Will is furious at him, seething over the phone. "You prick!" he thunders.

Startled, Nick blurts out, "Will? What –,"

"My parents are getting a divorce," Will bites out viciously, "and it's all because of you."

Nick is reeling. This means that his words to Mrs Carrroway actually had some effect, actually worked. Will is furious but Nick will make him come and see his point of view soon enough. He doesn't regret it. Mrs Carroway is better off without her lowlife husband, Nick thinks.

"What did you say to my dad?" Will is shouting at him angrily.

"Look," Nick says, "I didn't say anything to him but, look on the bright side, Will. Your mum is going to be free of him now. She's going to be happy."

Will's spluttering is all he can hear for a moment. "YOU BASTARD! WHAT ABOUT US?" Will doesn't let Nick speak, furiously ranting away at him. "Look on the bright side – are you an idiot? I have brothers and sisters, Nick! Which you would know if you ever pulled your head out of your ass and stopped thinking you're better than all of us! My mum might be better off without my dad but we're not going to be happy without him, are we?"

Guilt lurches into his stomach and Nick's lips part as he flushes hotly. "Hey, man," he says, awkward. "Look, I – I just got angry and –,"

Will's breaths are hard. "Shut up. Just – just shut up," he snaps and cuts the line.

Nick feels uneasy, his fingers lingering on his phone as he furrows his brows in thought. He's not wrong, he thinks. He knows he's not wrong. Mrs Carroway is better off without her husband and Will and his siblings are better off without an asshole dad to screw things up for them, like his did. Nick knows that and he knows that Will's going to see it, too.

He's restless and anger brews within him as he stomps downstairs, swiping up the keys to his motorbike. There is nowhere to go in this place. His gaze lingers over towards the kitchen temptingly but it's filled with people, bustling in and out, and Nick doesn't feel nearly comfortable enough in this place, even if he might show it to them.

Usually, Nick goes to play football or goes out with Will and Theo and but Will's still angry and Theo's too loyal to do anything with both of them. When his mother comes hurrying down the stairs, looking pristine and perfect as they all do, he doesn't realise that she's worried until she almost knocks over the glass of water on the table.

Everyone in this place always looks so pristine, like they've got their masks on for a perfect picture to take, Nick thinks. He lifts his head as his mother rattles away instructions into her phone.

"...did you check the other warehouses, then? And what did they say? Oh, God, this is going to set us back weeks – and I worked so hard on this – we'll be losing so much revenue – okay, okay, you go pick up some more and I'll meet you back at the office," his mother says quickly before switching off her phone and taking a deep breath. She seems to notice him sitting at the table for the first time in a long time and looks a little surprised, hitching up a smile. "Good morning, Nick."

Nick grunts in response.

"I'll be out all day, in the office. Don't forget that you have the Sutton party a little later in the week. I hear there's a theme for it. Choose whatever suit you like – Armani, Gucci, Hugo Boss. What are your plans?"

"What's going on with your office?" Nick asks bluntly, not really listening to what she's telling him.

His mother looks surprised that he's asking but he's bored and curious enough to ask. She flushes slightly when she answers. "One of our warehouses got robbed. Windows smashed, clothes strewn all over the place," she tells him. "Police are saying they've found some black feathers or something strewn over the place but that particular warehouse didn't have any animal prints – what's wrong?" She notices his pale, ashen face, her own face creasing in worry.

Mitchell's mark is the black feather.

If Mitchell is attacking his mother, that mean there is no fair play anymore. Nick's fingers clench into fists tautly and he thinks about punching Mitchell's face into a pulp. It's an attack, not only on him, but his mother. Mitchell is telling him that he's watching, that he's waiting.

Nick's shock passes to be overwhelmed by fury. "You weren't robbed," he says tightly. "You were warned."

She looks at him, lost. "Warned?" his mother repeats, before a small smile flickers about her features. "Nick, my business rivals are too good to dirty themselves in a shoddy robbery job –,"

"Who do you think it was, then?" Nick demands, flushing hotly with fury.

His mother is looking at him strangely. "I suspect the Carroways," she tells him. "You did, after all, do so little to carry Gareth Carroway's favour a couple of days ago."

His lip curls at the mention of the man but Nick blinks. "Then you have to fight fire with fire," he says. "Stop cleaning up the messes he makes and make a few messes of your own." Nick leans forward as his mother looks interested.

Perhaps they're more alike than he thought, he thinks hopefully. But she only furrows her brows at him.

"I don't do dirty tactics," his mother tells him. "We Hawthornes play by the rules and we play to win, Nick."

"But the world won't play by the rules –," he tries to argue.

"Which makes our victories all the sweeter."

Nick leans back, furrowing his brows. If his mother won't do anything, then he has to do it. You can't attack a Hawthorne and think to get away with it. And just as Mitchell won't know what's going to hit him, neither will Gareth Carroway, he thinks grimly.

*

She's tense and taps her perfectly manicured nails against the cool glass of water, in a repetitive, idle motion.

