Hate Me Like You Mean It

THE GILDED CAGE

The midnight-blue silk dress lay in a heap on the linoleum floor of the council flat, looking like a dead butterfly.

Meredith sat on the edge of her twin bed, wrapped in a threadbare bathrobe that smelled of cheap detergent and the damp that lived in the walls. The silence of the flat was deafening. No more grand libraries. No more clinking of crystal. No more of Henry’s wood-smoke scent.

Just the rhythmic drip-drip of a leak in the kitchen and the distant sound of a police siren.

She had been back for twelve hours. In that time, her email had been flooded with "Formal Notice of Disciplinary Action" and "Expulsion Effective Immediately." They hadn't even given her time to collect her books. A security guard had handed her a cardboard box at the gates, his eyes full of a pity that felt like acid on her skin.

"Meredith?" Her mother’s voice was soft, hesitant. Sarah stood in the doorway, her face pale. "The men... the security guards Henry sent. They’re still outside. They said they have orders not to leave."

"Tell them to go away, Mom," Meredith said, her voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well. "We don't need McFord charity. That's what got us here."

"He saved us, Merry," her mother whispered, sitting beside her. "Your father... he hasn't come back. He’s scared of that boy."

"He didn't save us," Meredith snapped, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp heat. "He turned me into a headline. He turned my life into a game, and when he got bored, his father finished it. I was a scholarship student, Mom. I was going to be a lawyer. Now? I’m just the girl in the 'indecent' photos."

She stood up, pacing the small room. The anger was better than the grief. It was sharper. "I knew what he was. I knew it the first day in the cafeteria. And I let him in anyway. I hated him... and then I let myself believe he was different. That’s the real sin."

"You love him," her mother said. It wasn't a question.

Meredith stopped pacing. She looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror—the dark circles under her eyes, the hollow look of a girl who had seen her future vanish.

"I hate him," she whispered, the lie tasting like ash. "I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone. Because he’s the only one who made me feel like I wasn't alone, right before he pushed me off the cliff."

Three miles away, in a penthouse that cost more than Meredith’s entire neighborhood, Henry McFord was a prisoner.

His father had confiscated his passport, his phone, and his car keys. Two "associates" in black suits stood outside his bedroom door. The room was beautiful—Italian marble, floor-to-ceiling glass, a bed that felt like a cloud—and Henry wanted to burn it all to the ground.

The door opened. Alistair McFord walked in, looking as though he hadn't just ruined a young girl’s life for sport. He was checking his cufflinks.

"The jet is fueled," Alistair said, his voice cold and clipped. "We leave for New York at 6:00 AM. You’ll be enrolled at Columbia. I’ve already spoken to the Dean. There will be no... distractions... this time."

Henry was standing by the window, staring out at the London skyline. He didn't turn around. "You set it up. The photos. The leak to the board."

"I protected the family name," Alistair replied. "You were becoming obsessed with a commoner. A girl whose father is a career drunk and whose mother is a non-entity. She was a parasite, Henry. She was using you for the security you provided."

Henry turned then. His face was a mask of cold, concentrated rage—a mirror image of his father’s, but with something Alistair didn't possess: a soul.

"She didn't want anything from me," Henry said, his voice vibrating. "She was the only person who told me the truth. She was the only person who didn't care about the name."

"And look where it got her," Alistair sneered. "She is a footnote, Henry. By next week, the school will have forgotten her name. You are a McFord. You are built for empires, not for council estates."

Alistair walked to the door, stopping with his hand on the handle. "Don't try to leave. The guards have orders to use force if necessary. It’s for your own good. One day, you’ll thank me."

The door clicked shut. The lock turned.

Henry stood in the center of his luxury prison. He looked at the heavy crystal decanter on his side table and smashed it against the wall. The glass shattered, much like his life had twelve hours ago.

He realized his father was right about one thing: he was a McFord. And he knew exactly how a McFord handled a threat. He didn't cry. He didn't beg.

He plotted.

He walked over to his desk. His father had taken his phone, but he hadn't taken the old, encrypted laptop Henry used for his private trading accounts. He sat down, his fingers flying across the keys.

If his father wanted to use "evidence" to destroy Meredith, Henry would use evidence to destroy the McFord Empire. He knew where the bodies were buried—the offshore accounts, the bribed officials, the tax "optimizations" that were actually felonies.

"You want to play the monster, Dad?" Henry whispered to the empty room, his eyes glowing with a dark, dangerous light. "Fine. Let's see who's better at it."