Chapter 9

I rolled onto my side and pulled the pillow over my head, but the walls were too thin to muffle the moans. Lucky for me the sounds on the right were echoed on the left.

"Oh, Cheney! Fuck me, please baby."

I heard Cheney's voice, low and rumbling with want, followed by another plea for him to fuck her. It was echoed on the other side.

I wanted to close my ears against it, to block out the sound of them together, but all I could do was lay there and feel a deep ache in my heart. Why was it even bothering me?

“Oh, god—that feels amazing!” one of them shouted.

My heart raced as I felt every thrust, every moan and sigh reverberating off the walls like a ghostly orchestra playing a symphony of sorrow and regret. An intimate duet sung in the dark, one I had no part in.

One I wanted no part in.

The green glow of the digital clock on my bedside table illuminated the bedroom—it was almost midnight. Hadn't they said the rule was no sound after eight?

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the cool cotton sheets and I could feel the heat of frustration rising in my chest. It burned a path through my veins. I tried hard to suppress it and take a few deep breaths, but it was too late.

I jumped out of bed determined to put an end to the torture. My bare feet pounded against the tile as I rushed out of my room and into the hallway. I marched right up

to Nicholas's door—he seemed the safer choice somehow—hand poised ready to knock.

My fingers drummed nervously on the doorknob as I fought it. My temper won out again. I rapped my knuckles against the wood three times, hard and deliberate. Silence followed.

I stepped back, preparing for another round of knocking, this time, much louder than before—just as he had done the night prior.

"It's past eight!" I yelled through gritted teeth, trying to keep my voice down although I was sure I sounded like a lunatic.

"The rules are made for you," Nicholas called out, punctuating his point with another grunt. "Not us."

My hand froze midair as I was about to knock on the door again. Brian appeared from a side door down the hall, clad in a luxurious silver-gray silk bathrobe and an air of sophistication.

His long blonde hair hung around his shoulders in soft waves framing a face resembling the classical Renaissance paintings he sold for top dollar. Did he have someone in his room too?

Brian gestured for me to follow him and, against my better judgment, I did. We followed the labyrinth downstairs and stepped out into the yard, illuminated by a full moon and the soft glow of lampposts.

He opened the heavy wooden gate leading into the garden and I stepped through, the warm night air brushing against my skin. Around us, vibrant night blooms filled the air with an intoxicating sweetness and a hint of the cigar smoke that clung to Brian's clothing.

The paths were illuminated by moonlight, and the garden was buzzing with life — fireflies flitted in and out of view while crickets chirped a steady rhythm. Neither of us spoke as we walked, but I felt oddly relaxed in his presence.

We followed a winding path lined with hedges until it opened up to a large pond. A chorus of frogs provided a peaceful soundtrack as Brian led me to a stone bench at the edge of the water.

I reluctantly joined him and we both settled in, listening to the chorus of frogs singing from all corners of the garden.

I looked up at him, my eyes tracing the hard planes of his face and pausing on every perfect feature. He was breathtakingly handsome, so much so that it almost hurt me to look at him for too long and I quickly averted my gaze, my pulse hammering in my veins.

"Thank you," I offered quietly, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't hear me. "I don't know what I did to you all to make you hate me so much. This isn't the way to make me want you."

He didn’t move an inch, but his expression shifted drastically as though I had slapped him. He turned widened eyes on me and held my gaze. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths as we silently locked eyes, waiting for one of us to break the trance.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally shook his head and looked away.

As we approached my room in the triplets' wing of the estate, Nicholas's door opened to reveal a stunningly beautiful woman with an unruly golden-brown mane that she fluffed as she exited.

She turned and propped a hand against the doorframe, a pout tugging on her glossy lips. Her skin looked like porcelain, with a soft pink blush coloring her cheeks.

"Are you sure I can't stay?" She asked, her voice dripping with seduction. Nicholas sighed and eyed her with a look of indifference. "I'm sure."

I recognized her from school. Anna—that was her name. She was the head cheerleader, quite the popular one. She was absolutely stunning—on the outside.

She turned her attention to us, her gaze lingering a bit too long on Brian before meeting my eye. , then quickly returned to an exaggerated flirtatiousness as she faced Nicholas again. She ran her fingers along the exposed skin of his chest.

Her voice was low and suggestive, lips curving in a flirtatious smile. "Come on, baby. It's a long ride back home. I could make it worth your while," she murmured, leaning in to brush her lips against the curve of his jaw.

He didn't even bother to respond that time; he simply removed her from his body and shut the door in her face. She stood stunned for a moment before turning towards us with an angry scowl, her movements jerky and determined.

As she brushed past me, I felt the force of her shoulder checking mine, the message clear—more trouble for me. Great, just what I needed.