Stuck With The Four Hotties

The next morning, I’m up bright and early, using the iron in my room to smooth out the pleats in my white skirt and jacket. The second-year uniform is one of my favorites, all of that crisp white linen with just a touch of color in the red of the tie, the shiny black of the shoes, and the little stripes of black and red on the elbows of the jacket and the tops of the socks.

Just for fun, I put on the necklace Tristan gave me. I imagine it’ll mess with his head, making him wonder how exactly I ended up getting it back. Knowing that Dad’s likely to be late, I hold back and wait to head for the courtyard until I’m sure most of the other students will have cleared out. I’m out for blue blood this year, and I’m willing to take punches to get it, but I won’t accept any attacks from those assholes that are directed at my father.

On my way down the hall, I notice that one of the office doors is open. It’s of note to me because I come down this way all the time and never once have I seen it open. In fact, it’s usually locked. The school staff has officially moved into the new outbuildings, and nobody uses the old chapel offices anymore.

“You’ve disappointed me, son.” I hear a patronizing tone that sets me on edge. It’s so frustratingly condescending that it makes my teeth hurt. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I end up creeping forward to peep in the glass window on the door.

What I see in there makes me raise my brows.

Tristan’s standing with his back straight, his face frozen into an expression of bored disinterest. Unlike Creed, however, he doesn’t quite manage to pull it off. Actually, for the first time ever, he looks truly terrified beneath the mask. Even when he saw his dad’s car floating in the pool, it wasn’t this bad.

Tristan Vanderbilt is scared of something, huh?

Apparently, he’s scared of … his dad?

The man sitting on the edge of the old desk looks like a mature-and if possible Frueler-version of his son. He’s got that same raven-dark hair, those gray eyes, and a smile like a snake. The moment I lay eyes on him, I know he’s bad news. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Tristan doesn’t say anything, just stands there and stares his father down. There’s the slightest quiver in his shoulders that doesn’t seem right. Is he actually trembling? That’s when I notice the slight glisten of red at the corner of his mouth. Is that … blood?

“You’re right,” Tristan says, and that’s it, just those two words. His uniform is as perfectly pressed as always, just sharp lines and creases that could cut. His tie is straight, his jacket buttoned, his hair smooth and shiny. But his eyes are disturbingly empty. Even his usual cruelty is missing. “I messed up.”

Mr. Vanderbilt sighs and taps his fingers against the leg of his immaculately pressed suit. Just like his son, there’s not a single thread, button, or hair out of place. And there’s no doubt in my mind that his suit costs more than my father’s yearly salary.

“I’m still struggling to understand how my car ended up in a swimming pool.”

Tristan flinches, and my heart begins to race. If he hasn’t ratted me out yet, he’s not going to. But still …This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“I told you: it was a senior prank.” His voice is cold, empty, dark.

After a moment, Mr. Vanderbilt goes to reach for something in his pocket, and Tristan flinches like he’s been struck. But all his dad does is produce a black box with a little crown on the top. He passes it over to his son, and Tristan takes it warily, cracking the top to reveal a black and red Rolex watch. He turns it over and I see a custom engraved infinity symbol on the back.

Well, damn.

“A senior prank?” Mr. Vanderbilt asks as he takes the box back, removes the watch, and gestures for his son to hold out his arm. “And how, exactly, did the seniors get my car out of our garage in Los Angeles?”

Tristan says nothing, just lets his dad put the watch on for him.

“I haven’t seen the class rankings posted yet. Have you?” Mr. Vanderbilt’s voice just drips with menace; the high cheekbones and straight, ridged nose

that look so regal on his son become villainous when he reaches out and snatches Tristan by the tie, yanking him close.

Tristan simply licks the blood from the corner of his mouth and stares his father down.

“You are a Vanderbilt, son. This country was built on our dime and our whims. Do I need to reiterate the shame you bring on our entire family, on the company, when you let yourself lose to commoner trash?”

My mouth drops open, and my entire body goes ice-cold.

Based on Tristan’s lack of empathy, I just sort of assumed his family was awful, but seeing it in person? I’m gobsmacked. Despite my dad’s many faults, I love him and he loves me. I can’t even imagine being treated like this by him. Hell, I can’t even imagine Jennifer treating me like this.

“I understand, Father,” Tristan whispers as his dad releases him abruptly, and he stumbles.

“Good. Then get out there and check the roster. If I don’t like what I see, this isn’t going to be a pleasant week for you, son.” Tristan nods, and then turns abruptly, heading for the door so quickly that I don’t have time to scramble out of the way.

All I manage to do is back away from the door, so that it’s somewhat plausible that I was just walking by.

Tristan freezes in place, and a hundred emotions work their way across his face before he shuts them all down and just stares at me with a storm gray gaze.

“Hey.” It’s the only word that’ll come out of my mouth.

After a moment, I hear Mr. Vanderbilt answer his phone, false laughter ringing out from the open door. Tristan pushes it closed with a palm, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that don’t

show on that stoic face of his.