Page 95 of Awakening the Beast
“No, but whoever sent them weren’t anyone with a leg to stand on really. I was able to take out a few, so they couldn’t have been too skilled.”
He stays silent, but it sounds like he is moving quickly.
“What are you doing?” I mumble.
“Coming the fuck home. I need to be there.”
I lie my head down, my eyes squeezed shut.
“You don’t have to do that, Arlo. I’m safe right now and you have probably just gotten there.”
“Fuck that,” he hisses. “I’m catching another flight home. I’ll see you soon. I love you both.”
With that, he hangs up, giving me no time to respond. My mind swirls, knowing I need to get things done before his return, because as soon as I see him, I know I will spill all that I know.
It's late morning, and after a refreshing shower, I feel surprisingly revived, despite the tiredness from last night’s madness and the pain in my body. Lumi is downstairs with my dad and after I’m dressed, I pull out my laptop, inserting the secret USB drive. The screen flickers as it loads, and soon enough, a prompt appears asking me to download a large file. My patience wears thin, and I growl in frustration as I accept, but it’s slow, too slow.
Knowing I don’t have time to wait, I leave it to process until I am back. Snatching my coat off the bed, I quickly slip it on. I take the contract, slide it into my inside pocket, then make my way downstairs.
As we drive in tense silence, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the sight of my bruised cheek, swollen throat, and busted lip. The evidence of last night's violence too visible.
“Arlo is going to lose his shit,” I groan, pushing the mirror away in frustration.
My mom gives a sharp but reassuring reply, “Well, it’s much better than being dead.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I reach into my coat pocket, pulling out the papers I’ve been dreading to look at again. My gaze drops to the crisp, official documents in my lap. I feel the weight of them as if they’re burning into my hands, the truth seeping into every fiber of my being.
My mom notices, glancing over, her curiosity piqued. “What’s that?”
Slowly, I tear my eyes away from them and meet her gaze. “Arlo’s adoption papers.”
“What?” she asks with a side-eye.
I let out a heavy sigh, the burden of the secret growing heavier with each passing second. I look ahead, my hands gripping the documents tighter, the paper crinkling under my grasp.
“Hopefully, we’re about to get some answers now. Pull up here,” I point to the side of the road.
When the engine cuts, I reach to unbuckle my seatbelt, and my mom mimics my movements.
“Who’s house is this, Wren?” she questions.
I don’t have time to respond, I just push the car door open and step out before she can say another word. Together, we walk toward the luxurious building ahead. It’s not as grand as either mine or my parents, but it’s still elegant, dripping with wealth and style. As we reach the door, I press the doorbell andglance over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of my mom with her sunglasses now on, her expression unreadable.
Suddenly, the door swings open, and my attention snaps forward. Vivienne stands before me, her face a perfect mask of calm, though I can sense her shock that I’m here beneath it. Her eyes gradually move to my mom behind me.
“Hello, Hazel. I’ve been expecting you,” Vivienne says and my head jerks back into confusion.
I turn just in time to see my mom yank off her sunglasses, her eyes burning with a kind of anger I’ve never witnessed before. The shock ripples through me, freezing me in place. This reaction from my mom is rare—almost unnatural—and the fury in her eyes sends a chill down my spine.
Without a word, my mom storms past me, pushing through the door with a kind of authority I didn’t even know she possessed. Vivienne, clearly startled, steps back, forced to allow her entrance. I follow them inside, my mind racing with confusion.
“Mom?” I call out as we stop in the foyer. My mom whirls around, her gaze locked on Vivienne, her expression full of anger.
“Wait, you two know each other?” I glance between them both, my confusion mounting.
“Let's take this to another room,” Vivienne suggests, trying to maintain control of the situation. For a moment, I consider agreeing—anything to calm the cyclone developing between her and my mom—but the decision is ripped away when Jasper walks in.
He halts in the doorway, his eyes locking onto mine, and instantly, a pang of sadness hits me. Does he know? Or has he been kept in the dark like Arlo?
