Her Shame: A Dark Bully Romance (The Forgotten Elites Book 1)

  Her Shame

  The Forgotten Elites Book One

  Eden Beck

  Her Shame by Eden Beck

  © 2021 Eden Beck

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of including brief passages for use in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For permissions contact:

  authoredenbeck@gmail.com

  Ebook ASIN: B08SPWS2NK

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  A Note From The Author

  Also by Eden Beck

  Prologue

  This has to be a test. Because otherwise God has a sick sense of humor.

  The anticipation had been building for weeks. First, it was the little notes he’d leave on my papers. Harmless words on their own.

  But strung together …

  “I expect nothing less from you, Aubrey.”

  “This was almost as brilliant as you’ve proven to be.”

  Then, it was the extra few seconds he’d linger at my desk, as if he had something he wanted to say but just couldn’t get out. His green eyes would set on mine as he handed me my assignment, and I’d feel my heart hit the back of my throat for a second.

  But now, this was something else entirely.

  It was hardly as innocent as it appeared. I knew it. He knew it.

  All that remained was for something to be done about it. Something that shouldn’t be done.

  The next note seemed innocent enough, or would seem innocent … if it was from anyone else. To anyone else.

  Come and see me at the end of the day.

  Still, despite the flutter in my stomach and the way my heart lurched to lodge once again at the back of my throat, I thought it couldn’t be anything else. It had to be something innocuous, right?

  Girls like me … they just don’t get wrapped up with guys like him.

  Not really.

  Not when he’s basically a teacher and you’re just another Catholic schoolgirl … and your life isn’t the intro to an adult film.

  Or so I thought, right up until the moment I found myself alone with him. And in that moment, I found my body moving to fill the space between us, heard his words of praise for one of my class poems faltering on his lips as something else moved into their place.

  My lips pressing to his.

  It was the crooked smile that did it. The way he leaned against the desk, his arms folded across his chest as his weight shifted beneath him—his green eyes alight in a way that told me he was not here to discuss my English lit homework.

  But then, neither was I.

  In that moment, something came over me.

  As if being controlled by some unknown force, I watched as my hand reached up from my side, slipped around the back of his neck and pulled his lips straight into mine.

  I expected him to immediately jump backwards, appalled by my forwardness.

  But he didn’t. He lingered, his soft lips responding to mine. Ben Haverdy—the gorgeous twenty-something teacher’s-aide fresh out of college or seminary or wherever it is they fetched him from—didn’t draw away.

  No. He kissed me back.

  And the way he kissed …

  I lost myself for a moment in the feel of him—his body hungrier than mine, the scent of his cologne sharp in my nostrils, the rush of blood to my head. Lost for just a moment.

  But a moment too long.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

  The sound of the nun’s scream sent me back down to earth with a meteoric thud. Ben leapt backwards like he’d been bitten by a viper as I spun around to see Sister Catherine standing in the doorway, several books strewn at her feet, her face red and bulging out of her habit collar like an enraged tomato.

  I turned back to Ben, who remained pressed up against the desk, white as a sheet and attempting to catch his breath. He glanced between the two of us—a startled nun and an equally startled schoolgirl— and for once, he seemed unable to find the flowery words that otherwise seemed to spring so easily to mind.

  “You, silly girl,” he spluttered out, “look what you’ve done.”

  Fuck, well, here goes.

  I looked once between Sister Catherine and Ben, before I let out a long sigh. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well for either of us.”

  It was that moment that Ben Haverdy’s eyes alighted on mine, a look of betrayal on his face … and for a moment, I did feel guilt.

  Until he opened his mouth again.

  “Have you no shame?”

  I stared up into his face then, the last inklings of guilt disappearing in the pit that my stomach had become. I should have been contrite.

  I should have played the victim.

  But that isn’t what I did.

  Instead, I spoke my mind.

  “No,” I said, sourly, “because, after all, I’m just a silly girl.”

  A silly girl, indeed.

  God only knew what fresh hell would come next.

  Chapter One

  As the car passes through the towering stone and iron gate, I wonder if this is how prisoners feel that first day in captivity—like they’re passing through a portal into some sort of pocket-dimension to the “real world.”

  Or maybe it’s the other way around.

  The car skims down the long, winding driveway that snakes its way through the manicured lawns, the rolling sea of green nearly making me seasick. It’s become a common feeling as of late.

