bribe.
I try my hardest to focus on anything but him, attempting not to roll my eyes whenever he’s in the room. You can feel the egotism wafting off him like his putrid thousand-dollar cologne. As if anything could cover up his toxicity. I guarantee no Armani, Dior, or Aventus Creed could mask the hatred and pure evil this man oozes when he is in a room alone with me. He fucking hates me and I promise the feeling is mutual.
Stephan Silver knows how to play the game though, so I just shut up and wait my turn like the good little girls he’s made me. Playing invisible until he needs me.
“Sit down Stella.” He spits my name like a swear word, like it physically pains him to be civil and not call me a vile slur or degrade me. I do as he asks and sit down, making myself as presentable as possible in order not to piss offDaddy Dearest. After all, he’s retaliated for less, so instead I sit up and look straight ahead, avoiding all eye contact.
He stands and waltzes over to me, and it’s at that precise moment I know this conversation will not end well. It never does when he’s this close, when I can practically hear him growling like a rabid beast against my face.
“It is high time you earn your keep in this family, you worthless slut.” His words sting like venom traveling through my bloodstream, threatening to suffocate me.
Every time it's something like worthless, slut, whore, piece of shit, pathetic orphan. It should have gotten old by now, but it always strikes the same fucking nerve and gets the same damn response. He wants to see me cry. To fall apart before him and beg for his mercy. That's when the sick fucker feels he's won, when he brings me to my knees in tears, either from the pain of his words or his fists. I’m not really sure which of the two stings most.
It's my choice really, it's always my choice. I should learn to just fake it, to cry at the drop of a hat to appease him, but sometimes I like to make the asshole work for my tears. Today is one of those days.
I lift my chin and look away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. Because what good would that do? Not like it will stop the incoming sermon he's about to give. He’ll go on about how I don't appreciate the home that has been given to me, or the expensive clothes I've never asked for, or my favorite, the prestigious academy, which personally I would give my left kidney for it to not exist so I wouldn't have to deal with the vultures at Servite.
Well, that one I almost am grateful for because at least I can escape this hell every once in a while. It’s pleasure in the little things. That is, until my medication runs out at the end of every month.
“I have provided you with everything since your pathetic parents abandoned you and left me with the mess to follow.” Low blow. Tonight, we are going straight for the jugular.
Usually, he brings up each parent individually for more impact, but he seems to be in a rush to get a reaction. Maybe he has somewhere to be.
Unfortunately for him, I have been dealing with him throwing dead mommy in my face for about half a decade now. Let’s not forget my inability to give my father a will to live so much that he essentially killed himself. Yeah, that one usually does the trick.
“I will not continue to bankroll your livelihood a second longer without getting something in return, that which is due to this family. You will listen and you will obey. Do you understand me, you little bitch?” He is in my face now, spit hitting my cheek as he speaks. It’s sickening how worked up he gets just being in proximity to me. Stephan Silver despises me. It’s his usual game, to escalate himself and become so engrossed in his hatred for me, he snaps. Then he blames me for the fallout.
I play my cards close and keep my mouth shut, not sure if his declaration of my obedience received a response.
Wrong choice. Obviously.
“Answer me, bitch!” I hear the words just before I feel the sting, the back of his hand connecting with my cheek. I wasn't ready for the hit, so my body has lost its posture, nearly flying back off the chair, giving him the leverage to loom over me as he grabs my aching face in his palms.
He forces my gaze on him. It’s truly unfair how beautiful he is, but they say the most wicked of creatures always are. That makes them all powerful, the ability to disguise their vileness with a mask of utter perfection. Though I know under this blanket of beauty lies a rotted corpse.
Not to mention he looks exactly like him, which might make me hate him just slightly more.
He holds my face in place, like you would an errant child, his fingers tightly gripping my chin as he leans in closer so I am forced to stare into the obsidian of his furious eyes.
