Page 4 of Redeeming the Villain
Besides, I also needed room for my piano so I can play every chance I get. It would have been much more of a hassle to walk to the music hall every day for practice.
Music has always been tied to my being, feeling like an extension of my heart and soul. It’s been the one consistent part of my life.
I brought all of Sunny’s things along, including a few new additions—a lofted pink princess dog bed with a custom-embroidered rug with her name positioned beneath it. I spoil her—I can’t help it.
Sunny happily pads across the comforter, licking my cheek, and I giggle.
“Did you have a good nap?”
I talk to my dog incessantly even though she can’t talk back. We talk about everything and anything. Like I said, she’s my best friend.
Her fluffy golden self jumps off of the bed and onto the fluffy pink rug, and I follow suit, stepping into my slippers. She needs to go potty—her usual habit after waking up.
Wrapping my cream-colored throw blanket around me, I walk over to the sliding glass door and unlock it, letting her run outside, across the patio, and onto the lush green grass beneath the starry sky.
It’s chilly out tonight, but I suppose it’s the end of August, and we’re moving into fall, so I should be prepared for the drops in temperature. Especially being in Evermore, Washington, located in the very northern part of the state.
“Go potty,” I tell her, watching her bound around the big yard, enclosed by a seven-foot privacy fence.
No one can see inside, which is my favorite part. I don’t have to worry about anyone trying to stick their hand in to pet her or feed her something she shouldn’t have.
Zoomies hit her almost instantly, and she starts doing figure eights, pure happiness in every leap and bound of her stride. A cool breeze blows over me, and I shiver, goose bumps breaking over my arms.
“Hurry up, baby,” I tell her before stepping back inside and closing the door behind me. I’ll watch her from here, where it’s nice and toasty.
As she continues to race around the grass, my mind drifts to thoughts of classes starting in two days. I amsoready.
I’m double majoring in business and music, which is definitely a heavy load, but I’m confident I can handle it. If I set my mind to something, nothing can hold me back.
Business is boring, and I don’t really care for the course load, but I know the knowledge will be useful to have. Especially when it comes to investments and managing the Briarwood fortune when the time comes.
Our money goes back generations, and it takes a lofty staff to help manage all of the assets. From hotels and properties to stocks and airlines, we have our hands in a lot of cookie jars, and I don’t want to be blind to the responsibility of it all when I take over.
But my true passion, the one I’ve always had, is music. Playing my piano is what fills me with purpose and joy. But even more than that, it’s my gift. I’ve been musically inclined since I was very young.
My aunt Flora always says that I got that blessing from her. But from the times I’ve heard her sing or play, I can’t help but disagree with her.
The one thing I can thank my dad for is providing me piano lessons since I was four years old. I was a prodigy, the keys a mere extension of my fingers. Even though he might have financially supported my musical endeavor, he insisted that my passion for playing remain out of the spotlight, no matter how much I pushed and begged.
He’s always kept my talents from the public. He said that people would use it to extort us. To turn my love and passion into hatred. That keeping my gift private was for my well-being. For the longest time, I believed him. I mean, he was my dad, so what else was I supposed to think?
But the older I got, the more I began to question a lot of what he said and did, wondering who he really made his “thoughtful” decisions for—us, me, or just him?
Sunny bolts toward the door, yanking me from my thoughts, and I slide it open as she slows down and bounds inside. I lock it behind her and close the curtains.
Wiping her paws clean with one of her wipes, I let her go, and she jumps right back up onto our bed, nestling and relaxing on my heated blanket.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to run to the bathroom,” I tell her, tossing my blanket onto the bed next to her, leaving me in my super-soft, short-sleeved pink button-up with matching shorts set. I can tell she wants to come along when her body stiffens up. “Just wait here.”
Grabbing my key fob and phone, I step into the hallway and secure the door behind me, hearing the automated lock slide into place.
The marble floor glistens under the soft, warm light from the sconces on the walls and small chandeliers, which hang from the tall ceiling every ten feet.
I could have gotten my own place off campus, but to be honest, I wanted this experience. I’ve been dreaming of college for years. It doesn’t matter that this fate was constructed by my dad since I was little; I’m here for me, not anyone else.
This is the best school in the country. Getting handed an HEAU diploma is a fast pass to success in life. Which is why the application process is so grueling and invasive and only the smallest portion of applicants are selected.
I know my last name got me into this school, but I worked hard to make sure that I earned it with my own merit as well. That I was a perfect applicant regardless of my dad and his more than charitable donations over the years.
