Chapter 13

Andrew

"She actually tried to approach our table at the country club last week," Kelly cackles like a hyena. "After she donated that small amount. Her handbag costs more than her donation. It ' s an insult."

Kelly is Kimberly, my fiancée's mother, who loves to say the word 'country club' every chance she gets.

What is an insult is having to sit here and listen to the Prescotts at all. I eye my father, who paints on his fake grin, but inside, I know he hates these monthly social dinners at 'the country club' just as much as I do. He glances over at me now, and I give him my best 'This is your fault' grin. The cold glare he flashes back doesn't scare me like it used to. After you ' ve been punched so many times, you just become numb.

With a roll of my eyes, I look at Kimberly, my fiancée; she ' s pretty, and sure, she ' s a good fuck, but, well, the fact that my mind conjures a 'but' is all I need to think on the matter.

She isn't Poppy.

No one is.

Dad thinks he ' s so clever, that marrying a Prescott will make the world fall in love with me, which means that in a few decades, I ' ll be able to run for the presidency after him. It ' s all about legacy and power, the continuation of our line. It's not just about getting power now; it's about keeping it.

Kimberly flips back her long, meticulously styled blonde hair, the strands catching the light in a way that highlights their expensive care. She buries her nose into her fourth martini. The fact that she can shoot back four martinis and still smile and talk like a pageant queen should tell you something. I mean, I ' m not morally sound, but Kimberly might have me beat.

Kimberly ' s perfectly manicured fingers, adorned with rings that scream of her socialite status, wrap tightly around the glass stem. She begins to drum her fake nails along the side; each tap a dagger to my composure. My jaw twitches at the sound; it sets my teeth on edge, making me fantasize about removing her from my life sooner than planned.

Kim is the epitome of high society in her designer dress, which clings to her figure in a way that's both elegant and calculated to draw eyes. The subtle shimmer of her makeup accentuates her features, giving her that flawless, almost ethereal look that's so coveted among her circles.

I'll give it to my dad; he found the perfect trophy wife for me. But I don't want a trophy; I want a cracked picture frame to be the star on my mantle. I want something unique, broken yet ensnared like a cracked picture frame holding a beautiful image, trapped in the loveliness I create for her.

Kim drowns herself in alcohol, whereas I have another vice to escape this torture.

I slip my phone out of my pocket and open the app I had one of my dad ' s hackers make. The app that gives me a hit of my drug.

Poppy.

The usual screen of cameras littered around her apartment doesn ' t open. It ' s been a long fucking three days, and my guys assured me they ' d get this fixed. Technical issue was their wording.

I might have a 'technical issue' with my knife if they don't get it fixed by tonight.

Kimberly orders another drink. I'm jealous. She can escape, but I can't. I squeeze my phone tighter.

Fuck this. " If you ' ll excuse me," I say as I stand and place my hand on my chest. I don ' t give my father a look before I walk away from the table and head towards the private rooms in the back.

I hate this country club. I hate that Kelly, Kimberly ' s mom, constantly refers to it as ‘ the country club. '

Why not just say club?

I won ' t digress. I hate that the entire Prescott family has the imagination that stops at the letter K. You have my fiancée Kimberly, her mom Kelly, her dad Kent, and even the goddamn dog, which I fucking, yes, hate, has a K name. Kendall.

I slip into the private room, which is reserved for my dad, when we come to the club. See, dropping the first word wasn't that hard. Seriously Kelly!

A private room costs half a million to reserve here. Pocket change.

The plaque above the door says Sinclair. Dear old dad loves to see his name, whether it be on the news, good or bad, because all press is good press, on a billboard, a campaign sign, or even on a baby. Yes, some people actually ask my dad to sign their babies, and you think I'm the insane one?

I snort as I walk to the bar cart that is always stocked with Dad's favorite Irish whiskey. My pour into the crystal glass splashes out like floodwaters. The amber liquid coats my fingers as I raise the glass, filled to the brim, and down it in one burning shot.

What my dad failed to realize is that as much as people love a legacy, they love a sad story even more. People eat that shit up. That's why I won't be marrying Kimberly. It's easy to win over stupid people, but in order to succeed and truly rule the world, you need smart people on your side. Smart people see the Prescotts for what they are: old money, spoiled, rich, fucking irritating.

Dad should ask himself who smart people would like. They'd like a girl who has survived. Take Poppy, for example; her parents bit the dust, and so did her brother. That ' s a good start, but we need more to really capture the hearts of the masses.That ' s where my plan comes into play. I ' m going to paint myself as the poor groom who lost his fiancée in a tragic accident. I'll mourn Kimberly, publicly, that is; privately, I'll rejoice.

Eventually, I ' ll bring Poppy into the spotlight; the people will see her background mixed with mine, two souls who suffered but now found love.

I grin freely now as I twist the crystal glass in my hand. It's been so many years of planning this behind my dad's back. The time is almost upon us. The week of the wedding would have been overkill, but a few months before the wedding of the century, well, that's just enough of a shock.

Dad will get more sympathy votes, and I ' ll get Poppy. It's perfect.

I hit refresh on the app again. My frustration goes from a simmer to a boil.

It's cute Poppy thought I let her go. I can't help myself; I love mind games. You see, hitting people is easy, and it's also weak. Messing with someone's mind, though, that's real power—the kind I crave.

