Veil Of Vengeance

The irony of being called a charity case while living in a mansion never escapes me. Three years in and the gold-leafed ceilings still feel like they're watching, judging, waiting for me to reveal myself as the imposter I am. "Athena!" Rosie's voice cuts through the dormitory hallway like expensive crystal shattering against marble. "Mother sent another care package. I suppose there might be something in here for you too." She pronounces the word you as if it were something disgusting she discovered attached to her Louboutin heels. I continue studying calculus without raising my eyes from the textbook page. "Keep it. I'm busy." "God, you're so f*****g ungrateful." A hard thud announces the delivery of the box which disperses my thoughtfully organized notes across the desk. Many girls would do anything to be where you are now. Member of a whole different reality seems to be a mystery before landing in our existence. Plucked. Someone found me suitable enough as a plant to place in their decorative crystal vase. I finally direct my eyes at her while saying "I never asked to be chosen like this." Rosie Dario presents a flawless image through her dazzling hair and perfect complexion as she seems permanently aware of her rightful place in existence. "No, but you certainly accepted." A genuine smile is absent from her facial expression. Those remained cold, calculating. Westfield Hall hosts a party tonight for which everyone is invited. The students from the senior male class plan to bring champagne during tonight's unauthorized party. Real Dom is providing champagne instead of using grocery store beers. I must take my physics examination during Monday. "Of course you do." She sighs dramatically. A perfect mark is what scholarship girls cannot accept since it threatens their position within society. What would Daddy say?" Throughout our conversation I refrain from calling him dad. The numbers in my textbook blur as I focus on my work because I sense her in the air watching for me to falter. I refuse to provide her any cause for satisfaction. "Fine." She flips her hair—a practiced gesture she's perfected since we were fourteen. "Stay here alone like always. It's pathetic, really." The door slams behind her, and I finally exhale. My fingers trace the embossed crest on Westfield Academy's calculus textbook—Virtus, Veritas, Valor. Virtue, Truth, Courage. What a f*****g joke. My phone buzzes against the desk. Roman: You ok? Rose said you're being difficult again. I almost laugh. Roman—Rosie's twin, different in every way that matters. Where she is cruel, he is kind. Where she is calculating, he is candid. Where she uses beauty as a weapon, he wears his like an afterthought. Me: Define difficult. I'm studying while she's planning to get shitfaced on Dom. Roman: Meet me at the oak in 10? I need air. The oak tree. Our place since the first week I arrived at the Dario mansion, a terrified twelve-year-old clutching a garbage bag of belongings, wearing scratchy department store clothes that immediately marked me as other. Roman found me hiding there, crying silently while his parents argued with the social worker in muted, aristocratic tones about tax benefits and charitable foundations. Me: Fine. Bring coffee. The oak stands sentinel at the edge of campus, far enough from prying eyes but close enough to sprint back before curfew check. Roman's already there, two steaming paper cups in hand, his uniform tie loosened around his neck. "You look like s**t," he says, but his eyes are soft as he hands me a cup. "It's been a s**t day." The coffee burns my tongue, but I welcome the pain. It feels honest. Roman leans against the trunk, watching me. "Rose is being Rose." "Rose is being a cunt." He doesn't flinch at the word. That's what I love about Roman—he never pretends to be shocked by ugliness. He's seen too much of it beneath designer clothes and behind closed doors. "She's scared," he says simply. "Of what? Daddy cutting her Platinum card? The horror." "Of you." Roman sips his coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're everything she pretends to be. Smart. Driven. Authentic." I snort. "Authentic poverty isn't exactly fashionable at Westfield." "No, but authenticity is rare in our world. People notice." His fingers brush mine as he adjusts my grip on the coffee cup. "I notice." Something electric passes between us—it always does—but we both pull back. Another unspoken rule in the Dario household: Roman and I are siblings on paper, even if blood and biology say otherwise. "Did you really come here to talk about your sister's insecurity complex?" "No." His expression shifts, something darker crossing his features. "I came to warn you. She's up to something." My stomach tightens. "Like what?" "I don't know exactly. But she was on the phone with Lucien Dumas last night." Lucien f*****g Dumas. Heir to the Dumas Luxury Group, known predator, and—worst of all—Rosie's obsession since sophomore year. A man who collects pretty, wealthy girls like limited-edition sports cars, drives them hard, then discards them when a newer model catches his eye. "She knows what he is," I say, but doubt creeps in. Rosie's self-awareness has always been her blind spot. "She knows, but she doesn't care. She thinks she'll be different." Roman runs a hand through his dark hair—so unlike his sister's spun gold. "I've tried talking to her. She won't listen." "She never does." The silence between us feels weighted, full of things we never say. Roman breaks it first. "She asked to borrow your car." My coffee cup freezes halfway to my lips. "I don't have a car." "The Honda. The one you saved for." Anger flashes hot and immediate. "That's my money. My work. She has four f*****g cars!" "None that aren't registered to our parents. None they don't track." Understanding