  Ever since …

  I don’t want to think about it.

  At the end of the drive, a fortress-like building comes into view. Ridgecrest Reform Academy, the most exclusive reform school that money can buy.

  Its huge stone turrets and gothic carvings add a nice foreboding touch, like you can deposit your unwanted spawn here and they will emerge the perfectly posh and pressed young ladies and gentlemen that they were supposed to become.

  How they even think that’s possible is beyond me. We’ve all been learning the finer arts of alcohol consumption and erratic behavior since all our Daddies and Mommies first fell out of love.

  The car pulls to a stop in front of the huge oak doors, and I stare up at the stone walls towering above me. They feel old and stoic, like they’ve always been here, allowing hundreds of young peop
le like me a brief moment in time inside of them before vacating our spot to the next in line.

  And here I am, two days after my eighteenth birthday, wearing the same worn checkered skirt and collared shirt that itched against my skin through every endless lecture on the virtues of the saints by Sister Catherine. I thought by now I’d be lounging on the grass in the sunny quad at Brown, tight jeans hugging my thighs without a nun in sight to lecture me on the virtues of modesty.

  Instead, it’s just another year of stuffy halls and herringbone knits. I hope they bury me in herringbone as a memorial to the thousand deaths of my dignity that it’s caused throughout my short life.

  My father turns and looks at me, the expression on his face making me wonder—just for a second—which indignity is currently on his mind.

  “Well, this is your stop I believe,” he says in that awkward, dad-joke kind of way. It’s almost heartwarming. Almost.

  It would be a lot more heartwarming if he hadn’t just spent the last two months alternating between giving me the silent treatment—like my mother—and shouting at me until I swore my ears were going to bleed. It didn’t matter that up until my little ‘slip of tongue’ just weeks before graduation, I’d never so much as come close to toeing the line.

  I was a model student.

  A model daughter.

  But then again, maybe that’s why everything came crashing down. I should have eased them into things instead of jumping in head first.

  But that’s not how things work. It’s all or nothing. Saint or sinner. Well, welcome to hell, I guess.

  I open the car door and my father pops the trunk open to retrieve my luggage. As he pulls it out, the big oak doors open and a small, thin woman emerges, dwarfed by the size of the structures around her. She’s dressed in a smart pantsuit with a giant, sparkling brooch in the shape of a bee. Her wispy black hair is streaked with white and pulled back in a tidy bun.

  Compared to her, I look like I’ve just been dragged out of a gutter somewhere.

  My father and I ascend the stairs and she looks me up and down, obviously coming to the same conclusion.

  “Aubrey Newport?” she asks, still scanning.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I reply, attempting to tug the hem of my skirt another inch lower to save my knees from her piercing gaze.

  “Well then, welcome to Ridgecrest Academy. I’m Ms. Hopkins, the administrator. Follow me and we’ll get you squared away.”

  She suddenly stops and whirls around—palm outstretched. “Ah, before I forget, you need to surrender your phone.”

  I stare at her blankly for a moment until she makes a little beckoning motion with her fingers. Even then, I glance from my father to her several times before my father nudges me into cooperating.

  As soon as her fingers have curled around the device, she whips it away and drops it into a plastic bag labelled with my name.

  “Perfect. You’ll get it back if you visit family on the weekends, but not before then,” she says with one last curt nod at my father. “Anyone who needs to reach you can call the main line.”

  With that she quickly turns and heel-toes her way back into the cavernous building.

  I know I’m expected to follow her, but my feet feel like lead planted to the sidewalk.

  My father turns to me and sets down my luggage.

  “I think it’s best I leave you to it here. Remember, this isn’t some gap year vacation. It’s an opportunity to set things back on the right track,” he says. His eyes are stern with just a hint of pleading. Maybe more than a hint.

  Last chance, he means. Last chance to be the shining family gem.

  “I’ll do my best. And I don’t think anyone could mistake this place for a resort,” I scoff, then immediately try to soften my face to help take the sting out for my father’s sake. It doesn’t stop me from taking another quick look up at the intimidating façade, however.

  He pulls me in for a quick hug and then turns and heads back toward the car. I look the other way, toward the cavernous hall that lies beyond the doors, the figure of Ms. Hopkins shrinking at its far end.

  Well, here goes nothing. What can possibly happen in a year?

  Certainly nothing worse than what already has.

  Right?