Madison reaches to turn the page of her Vanity Fair magazine and casts a disparaging eye down an interview with the Carroways. They're leeches, Madison knows. She's heard Mother complain about them for long enough plus she knows that nobody in their right mind lends anything to the Carroways, for fear they'd get nothing back.

She drinks her glass of water; her stomach so empty Madison feels its hollowness carve out a hole within herself.

Her house is not empty. The servants are flitting about it quickly, hurrying down the stairs, trying to tidy the rooms, straighten the pillows, dust the ornaments, that sort of thing. It's a large house, with four floors, without counting the extensions, and it needs every bit of care and attention that a Sutton's standards are up to. Becky is barking out orders at everyone, her voice clipped and unforgiving.

Madison watches everything go around about her, as though she is not there. A sense of displacement overwhelms her and she's still sitting in her chair, but she feels strangely detached from herself, watching the world fall by without her. For some strange reason, Madison does not feel as though she is home.

Which is stupid, because she's at her house, isn't she?

Her chest is feeling tight and her heart is pushing in on itself, when Emily's call comes for her. And when Madison lifts herself to her feet, to get to her car, she has never felt lighter.

*

"Baby," Emily drawls, her voice dripping saccharine sweet. "You look amazing."

Madison smiles to herself, touching at the soft ruffles of her pale pink Ralph Lauren dress. "I know," she says evenly. "You too. Is that Dolce? Did Javier pick it out for you?"

Emily shakes her head, reaching across for her glass. "Oh, I forget that you missed so much over the summer," she says, letting out a tinkling laughter that Madison pretends does not sting a little. "Javier and I are no longer a thing. He just got too clingy and it was so annoying. Insecurity is such a turn-off."

Madison hums in agreement. She does not bother to ask if Emily is heartbroken because Emily's heart is crafted in ice. It will never melt for any other but herself. "How is your business, then?" she asks.

The Bishop family business is much like the Sutton family, though it holds less in revenue than the Suttons. Their specialities are in oil and transport and if they weren't such good friends, they would have been the best enemies. When she graduated school, Emily went to work for her family's business, like Madison will do, after this year.

Emily is wrinkling her nose. "It's everything," she answers, after a while, sounding curiously thoughtful, "and so tiring all at once. God, sometimes, I wish I could just get out of here."

She swallows tightly, her fingers pressing over the menu. Madison lifts her head, her forehead creasing. "Oh?"

"Yeah, God," Emily says, in a huff. "Everyone's always yapping away at me, telling me to do this, do that. I still like it but sometimes, it just gets a little..."

"Stifling," Madison provides quietly, though she makes certain to quickly look as though she is only helping Emily find the words.

Emily is thankfully oblivious and continues, nodding. "Exactly," she enunciates. "Sometimes, I can't breathe." She shakes her head a little and her gaze flickers over to Madison. "So, seeing as I'm not going to be able to attend your party to find out for myself, how's Redwood, then?"

"They all still miss you."

Emily nods. "As they should." She turns her head to her menu. "How is everyone?"

"Elliot is alright, after his altercation with the Hawthorne boy. I told you about him. Lula knows nothing about the sudden influx of fortune," she tells Emily. "Audrey is as obsessed with her boyfriend, as ever. And Maria fought a scholarship bitch with the worst shoes since crocs."

"Scholarships are always the worst," Emily agrees sympathetically. "They tried to start a food fight against Olivia Trentwood when I was there. I shut that down. We're not Americans." Madison gives a small laugh but Emily is continuing, taking out her phone. She adds, blasé, "Oh, and I looked up Hawthorne boy."

The picture of Nick on the screen startles Madison a little. She is already wrinkling her nose in distaste automatically but Emily eyes him languidly against her screen. Emily rakes her gaze slowly across the picture of his body with some interest.

"I don't know what you've got against him," Emily is saying coolly. "He's hot."

She looks like she's going to eat him.

Madison thinks she's going to throw up.

"He's an asshole," she tells Emily, in a tone of finality that implies the conversation on Nick Hawthorne is done.

"Alright," Emily says indulgently and she puts away her phone. "Speaking of assholes, no offence, but what of your father, then? What have you done against him?"

"The guards keep telling me that he comes to our house every single day," Madison says. "And he's always texting me. Stupid things like, how are you? And how's your day been?" She gives a disparaging scoff. "Like I'm some weak, desperate fool. Did you find out what he really wants, what he's really doing here?"

Emily purses her lips. "He's not here for your money," she tells Madison. "I can say that for sure because he's loaded. Like, a lot. I had some of my people and Daddy's people look into him but they just got some government notice thing." Emily shakes her head. "He'll give up sooner or later, Madison. Well, I suppose that's that, then. Onto lighter things like my new beret."

The rest of the brunch dissolves into a conversation about Emily's new beret and how she can best deal with the vicious rumours about her, before they start to speak about the best spas to go to. In the back of her mind, Madison ruminates on her father, on her friends, on her mother's company, on Nick.

