Cold water pours over my head as I stand, shivering in the shower. I scrub and scrub and scrub my skin until it’s rubbed raw. Water splashes at my feet, soaring down the drain, but it’s not taking the film of disgust with it.
My heart is beating at allegrissimo—one of the fastest tempos in music. I keep scrubbing until my skin burns and lean over, a hand against the wall and my hair clumping in front of my face.
Dutch made a plan to ruin me and he did it right in front of my face. No mercy. No hesitation. He was every bit as cold and cruel as ever.
I pound the wall again. My forehead eases against the shower. It’s cool to the touch.
My mind runs in circles. Before Dutch got that phone call, I was sliding my arms around his neck and kissing him like my life depended on it. I was digging my fingers into his shoulders and moaning while he undid my jeans.
I was preparing to give it all to him.
Something precious. Something that he didn’t deserve.
Idiot.
The frustration grows and I hit the faucet to turn it off. Scooping my hair back and away from my face, I breathe in. I can still smell him on me. The fragrance of sandalwood and mint and money. I can still feel his fingers digging into my thighs as he prepared to unwrap me like a present at Christmas.
Then that call came.
And it changed everything.
I hit the wall again. And again.
The most ridiculous part of this is that, before he exposed his plans, I genuinely felt for him. When Dutch got that first call, his entire face went pale.
I stared into his vibrant amber eyes, saw the panic flashing there and my first instinct wasn’t to revel in his pain.
It was to protect him.
After all the horrible things he’d done to me, all the ways he’d ruined me, all the times he made my life miserable, I still wanted to hold his hand, hug him and ease the strain.
‘I’ll deal with Cadence.’
But my care of him was one-sided.
He was eager, desperate even, to take me down. A hit man would probably have more of a heart. It was that coldness, that complete lack of humanity, that reminded me exactly who I was dealing with.
A monster.
“Ah.” I hold a hand over my mouth to muffle the cry of frustration and regret. It feels like my heart is on the verge of ramming out of my chest.
I wish I could say Dutch caught me at a weak moment, but the blinding energy between us was unavoidable. It wasn’t a moment of temporary insanity.
It was a choice.
My choice.
The full scope of my feelings for him exploded the moment he played the piano. There was not a part of me—not a single inch of me—that wanted him to stop.
In his arms, I felt safe. Like an idiot, I thought I was seeing beyond his cold exterior to the real Dutch, the one who rescued me from drowning and pushed me to overcome my stage fright.
But a beast doesn’t know how to do anything but destroy.
I climb out of the shower. My steps are plodding. I’m dripping water everywhere, but I don’t care.
It’s dark when I slip into the hallway. Viola woke up when I came home, took one look at me and then stalked away. She’s still angry that I yelled at her. Just another point where I’ve failed.
I lock myself in my bedroom and sink against the old mattress. It creaks as it accepts my weight. My keyboard stands out in the shadows. The glistening black and white keys remind me of Dutch.
Desperately, I launch up and throw a blanket over it so it’s out of sight.
I pick up my phone, debating if I should call my best friend. I decide against it. Breeze will only tell me ‘I told you so’. She warned me that a guy like Dutch wasn’t to be trusted. It’s my own fault for not avoiding him like the plague.
My chest moves up and down as my breathing thickens. Anxiety spins my head in a freefall.
Is this the end for me at Redwood?
I shift through the regret and brush aside the disgust in favor of something much better—anger. It surges through me like a hurricane, destroying the hopelessness inside.
No, I can’t go down like this.
Tonight is my fault. I’ll accept that.
I opened my legs for Dutch. I let him get close to me.
Maybe that makes me an idiot. But I don’t have to pair that with being a victim. Why should I be the only one to suffer? Why should he walk off into the sunset while I cower in the darkness?
Despite being weak, I have something I didn’t before.
Information.
Tonight’s revelation is a blessing in disguise.
The shift in my thinking makes my blood pound in a different way. I can’t help but jump to my feet and pace my room as I think about what to do next.
Dutch has all the power at Redwood. He’s got Christa’s dad in his back pocket too. I need someone higher than them. Someone with more influence. Someone who the entire school would believe.
I stop in my tracks when it hits me.
Jinx.
Rolling my shoulders to work out the knots, I send a text.
Cadence: I’m ready to do business.
Anxiety attacks me hard while I wait for a response.
