Chapter 12
Chapter 12:
She reached the second-floor landing and turned left toward the East Wing. The hallway was lined with portraits of ancestors who would have been rolling in their graves had they known who was currently occupying their estate.
She reached her door. It was slightly ajar.
She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. She simply wanted to retrieve the Hemingway first editions her father had left her and leave.
But then she heard it.
𝘛h𝘦 𝗯𝖾𝘀𝘵 r𝘦𝘷𝗶𝖾w𝘀 𝗼𝘯
A moan — high-pitched, theatrical. Aspen. Then a low, guttural laugh. Kieran.
“It’s tighter here,” Kieran’s voice drifted through the crack, thick with lust and something darker — mockery. “Must be the ghost of the virgin who used to live here p>
Jocelyn’s stomach turned over. A wave of nausea hit her so hard she had to grab the doorframe to steady herself.
They were in her room. In her bed.
She didn’t think. She didn’t weigh the consequences. She pushed the door open. It swung wide, striking the wall with a dull thud.
The scene before her was like a grotesque painting.
The room was exactly as she had left it two years ago — the same vintage wallpaper, the same desk. But on the bed, her bed, with the pale pink duvet she had chosen when she was sixteen, were two bodies tangled together.
Kieran was on top, his shirt unbuttoned, his back to the door. Aspen was beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist.
Aspen saw her first. She screamed — a sharp, piercing sound — and scrambled backward, pulling the duvet up to cover her chest. But her eyes weren’t fearful. They were glittering. She liked this. She liked being caught.
Kieran froze, then scrambled off the bed, stumbling as he grabbed for his trousers. His face was flushed, his hair disheveled. He looked ridiculous.
He turned to face her. The embarrassment lasted a fraction of a second before it hardened into his usual arrogance.
“Do you know how to knock?” he snapped, fumbling with his shirt buttons. “Jesus, Jocelyn. You’re obsessed p>
Jocelyn stood in the doorway and felt — nothing. No tears. No heartbreak. Only a profound, overwhelming sense of contamination.
“This is my room,” she said. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears — flat, distant. “You are disgusting p>
Aspen pulled the sheet tighter around herself and settled back against the headboard. “Kieran just wanted to see where you grew up, Jos. Don’t be such a prude. We were caught up in the moment p>
Jocelyn looked at the bed. That bed was where she had cried when her father died. Where she had lain awake dreaming of a future. Now it smelled of their sweat and Kieran’s heavy cologne.
She walked into the room.
“What are you doing?” Kieran asked, stepping back as she moved toward the desk.
Jocelyn picked up the crystal vase on the nightstand. It held a bouquet of dead hydrangeas — weeks old — the water at the bottom brown, slimy, and reeking of decay.
She turned to face the bed.
“Hey!” Aspen shrieked, realizing what was about to happen.
Jocelyn didn’t hesitate. She swung her arm in a wide arc.