*

"Greg Davenport," Audrey reads aloud, reaching to adjust her sleeve over her wrist absently as she scribbles down names in her pale pink notebook.

They are all in Madison's house, reconvening for the biggest social event of the season: Madison's traditional themed party that she throws before summer and exams breaks out all over them. It's a Sutton tradition and all generations, who have gone through Redwood Academy, have risen up valiantly to the task, each one topping the last. Madison's party for this last year will be more amazing than anyone in Redwood deserves.

"Ew, no." Maria wrinkles her nose and makes a sound with her mouth. She is sprawled out onto the carpet of Madison's room, rummaging through the embossed invitations. "He's a little bitch," she says. "Last year, he said that I had herpes because I wouldn't go out with him."

"Plus he's in Ash's group," Elliot puts in helpfully, lifting his head from his texting. He's texting three girls at once, with Lula sometimes giving him hints as to what to say. "You know what they're like. Invite one and the rest think it's fair game to barge in like a herd of elephants."

Madison leans against her cushioned chaise longue languidly as she flicks through the pages of a magazine, wondering which dress will make her look prettiest and thin. "Mother likes the Davenports," she muses thoughtfully, her finger running against the rim of her glass. When her gaze flickers across Audrey, who has stilled, Madison lets out a cool breath. "He won't be invited, though," she draws easily. "You can breathe, Audrey."

Audrey looks a little uncomfortable, squirming from where she sits, next to Maria, as red seeps into her cheeks. Thankfully, for her, the conversation takes a swift turn when Lula pads out from Madison's changing rooms, to twirl in a Marc Jacobs number. She looks utterly glorious in red, the dress rippling delicately around her waist.

Maria huffs pointedly. "The theme, Lula," she says, "is the monarchy. Royals. Princesses. Princes. History stuff."

Lula pouts. "This is the monarchy," she says and gives a pretty twirl. "I'm Princess Tiana, bitch."

But when her gaze turns to Madison hopefully, her smile fades. Madison is pressing her lips together into a thin, taut line and she doesn't even have to say anything because Lula mumbles that she's going to change, before quickly ducking back into the changing rooms. Madison leans back, satisfied, and continues to scrutinise the list of drinks she will be serving at her party.

It is to be the social event of the season and nothing must go wrong. Mother's going to be attending this one, too, along with a few of her friends, so the pressure is really on. But Madison is not too worried, even though this is the kind of thing that can either make or break you, because her organisation is impeccable and all that is left is to send out the invitations and make sure people RSVP back.

Ain't no party like a Sutton party, after all.

"Oh," Audrey says, quickly, as she taps away at her phone. "Kyle's party is coming up, too, you guys. You all have to come –,"

"No," Madison says.

"But –,"

"No."

She'd rather stick pins in her eyes than step anywhere within the vicinity of Kyle, Madison thinks, but the look that crosses Maria's face is concerning. It's the same look that graced her features after Madison had dealt the damning blow to Mike a few nights ago. Maria hasn't said anything about how she feels about it all since, but Madison still sometimes feels her uncertain gaze lingering on her, watchful.

It makes her feel uncomfortable.

Maria clears her throat. "We should go, Madison," she says. "We have to support this basic bitch, after all."

"Like you supported Eleanor Yates," Audrey pipes up, cheerfully. "Except don't send my boyfriend to jail, Madison."

"It was rehab," Elliot corrects idly.

Maria snaps her head towards them. "Who told you about that?"

"It's all over school," Lula tells her. "Eleanor doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut."

She does when Madison threatens her to, Madison remembers. Eleanor had been so close to spilling Madison's accidental confession, had been so close to telling people that Madison Sutton wants to die too, the incompetent cow. Madison had gently disentangled the girl from her group and threatened her to within an inch of her social life and not a single whisper of the subject had breached Eleanor's lips since.

"And now she's going around saying how perfect she is and how unworthy everyone else is around her," Elliot says, and his gaze rests coolly on Madison, who shrugs carelessly towards him. If it does not affect her or her friends, she's not interested. "People are calling her a cocky bitch."

"There's nothing wrong with confidence," Lula says, sounding affronted, mostly because she doesn't believe the day is done until at least three people have told her how amazing she is.

"Yeah, but that's confidence," Maria points out, her fingers slipping against the invitations. "Perfection is a fabricated concept. It shouldn't be a goal to strive towards." She lifts her head to Madison. "You shouldn't have dealt with Eleanor the way that you did, Madison."

The air around them crackles until it goes completely cold.

"What would you rather I do, then? Leave her to that drug-addled ape?" Madison bites angrily.

"You should have told her that he was supposed to treat her right, not because she's perfect," Maria says, her voice soft, "but because she's a human being."

Madison tries not to look as though she is seething inside. You do one good thing and you're penalised forever, she thinks angrily.

She really doesn't understand it.

*