  Ms. Hopkins’ office smells of rich, oiled mahogany. Everything in here has weight, from the massive desk to the huge paintings of long-dead faces, even the air feels like it hangs on my shoulders as I sit in the stiff, wooden chair. Ms. Hopkins peers at me from across the desk.

  “You’ll be in Mason House, one of our ladies’ dorms. I see in your file that you’ve come to us after an unfortunate incident with a gentleman at your previous school, is that correct?” she asks flatly.

  I feel myself stiffen.

  Funny way of saying “snogging the teacher’s aide,” though it’s certainly preferable to outright calling me a …

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her shrill voice cuts into my thoughts, obviously impatient.

  “Here at Ridgecrest we have strict rules regarding any socialization between the gentlemen and ladies. Absolutely no gentleman guests in the ladies’ dorm under any circumstances. Curfew is nine, lights out at ten.”

  She shuffles the papers on her desk back into their manila folder. “You will have weekly appointments with our school counselor who will address any concerns that may arise, from your schedule to any personal matters that may need attending to.”

  She stands up straight and I lift myself out of my chair as well. She stands at barely my height but she has a powerful presence that makes her feel as if she’s towering over me. She steps around the desk and we meet eye-to-eye.

  “Miss Evans, our goal is that you leave here as the proper lady you are designed to be. However, that process will require your total participation in order to be successful. Are you going to commit yourself to this improvement?” She asks sternly.

  Oh, come on, do you really expect anyone to answer that honestly? Fine, remember, this is about treading water.

  I don’t have to actually do anything. That’s the point.

  I just have to make it through to the end of the year, then I’ll be let out of this purgatory and be allowed to move on with my life.

  “You don’t have to worry about me, ma’am. I understand,” I reply as sweetly and sincerely as possible. I think I must be somewhat successful because her face slightly softens.

  That, or maybe the other students here are a little more “rough around the edges” than I thought.

  “That’s good to hear, my dear. Alright, let’s get you settled in and changed. There is a school uniform to your measurements in your room. Once you’ve changed and stowed your luggage, there is a student assembly to attend. I’ve arranged for one of our prefects to show you to your room.”

  She stops for one second, before turning back to eye me a little warily. I know, somehow, what it is she’s going to say before she actually says it.

  “You are aware of the terms of your stay here, are you not?”

  I open my mouth to reply, only to shut it again as she continues. Apparently, she wasn’t actually asking for an answer.

  “I’m not sure if the sisters at that school of yours made it clear, but they do expect you not to tell anyone the details of what got you sent here in the first place,” she says, carefully. “They were very adamant about that when they signed over your tuition check for this first semester.”

  It’s all I can do to keep my tongue in check behind clenched teeth.

  As they keep reminding me. As everyone keeps reminding me.

  My family might be catholic school rich, but we’re apparently not Ridgecrest rich. I’m interested to find out what other crimes have destined the rest of the students here to one more year of nanny school.

  “Oh,” I say, after a moment once I’m pretty sure what’s about to come out of my mouth isn’t going to get me immediately expelled, “they’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  “Good,” she says,
nodding once as she takes my file and turns to place it in a locked cabinet. A cabinet, I note, that is separate from the others. “At the request of Sisters of Virtue, your file will be sealed. No one should have access to it other than yourself. This is your chance for a fresh start, Aubrey. I really do hope you make the most of it.”

  She nods once, apparently satisfied, and finally heads to the door—only to find a girl standing directly on the other side of it when she throws it open.

  She appears to be close to my age, so another student then. She has long, reddish hair and sharp blue eyes hidden behind the frames of square glasses balancing on her nose. She’s dressed in the school uniform, her jacket and skirt perfectly tailored and pressed.

  She looks like the girl that sits up front every single class. That perfect little straight-A student that you get to hear about from your parents every time you screw up. “Why can’t you be more like her?”

  The thought immediately begs the question, of course …

  What’s she doing at a place like Ridgecrest?

  “Ah, yes. This is—” Ms. Hopkin’s starts, but unlike me, this girl now in front of me seems unafraid of cutting her off.

  Then she steps toward me and extends her hand.

  “I’m Bridget. Welcome to Ridgecrest Academy! What’s your name?” she asks in an almost too-sweet tone. “I’ll be showing you around. You know, making sure you get settled.”

  It reminds me of my own tone earlier, when promising the administrator here that she has nothing to worry about from me.