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They said nothing on the drive to the charity ball, choosing instead to chat between themselves instead of interacting with me.
To be honest, a part of me both loved and loathed the silence.
Eventually, the limo pulled up to the red carpet rolled out in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and a man in a suit opened the door. My stepfather climbed out and offered Madison a hand. As soon as she interlaced her fingers within his, the camera lights started flashing and people started screaming her name. Her face lit up in an instant. She was in her element. She loved this kind of attention more than anything in the world.
I waited until she was halfway down the red carpet, letting her soak up the spotlight. Eventually, I climbed out of the car and stepped into the light. I paused and took a deep breath, then continued onward, making sure I didn’t trip over my feet.
I didn’t belong here. I wanted nothing to do with the limelight. I’d much rather be camping in the woods, letting the quiet peace of nature surround me.
Tomorrow would make it seem like this had never happened. I’d already packed my car with supplies so that I could take off and celebrate on my own. I was going to drive up north to Adirondack Park and spend the day hiking and listening to my favorite music.
You only turn twenty-one once, after all.
Everything was all laid out. I had mapped out my route, planning to make a stop at a local liquor store to pick up a bottle of red wine to stuff in my pack along the way. Then, when the sun set, I’d have dinner under the stars with my first legal drink.
I’d been looking forward to the trip for weeks.
When I finally raised my head, knowing it was time to face the music, camera lights started flashing in my direction. Suddenly, it felt like there were a thousand of them all turned on me.
What the hell? They usually all focused on Madison, never me.
“Sophia! Miss Sophia White! Tell us how it feels to make Cosmo’s list of the most beautiful women in the world!” one reporter shrieked. A second followed up with something similar, and then the entire red carpet erupted in chaos.
What? I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. This had to be some kind of mistake, right?
One of the cameramen rushed forward, leaping over the ropes with his camera flashing, and I took a step back. Another followed and then another, until a group of them were racing towards me. Soon, they were surrounding me, leaving me nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. In their hurry to get the best photo op, a man’s elbow knocked me in the chin, and I staggered backwards, almost tripping over my feet until a pair of secure arms wrapped around me and lifted me clean off the ground. My panic welled up from the bottoms of my feet, constricting my chest and making it hard to breathe.
I turned my head to see a friendly-looking security guard offering me a sympathetic smile. I didn’t struggle as he carried me backwards, finally placing me down on my feet once he’d managed to get some distance between me and the paparazzi.
Quickly, a group of security guards moved between me and the photographers. They escorted me safely down the red carpet until I managed to get inside. I pressed my hand to my chest and attempted to calm my frantically beating heart. When I lifted my head, I saw my stepmother standing in the entryway, her accusing, scornful gaze locked on me.
I could see her hatred for me written all over her face. The intensity of it made me feel sick.
* * *
By the time I climbed into my own bed and finally closed my eyes that night, I was exhausted. I slept hard, but in the middle of the night, I woke up with a shriek, startled when a massive hand clamped over my mouth. My eyes popped open to see a man in a black ski mask crouched over me, his dark eyes full of vicious intent.
I screamed again, but the sound was muted by the cloth he had pressed over my mouth. No one was going to hear me, not like this. My room was in the wing opposite that of my adoptive parents so they could interact with me as little as possible. I’d always liked that, but right now I wished it had been different.
The staff had long gone home and would only return in the morning. Even the ones that lived on the property were in the servants’ quarters beneath the kitchens. They wouldn’t hear a peep either.
My hope of rescue withered away.
A flowery scent assaulted my senses, and I tried not to breathe it in. All my efforts were thwarted though when he punched me in the stomach hard enough to force the air right out of my lungs. I wheezed, trying to catch my breath.
The edges of my vision danced with blackness, and I kept trying to fight as slivers of my consciousness began to fade. Gradually, my muscles grew exceedingly heavy, and my kicking and struggling started to slow until I wasn’t moving much at all. Eventually, everything went dark.
I didn’t know how long I was out.
When I finally came to, I was sitting in a chair with my hands tied behind my back. The rough, scratchy fibers dug into my wrists, and I stilled, trying to take stock of myself. My head pounded and a wave of nausea rattled through me. It took everything in me not to throw up all over myself. Once the sick feeling eventually passed, I focused on taking several deep, calming breaths. The events of last night slowly came back to me, and a fresh wave of panic washed over me. I didn’t dare open my eyes yet, not wanting to give away the fact that I was conscious to whoever had taken me, especially if they were close.
Keeping still, I just listened.
A bird chirped overheard, and the sounds of the gentle breeze cutting through the boughs of the trees met my ears. In the distance, I could hear the constant flow of rushing water, likely indicative of a river or a waterfall not too far off. In my immediate vicinity, I listened as a faucet dripped once, then twice off to the right, and someone drummed their fingers on what I assumed was likely a wooden table in front of me. The plank floor beneath my feet creaked, but I didn’t move. Not yet.
My stomach ached where I’d been punched, but the rest of me felt intact. My face felt a little sore, likely from how hard the person had held that cloth over my nose and mouth, but it wasn’t that bad. I doubted I had any bruises.
Small victories, I supposed.
