𝘀𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝘁𝗼 '𝗺𝗶𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿' book 2 of 3
on the outside, looking in, bianca prescott was back to who everyone knew her as- kook princess, island royalty, who couldn't give less of a fuck about the pogues like they were poo on her jimmy choo's.
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Bianca Prescott had a bad habit of looking through life with rose tinted glasses. But ever since the summer, the glasses had been knocked off her nose, shattered on the floor and trampled like all of her hopes and dreams of a luxurious, lavish and overly romanticised life. For there comes a time where no costume can conceal what you don't want to see. Sooner or later, the clothes come off, the makeup washes away and reality emerges. Secrets, sins, truths and lies. All the world may be a stage, but in the Outer Banks, the play doesn't matter. It's all in the execution.
When Bianca noted that her father's car wasn't in the driveway, she let out the most relieved sigh. There was no way she had the energy, nor the will to face the man who she witnessed commit homicide a mere hour ago. The girl didn't want to go home, but she knew she had to. If she didn't come back, Michael would know she was there and come after her friends. So, for their sake, she trudged through the front door unwillingly with every muscle in her body aching in protest.
With the moon overhead, Bianca stumbled through the doorway, swaying unsteadily on her feet. But Lydia wouldn't allow her to relax just yet, ushering the girl quickly to her room with and ordering her to get into bed before turning to thank Reginald profusely.
Bianca didn't protest and merely kicked off her sneakers before entering. What was once a sterile white was now muddy and dirt-ridden, dragging her feet against the floor, despite her mother's encouragements to hurry. It was only until she heard another car pull up in her driveway did she hasten her speed, shutting herself in her room just as the front door slammed shut.
Bianca's breath hitched in her throat and pressed her ear to the wooden frame of her bedroom door without bothering to turn the lights on. The girl's eyes squeezed shut on their own accord, cold dread seeping through her skin from her father's mere presence within the walls of her house.
"Where have you been?" Lydia demanded sternly. Bianca could practically imagine the steam fuming out of the woman's ears, hands clasped over her hips as she glared her father down.
"Ward's," Was all Michael responded with, his voice low and yet, it still sent a shiver up the girl's spine. They'd been conspiring to cover up Gavin's murder. "He didn't take the money."
"What?" She could barely hear her mother's shaky, fear-stricken exhale. "So, what happened?"
"The inevitable," Her father's chilling baritone echoed down the empty hallways and the hollow in Bianca's chest only deepened. If only she hadn't called Gavin and practically petrified him into demanding more money in return for his silence, maybe tonight may have gone much differently. "Gavin Barnstead won't be bothering us anymore."
The silence from her mother was almost deafening, awaiting her response with gut twisting anxiety, "How could this happen?"
"Bianca and those damn Pogues, that's how!" Michael's abrupt shout echoed and the girl's face blanched, hearing her father's pounding footsteps reach the staircase. He ignored Lydia's protests to stop and wait, merely pushing past his wife to storm into his daughter's room.
