Handcuffs And Kisses (Series #1)

Chapter 2

Lilian Carson POV

The garden was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the stone pathways. The rhythmic chirping of birds echoed in the distance, a contrast to the hollow stillness inside me. The polished concrete paths and carefully curated greenery gave the house an artificial sense of peace-like an illusion, something crafted to fool outsiders into believing that life within these walls was normal.

But I knew better.

My gaze drifted to the massive oak tree in the corner of the garden. It stood tall and imposing, its twisted branches stretching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. There was something unsettling about it-something that had always made me uneasy. It loomed there, a silent witness to everything that had ever gone wrong in this house.

I walked up to the enormous metal doors, ringing the bell with a reluctant sigh. The familiar creak of rusted hinges followed a few moments later, revealing a tall, stiff-backed woman standing in the doorway.

Florence.

She had practically raised me, tending to my father and me in a way that went beyond duty. But no matter how much effort she poured into filling the absence my mother left behind, she would never replace her. She had to know that by now.

Her expression was unreadable, but the exhaustion was evident-dark bags under her dull eyes, her unkempt blonde hair falling messily over her shoulders.

"You're looking awful," I muttered, stepping past her without another word.

If she was offended, she didn't show it. I didn't care either way. I had more pressing things on my mind.

I needed a drink before heading to Sam's.

The idea of a shower felt more appealing than alcohol, though. The warm water would strip away the day, leaving me feeling like I had some semblance of control. I'd see Sam afterward-we were supposed to watch a movie. A temporary escape.

As I made my way toward my room, Florence's voice stopped me.

"Your father wants to see you," she said, her tone flat. "Library."

I exhaled through my nose. Of course he does.

A meeting with my father was inevitable, though. Maybe it was for the best-I could use the opportunity to tell him about my plans to move into my college dorm. Maybe, for once, we could have a civilized conversation.

"Wishful thinking, Lilian."

"Alright," I replied simply and continued toward my room.

Inside, I let my eyes sweep across the space I had spent most of my life in.

The walls were deep crimson, the color shifting under the dim light like something alive. Posters of bands, old cartoons, and abstract art covered every inch, hiding whatever secrets the paint concealed. Black-and-white photos of me as a child sat framed on the shelves-pictures with my mother, my father, moments frozen in time that now felt foreign.

My bed sat at the center of the room, pristine white sheets giving it the deceptive appearance of comfort. A wooden desk stood in the far corner, cluttered with discarded paper and pens. The bookshelves were filled, an organized mess that only I could navigate. A large window bathed everything in pale light, casting long shadows over the room.