My phone chirps.
I pounce on it.
Jinx: A secret for a secret, New Girl.
Cadence: Dutch plans to flub my grades so I lose my scholarship and get kicked out of Redwood.
Jinx: Evidence?
The inkling of hope that had been growing in my chest dies a violent death.
Evidence?
I tap my phone in my palm and pace in the other direction.
Jinx: Sorry New Girl. No evidence, no deal.
Cadence: I’m telling the truth.
Jinx: You can’t believe how many scorned women try to use me for revenge. I need more than that if it’ll be worth anything.
Grunting in frustration, I toss my phone back on the bed and keep pacing. My anger’s stronger than the disappointment. Just because one door closed doesn’t mean another won’t open.
I take a few deep breaths and pull myself together. Who else can I turn to?
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I keep going until I stumble on another path—Mr. Mulliez.
The idea loses steam when his phone goes to voicemail. I send him a text, but there’s no response. Miss Jamieson told me he left the country to further his studies.
Damn it.
I start to put my phone down until I remember I have one more option. Miss Jamieson. She believed me and Mr. Mulliez. And she gave me encouragement when Christa tried to blame me for busting her lip.
“Where did I put her number?” I mumble desperately. Books thud to the ground as I upend my school bag. Dropping to my knees, I desperately shove aside lotions, sugar packets and notes until I find the tiny slip of paper with her number on it.
Relief seeps through me and I dial it quickly.
I don’t breathe as I listen to it ring.
There’s a click.
And then…
“Hello?”
“Miss Jamieson,” I call urgently.
“Who’s this?”
“I—I’m Cadence Cooper. Sorry to bother you but I really didn’t know what else to do.”
“Cadence?” The sound of bed sheets rustling tells me I woke her out of bed.
“Who’s that?” A male voice says.
“Just a student.” She clears her throat. “Give me a second, Cadence.”
“Sure.”
I hear more rustling then a door creaks open and clicks shut.
“Are you okay?” she asks. From the reverb in her voice, I can tell she’s in a bathroom.
“No, not really.” My words erupt in a gush. “Look, if I had anyone else to turn to, I wouldn’t be bothering you in your private time, but if I don’t do something, I’m going to get kicked out of Redwood unfairly and I can’t…” My breath stalls. “I can’t let Dutch win. I’d die first.”
“Sweetheart, calm down, okay. Start from the top. Tell me what happened.”
I tell her about Dutch’s plan. “It sounded like they were going to change the grades tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
I recall the moment in the elevator. “Yes.”
She blows out a breath.
I tap a finger against my foot. “Christa already hates me and with her dad being the chairman of the board at Redwood, it doesn’t matter what the truth is.”
“Why would they do this to you? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with those boys? One of them goes around lying about his age and the other—”
“Did Dutch lie about his age?” I ask. That seems unlike him. He might be a despicable bastard, but he doesn’t hide it.
There’s a long pause as if Miss Jamieson probably exposed something she didn’t mean to.
After a moment, she speaks again in a more composed tone. “If it was a matter of simply changing your grades unfairly, I could intervene. The problem is if they’re taking it straight to the board. There’s a chain of command at Redwood Prep. Once the situation has escalated, we can’t do much to reverse it from our level.”
I groan and fall against my bed. “So you’re saying I’m screwed.”
“I’m saying we have to move faster than they do or we find someone higher than the chairman to support you.”
“Who’s higher than the chairman?”
There’s a moment of silence.
“I might know of someone. Well, not me. Mr. Mulliez has a connection we can explore.”
“I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer,” I tell her.
“He got a new phone number when he moved from the US.”
Hope springs to life again. “So you’re saying…”
“Let me talk to Mr. Mulliez. Even if this is a dead end, we’ll keep fighting. We’re not going to let them win, Cadence.”
After that conversation, I can’t sleep. My mind is too busy cycling through all the things that could go wrong with her plan.
When Miss Jamieson finally calls me back the next morning, I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep.
Snatching the phone up, I croak, “What did Mr. Mulliez say?”
“He’s cashing in a favor from an old friend.”
“You mean…”
“I mean you’re not leaving Redwood.”
My entire body caves in on a sigh. “Well, do I have to do anything or attend a meeting to explain why my grades are suddenly low?”
“No.” She pauses. “But I do have one question.”
“What is it?”
“Do you like dramatic entrances?”