If you pull the right strings, you can mentally ensnare a person and make their very thoughts the walls of their own cage. I can't wait to see how my Poppy will react once her own mind traps her.

The anticipation is intoxicating. Every step, every calculated move, brings me closer to that moment.

I ' ve watched Poppy try to date and fail. Ok, so one guy I killed, but I let the others live. I needed Poppy to see that no one compared to me. No one has.

Until this one.

Watching Poppy calms me. Trust me, the world wants me to remain calm.

When she moved I went on a war path until I could get cameras installed again. Her new apartment presented some issues. It wasn't as simple as just breaking and entering. We resolved that, and I became calm again.

When I'm bored, I look at her search history. I never went as far as reading all her text messages. Her and Harper tend to babble on. Harper is another issue I need to erase eventually.

I had the idea to look at her recent texts one day. That's when I saw the text messages from another guy. A fucking psycho who was trying to trick Poppy into thinking he could love her.

You can't love someone who belongs to another, and Poppy belongs to me.

The problem is this new guy isn't like the others. He's connected, so I've been trying to wait patiently until it fizzles. Poppy will realize he's a fake.

Have I been worried he will touch her? No. She would never allow that to happen. Poppy loves me; she gave her virginity to me. Girls who keep it that long don't just go wild.

But what if she did?

I slam the whiskey glass down, threatening to shatter the thick crystal. The force of it vibrates through my hand, but I reel myself back. No. I'm not going there. I need to remain calm.

Every move must be calculated, every emotion under tight control. Losing it now would ruin everything.

Poppy's just been trying to make me jealous. It's working. This cry for help from her will soon be answered.

This prick seems to have really made Poppy think she ' s happy. She ' s not. She can ' t be happy without me. Poppy is good at faking things. I've seen her. She isn't happy with him.

Poppy loves me! She was just scared to admit it because she had lost so many people she cared about. Poppy was scared she would lose me. I wanted Poppy to taste that fear. That's why I let her live without me, and I needed time to create my plan behind my father's back.

The door to the private room opens, and Kimberly sneaks inside. She sways as she walks towards me. It's a marvel she can walk at all, let alone in those heels, after her alcohol intake.

Her hand caresses her hip. Does she think that's sexy?

She wears pink a lot because her mom told her it looks adorable on her. I don ' t want adorable.

" You left." She grins, closes the distance, and starts to unbutton my shirt. Her fake nails dig into my chest.

I grind my teeth. I want to smack her hands away; the alcohol on her breath annoys me.

Sometimes I sleep with her because I ' m bored; other times, I picture Poppy.

I look at my phone again. Nothing from my tech guys. Goddamnit!

" I ' m not in the mood." I hiss as I swat her hands away.

She smiles. She ' s demented like that; she likes when I ' m cruel.

I hate her grin. I liked Poppy ' s fear better. It was so beautiful when she let me control that emotion.

Kimberly reaches for my belt, " I ' ll get you in the mood."

I roll my eyes as she peels my pants down. Whatever, I'll just imagine it's Poppy.

I try to text my guys to see why the fuck I ' m still waiting for the cameras to be fixed. I shoot them a text, and while I wait, I open up my saved videos of Poppy right as Kimberly takes me into her mouth. The video plays, Poppy's in her new apartment, just coming out of the shower.

" Hmmm," Kimberly purrs as her hot breath fans over my cock, " See, I can get you in the mood." She says before she begins to suck me.

It ' s not you; it ' s Poppy who just dropped her towel that got my cock hard.

The cameras I installed are of the highest detail. I can make out the beads of water rolling down Poppy's body. Then, she starts to rub her body with her towel as she dries off.

" Yes," I grunt. I want Poppy. I need her.

Kimberly moans as she takes me deeper. I grab her hair, pinning her to me as I begin to thrust deep. Her sounds of choking are better than her fake moans.

It ' s Poppy sucking me off, not Kimberly. That thought makes me rock hard. Poor Kimberly thinks it ' s because of her. She ' s so stupid. You see, Poppy wasn ' t stupid; she was smart enough to know not to fight me.

A text chimes in right as my climax is really building.

Dipshit Security: The cameras have been uninstalled and the fucking CIA is all over her apartment!

I still.

" What ' s wrong?" Kimberly asks me.

I look down at her; her mascara is running from her watering eyes. Kimberly isn ' t pretty when she cries. Poppy is.

The cameras are uninstalled. CIA.

I smile. Poppy knows.

Did she fucking go to the police? It doesn't matter; I'll just pay them off.

That means only one thing. I grab Kimberly by her neck and drag her to the table, where I bend her over as I begin to finish what she started. Her hands are splayed out as she begins to really put on the porno voice I hate.

This is my parting gift to Kimberly. My last au revoir.

I might be cruel, but I ' m not a monster. I ' m not going to kill Kimberly without giving her one last taste of my dick.

I place my phone on Kimberly ' s back, looking back at the video of Poppy. I come then.

Shit, I forgot a condom. I see my seed spilling down her thighs as she pants and coos.

I shrug, tuck myself back in, and zip my pants again. That ' s ok; Kimberly won ' t have to worry about a baby. She ' ll be dead in less than a month anyway.