dawns, cold and sickening. "She's planning to meet him." Roman nods, his jaw tight. "Friday, I think. When mother and father are in Geneva." "I'll tell them." "They won't believe you." His voice is gentle but firm. "You know that." I do know. Three years of being the charity project, the tax write-off, the good deed personified has taught me exactly how much my word is worth against golden, perfect Rosie's. My phone buzzes again. Unknown number. "Athena? This is Claire from Reception. You have a visitor at the main gate." I frown. "I don't have visitors." "She says she's your sister. Rosie Dario?" Roman's eyebrows shoot up as I listen. "She seems... distressed. Security is bringing her to your room." "I'll be right there." I hang up, already moving. "Something's wrong." Roman keeps pace beside me. "What did she do?" "I don't know yet." Rosie takes a position on my bed with a doll-like shattered form. The designer outfit she wears shows wrinkles with black smudges from her tears defacing her cheeks while loose strands of hair drape across her face. She maintains her gaze downward when we enter her room. Roman should leave the room according to her strained voice. He hesitates, looking between us. "It's fine," I tell him. "Go." Roise looks at me for the first time after the door closes. Something essential has changed within her because an imperceptible c***k formed in her delicate nature. She presents her request with a soft voice. I cross my arms. Your approach to asking for help is strangely indirect. "Please, Athena." Her voice breaks on my name. "I'm... I'm in trouble." A tiny spark of worry appears in my breast despite the situation. "What kind of trouble?" A simple unconscious movement takes her hand to her belly while revealing her state through an instinctive action that speaks for itself. The room suddenly feels airless. "Are you sure?" Without waiting for my confirmation she asks anyway although I know the truth already. Her expression trembles as she gives a slight nod then a tear appears on her cheek. "Three tests. All positive." "Does he know?" "Lucien?" A choking laughter escapes her lips because she's unable to hide her panic which makes my skin twitch with goosebumps. "I called him. The phone conversation left me with those simple instructions before he abruptly ended the call. Something tightens in my chest while I experience rage together with protectiveness and fear even though I can't sort out these emotions quickly enough. I advise her to tell her parents about her situation. "No!" Her eyes widen in panic. "They can't know. Father would take actions you cannot possibly imagine because you don't comprehend his behavior. But I think I do. Malcolm Dario maintains his steel business empire and extensive charity activities but his admiration for family honor surpasses all else. Through his photographs this man reveals smiling teeth while his stare analyzes benefits against expenses. "What about Roman?" "Not him either." She seizes my hands while showing clear desperation. "Only you. Among everyone you are the only person I can rely on. The irony tastes bitter."Since when do you trust me?" "Since I have no other f*****g choice!" She's crying now, ugly, honest sobs that shake her whole body. "I know how I've treated you. But you're... you're good, Athena. You always do the right thing." "And what's the right thing here, Rosie?" Her eyes meet mine, vulnerable and terrified. For the first time, I see past everything, the scared shitless girl beneath it all. "I don't know." We sit in silence, the weight of her secret pressing down between us. Finally, I ask, "What do you want to do?" "I need time to think. Just a few days." She wipes her tears, already rebuilding her composure. "I need your car. Just for the weekend." Warning bells ring in my head. "Where are you going?" "Lucien has a place in the Catskills. If I see him in person, talk to him face to face..." Her voice trails off. "He'll what? Suddenly grow a conscience? Propose? Rosie, he's trash wrapped in a designer label." "You don't know him!" The familiar defensiveness creeps back into her voice. "He's under so much pressure from his family. Once he processes everything—" "He'll still be the same entitled prick who knocked you up and told you to 'take care of it.'" The cruelty is deliberate, necessary. "What makes you think driving to his mountain f**k-pad will change anything?" Her eyes harden, that Dario steel returning. "My keys. Where are they?" "I'm not giving you my car to drive six hours to confront some asshole who's already shown you exactly who he is." "Fine." She stands abruptly. "I was stupid to think you'd help me. I'll find another way." "Rosie, wait—" She's already gone, slamming the door so harshly, my framed acceptance to MIT is swaying on the wall. I text Roman, pulling out my phone, when there is a soft knick. I come to the door and his concern is laid all across his face. "What happened? She just brushed right past me like the building's on fire." I hesitate. Whatever Rosie’s faults, this is not a secret to keep. "She's upset about Lucien. You were right." Not technically a lie. Roman studies my face and knows that I’m not being straight with him. "I'm worried about her." "Me too," I admit. "She is not listening to either of us right now, but …" His hair is raked through again, a nervous habit that’s endearing—despite myself—for some reason. "I should go find her before she does something stupid." "Let her cool off first." I touch his arm, ignoring the electric current that runs between us. "Give her space." He nods reluctantly. "You coming to dinner?" "I need to study." "Always studying." His smile is soft, private. "Some of us have trust funds, you know. You could ease up occasionally." "Some of us need scholarships," I counter, but I'm smiling too.