Between Us

Chapter Seventeen - Punishment

As I walk home, a strange sense of relief washes over me, the realization that maybe I'm not as alone as I once thought. Prue, though she's not in the same situation as me, might just be someone I can confide in from time to time, a guide through this bewildering new world I'm trying to navigate—terrifying yet strangely compelling.

Approaching the gates, the same security guard waves me in, his demeanor markedly more welcoming than when he let me out. I find him unsettling, a vague sense of unease creeping over me as I hurry through the entrance, avoiding his gaze, brushing off his cheerful "Welcome back!" as if it were an unwanted touch.

I make my way up the winding path to the Vanderbilts' residence, my heart racing as I yank the door open. Inside, I'm met with the sight of Arabella and Charles perched on one of the sofas, their eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes it feel like they've been waiting for my arrival.

"Poppy," Arabella says sharply, her tone slicing through the air, and I flinch, acutely aware of an unspoken accusation hanging between us.

"Hey, guys," I reply, shrugging off my sweater and hanging it on the coat rack near the door, trying to appear nonchalant.

"You're acting strangely cavalier for someone who just broke a rule," she retorts, her green eyes piercing into me, probing for something.

I freeze, my feet glued to the floor, an instinctive tension coursing through me. I don't know what I'm waiting for, but my body seems to anticipate it before my mind can catch up. "I don't understand..." I finally manage, hoping my words won't deepen whatever trouble I'm already in.

Arabella glances at Charles before returning her gaze to me, and my heart stutters. "You left the house without telling us where you were going. Why did you do that?" She crosses her arms, a steeliness in her posture.

At this moment, I feel like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar—only I'm not a child, and I didn't sneak off anywhere I shouldn't have. I'm an adult who took a walk to a café and returned home, yet the memory of their warning during our first meeting flickers in my mind. I know I should play along, despite the ridiculousness of it all. "I'm sorry, I just figured you were both busy. I didn't want to bother you, Bella."

"Arabella to you," she interrupts, her voice icy. "You can call me Bella when you're a good girl. Right now, you're not being a good girl."

Her choice of words sends a jolt of confusion through me. Is this some kind of twisted game? A perverse roleplay? I can't help but think back to everything else they've shown me—everything that feels both thrilling and unsettling. "I've been a naughty girl, haven't I?" I flirt back, deciding to embrace the moment instead of feeling anger rise within me.

They exchange glances, surprise flickering across their faces as Arabella's eyebrows lift, a shift from her earlier sternness. "Maybe you should..." I start to slowly peel off my pants, kicking them aside with a casual flick. "Punish me," I finish, a teasing smirk on my lips, batting my eyelashes in playful defiance.

For a heartbeat, the air hangs thick with uncertainty. I can see I've caught her off guard, and suddenly I wonder if I've misread the situation entirely. Was this a game, or were they genuinely upset with me for not informing them of my whereabouts?

"Okay," she mutters, eyes narrowing with a hint of intrigue. "I'll bite." Rising from the couch, Arabella's expression remains poised, but there's a subtle shift in the room's energy. Charles leans back further, draping one arm lazily over the back of the sofa, a smirk playing at his lips as if settling in for a show. My pulse quickens, a mix of anticipation and apprehension churning within me.

"Over the armrest," she commands, her voice low and firm. I move quickly, choosing the side furthest from Charles, who watches with a keen, unreadable expression. Slowly, I position myself, draping my body over the armrest until my hips rest on the edge, my breath catching as I feel the cool exposure through the thin fabric of my underwear. If I'd known the afternoon would turn this way, I would've worn something more alluring.