Chapter 4: Sparks and Spite
1302 Words
Dinner at the mansion feels like stepping into a fancy restaurant I don’t belong in.
The dining room’s massive, with a long oak table, crystal glasses, and a chandelier casting soft light. The smell of roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes fills the air, but my stomach’s knotted, not hungry.
Jess and I spent an hour getting ready, mostly because she insisted we “make an impression.”
I’m in a fitted black dress, sleeveless, with a low neckline that’s just shy of bold, paired with silver hoop earrings and my hair loose in waves.
Jess went all out in a deep green jumpsuit that hugs her curves, her curls pinned up with a gold clip.
She looks like she’s ready for a party, not a family dinner.
We sit across from Liam and Kayden, with Mom and Richard at the ends.
Liam’s in a navy button-down, chatting easily with Jess about some hiking trail nearby.
Kayden, slouched in a black long-sleeve shirt, barely looks up from his plate. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and I swear he’s ignoring everyone on purpose.
Mom’s in a flowy white blouse, her smile too bright, like she’s trying to glue this new family together. Richard, in a gray sweater, keeps passing dishes, playing perfect host.
I reach for the last dinner roll, my favorite part of the meal, but Kayden’s hand darts out, snatching it just as my fingers brush the basket.
He doesn’t even glance at me, just tears into it like it’s nothing. My jaw tightens.
“Really?” I say, low but sharp.
He smirks, not looking up. “You snooze, you lose.”
I grip my fork, tempted to stab something—maybe him. Jess kicks me under the table, her eyes saying chill, but I’m already fuming.
Liam clears his throat, trying to shift the vibe, but the tension’s thick.
After dinner, Mom waves Jess and me over to help clear the table.
We stack plates and carry them to the kitchen, the clink of dishes filling the silence. Jess hums some pop song, but I’m still burning from Kayden’s stunt.
Mom’s wiping down the counter when she glances at Jess, giving her a subtle nod. Jess catches it, mumbles something about checking her phone, and slips out, leaving me alone with Mom.
“Zara, can we talk?” Mom asks, her voice soft, like she’s tiptoeing around me.
I keep rinsing a plate, not meeting her eyes. “About what?”
She hesitates, setting down her towel. “I know things have been… rough between us. I want to make it better. I’m sorry for how fast this all happened with Richard, for not talking to you more.”
Her words hit a sore spot, but I’m not ready to unpack it. Not here, not now. “Not now, Mom,” I say, my voice flat.
I drop the sponge and walk out, leaving her standing there, her face falling.
In our room, Jess is sprawled on her bed, scrolling her phone. “So, how’d it go with your mom?” she asks, not looking up.
“It didn’t,” I snap, kicking off my shoes.
“She tried to apologize, but I’m not in the mood.”
Jess sits up, her grin fading. “Give her a chance, Zara. She’s trying.”
“Yeah, well, she should’ve tried before marrying a stranger and dragging me here,” I say, flopping onto my bed.
Jess doesn’t push, just nods, and we let the silence settle.
I’m exhausted, my head spinning from Kayden, Mom, and the weight of this stupid holiday.
We change into pajamas—me in a tank top and shorts, Jess in an oversized band tee—and crash, the mansion’s quiet hum lulling us to sleep.
Morning hits like a freight train.
I’m in the kitchen, still half asleep, pouring orange juice into a glass.
The sun’s barely up, but the snow outside makes everything too bright.
I’m in sweats and a hoodie, my hair a messy bun, not caring who sees me.
Kayden struts in, all leather jacket and bad attitude, and grabs my juice—my juice—right off the counter. He takes a long swig, not even glancing at me.
“Are you being serious right now?” I snap, slamming my hand on the counter. “That’s mine.”
He wipes his mouth, smirking. “Didn’t see your name on it.”
“You could’ve asked, or, I don’t know, said sorry!” I’m yelling now, my face hot.
“Don’t you think it’s too early to shout, Zara,” he says, his voice cold, eyes narrowing. “It’s just juice.”
Before I can lunge at him, Richard walks in, his coffee mug pausing midair. “What’s going on here?” he asks, his tone sharp.
Kayden shrugs, leaning against the counter like he’s bored. I cross my arms, glaring.
Richard sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Both of you, apologize. Now.”
“Sorry,” Kayden mutters, not meaning it, his smirk still there.
“Sorry,” I grit, my fists clenched.
Richard nods, but the air’s still electric with hate.
Kayden brushes past me, his shoulder bumping mine, and I swear he does it on purpose. I’m ready to scream.
The day doesn’t get better.
At breakfast, Kayden “accidentally” spills coffee near my plate, smirking when I jump to save my toast.
Later, when I’m grabbing a book from the library, he’s there, blocking the shelf I need, flipping through pages like he owns the place.
Every move he makes feels like a challenge, and I’m ready to snap.
That evening, Richard announces a family game night, his big idea to “bond.” We’re in the lounge, a fire crackling, hot cocoa on the table.
Mom’s all smiles, passing out scorecards for a trivia game. Liam’s cool, cracking jokes to keep things light, but Kayden and I are locked in a silent war. Jess is eating it up, winking at me like this is her personal soap opera.
At first, the game is just asking questions on movies, history, and other stuff.
But when Kayden and I end up on opposing teams, it’s like a switch flips.
We’re battling like our lives depend on it. He buzzes in before I can answer, stealing points with that smug grin.
I fire back, nailing a question about 80s music, glaring at him as the room cheers.
Every round, we’re neck and neck, our answers sharp, our eyes locked.
Mom and Richard exchange worried glances, and Liam tries to lighten the mood with a dumb pun, but I barely hear it.
Kayden’s taunting me with every move, and I’m not backing down.
“Zara, you’re gonna break the buzzer,” Jess teases, but I ignore her, slamming it for the next question. Kayden beats me by a split second, and I swear I see red.
“Better luck next time, sister,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery as he leaves.
The game ends in a tie, and I’m fuming, my hands shaking. Mom claps, trying to play it off, but the tension’s choking the room.
I’m about to storm out when my phone, tucked in my pocket, vibrates against my thigh.
It’s the app—ShadowWolf.
My heart skips, and I glance around, making sure no one notices.
I haven’t checked it since last night, and the timing feels… off. Why now, in the middle of all this?
I slip my phone out, just enough to see the message: Miss me, FireVixen? Bet you’re thinking about me right now.
My breath catches, and I shove the phone back, my pulse racing.
How does he always know when to mess with my head?
- Writer
