Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(10)

I developed early and never looked my age, always older. I never had a chance to play with other children when I was young, though I knew more existed, the sounds of their laughter echoed on the other side of the wall, and then there was the boy who dared to look beyond it. Because of this, I was too mature for my own good, nothing but guards and a tutor to learn from, and once I turned eight, I was given a television.

Mero must have seen it in my eyes at ten, a child who never lived as one, a girl desperate for more.

He was proud of his new ‘property,’ and quickly, I became his pawn, did as he asked, found ways to trick who he instructed until secrets spilled from the mouths of some of the most powerful men he could find. Men who held high positions, men who were forced to leave Brayshaw, traitors to the family and pure outsiders. Jobs for purpose and some simply for payment.

We had ruses, ways of gaining the truth and I always wanted to give him what he asked for, so I was extremely inventive. I studied people, trained myself to see more than the average eye, hear what wasn’t said. It became a game, something to focus on, a way to earn affection I came to crave.

Secrets were my purpose.

I was blackmail.

It wasn’t until I turned my back on the man who freed me from the prison I wasn’t aware I was living in that my life changed.

I know I’m strong, I know I can handle this place, but I want more than that.

I can’t go back to being the little girl I once was, completely dispensable.

Knowledge, it gave me purpose, power.

It’s ironic, how the only thing to ever offer a shred of color is the exact reason my world’s been painted gray.

Holding onto secrets in a place like this has done the opposite of what I’ve understood them to.

I hold no leverage, only lies.

I feel no pride, I’m buried in shame.

I hate myself more than I hate the man who molded me this way.

How weak you are to become what someone else asks of you?

I can be different here. An asset instead of a threat.

I want that, to be useful.

Worth something.

I sigh, licking my lips as I pull a full breath through my nostrils.

The shuffle of feet catches my attention, and I roll my neck against the chair cushion to find Rolland, the man who helped me hide in plain sight, walking up.

I never told him who I really was, daughter of the man he hated, only how I grew inside the walls of the Graven estate until I was traded.

I never told him to who.

Rolland slides his hands in his pockets, looking across the orchards in front of us. “You don’t have to stay out here.”

“Yes, I do.”

“This is your home, too.”

I nod. “It will be.”

A small smile finds his lips, and he slowly lowers into the seat beside me. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

The cloud of uncertainty surrounding me must be suffocating him the same as he says, “I assume you realize now.”

“That you knew I was a product of the enemy, Graven, by dirty blood, all along?” My eyes slide his way a moment, but I quickly look away.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t positive, but I had a feeling, maybe even a bit of hope, you were the child of the woman I tried to free.”

“What does that mean?” I ask him, having never actually held a conversation worth anything with Maria. I had learned bits and pieces of this, but nothing means a damn thing when it doesn’t come directly from the mouth who knows the full truth. “Free her, how exactly?”

“Your mother worked as a Graven maid, she was... their property, as far as property goes, and Donley threw her out like garbage when he learned she was pregnant with a girl when all he was after was a son. Maybell brought her to me, and I offered her a home, a safe place to make a living and raise her child, you, once you were born.” He looks to me. “Unfortunately, she never had the chance. I believe you know why...”

“He took me from her hospital bedside.” I shrug. It’s not sad, it’s reality. “Why’d you let her back in your home after that?”

His forehead creases and he glances away. “Guilt, maybe. I’m not sure anymore.”

“And that was enough for you to slip me in past your sons?”

“I gave them a file as I do every time we add to the group homes. All I did was simplify your past.”

Simplify, right.

As if ‘abusive home’ and ‘absent parents’ even comes close.

I watch for a sign of a lie as I ask, “Do you have a real file on me, Rolland?”

He shakes his head. “Not for the lack of searching,” he admits. “You’re not in the system, Victoria. You don’t even have a birth certificate on file, it’s how I suspected there was more to you than you shared. Technically, you don’t exist, but we can change that, if you’d like.”

A long moment of silence stretches between us, and when he realizes I have no comment on his last statement, Rolland inhales deeply, dejection clear as crystal in his tone. “I knew the risk I was taking allowing you into the Bray house. You came as a secret, that meant you must have had more. I assume we’ve only brushed the surface.”

“You only learned what I’ve allowed you to, and nothing more,” I tell him bluntly, my eyes connecting with his and holding. “Many of the things I know have no weight on this place... but many do.”