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PROLOGUE
IVY
FIVE YEARS EARLIER…
All you have to do is stay quiet, Ivy.
If you tiptoe around, avoid the creaky floorboard that sounds like a cawing bird, and make a break for the bedroom, he might think you’re asleep.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Spencer’s slurs send a shiver of dread scuttling down my spine; shattering my hopes of not facing him tonight.
He’s been spending more evenings out lately, and I can’t stand him when he drinks. He turns into a raging arsehole who takes his frustration out on whoever—and whatever—stands in his way. His simpering friends follow him around like loyal cultists, overlooking his crazy mood swings, but I refuse to. What happened to the charming man I used to know?
“I’m heading to bed,” I call nervously, hoping he accepts it and doesn’t follow me, quickening my pace through the library.
I check my phone and see a text from Daisy. She’s sent her third funny dog meme of the day, along with a text.
I miss you. You need to come and visit soon. How are things?
It’s been a month since I saw her, but it feels like forever—especially now that I’m cooped up in a mansion that’s becoming a prison. Now I know how Rapunzel felt. The last time we spoke on the phone, I confided in her about Spencer and I going through a rough patch, but I don’t want her to think badly of him, so I type out a quick reply to avoid raising alarm bells:
Just dandy - really busy! Fun, fun, fun! We’ll get something in the diary soon.
Suddenly, the library door swings open. It smacks into the opposing wall with a bang and punches a hole through the plaster. Spencer follows, hurtling towards me before I can move. He snatches my phone from my hands and launches it across the room, causing the screen to crack when it hits the hardwood floor. That’ll be the third one he’s broken over the last few weeks, but Spencer always buys me a new one. Money means nothing to him. He dishes it out like Santa gives presents.
“Hey!” I yell, turning to face him. I may be small, but I can be scrappy. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Texting another guy, are you?” he accuses, pointing a shaky finger in my direction. “You little slut! I’ve only been gone for a few hours, and you’re already spreading your legs!”
Now isn’t the time to remind him he’s been on a six-hour binge-drinking sesh with his rowing club buddies.
“I was texting my sister,” I say, hurrying across the room to pick up my phone. Despite the smashed screen, it still looks to be in working order, and I stash it in my pocket before he has the chance to take it again.
Behind Spencer, Maria—his dutiful housekeeper—pokes her head around the door to check on us. Concern is etched over her wrinkled face as she studies us. She’s been giving me that same look more and more recently. She doesn’t always stay overnight, but I’ve noticed her lingering whenever Spencer has evening plans.
“Mr Bexley,” Maria greets him, shuffling inside. “I heard you were home. Do you want me to bring you something to eat or drink? A coffee? Water, perhaps?”
“Water?” Spencer scoffs, his spit spraying over her cheeks as he towers over the small woman. “We’re going to carry on the party—aren’t we, Ive?”
I hate him using my sister’s nickname for me. It sounds mocking rolling off his sharp tongue when he’s in this state.
“Water sounds great, Maria,” I say firmly, shooting her a grateful smile.
She’s worked for the Bexley family for years. No matter how badly he talks down to her, she weathers it with a friendly face and never-ending gratitude, making me question how badly Spencer’s father must have treated her before him.
“Don’t listen to her, Maria,” Spencer orders, putting her in the difficult position of being stuck in the middle. “She doesn’t know what I want.”
“I’ll come back soon in case you change your mind,” she says, then bows her head to Spencer before hurrying away.
I have a sneaky suspicion she isn’t coming back to check if Spencer wants refreshments but to see that I’m okay. Sickness stirs in my stomach at the realisation of how relieved I am to know someone else is in the house and the thought that it may not always be that way…
Thankfully, Maria’s interruption seems to have made Spencer forget about my phone and the affair with an imaginary man.
Instead, he waltzes over and grabs my wrist roughly to pull me closer.
“Dance with me,” he commands.
The smell of stale cigar smoke clings to his clothes, making me want to gag. It’s past midnight, and I’ve been watching a new series to stay awake. Before he left, Spencer promised he’d take me to dinner, but that went out of the window fast.
