The Velvet Parasite Chapter 1

The evening study seminar had just let out, the autumn chill biting through my blazer as I walked toward the black Bentley purring at the curb of Briarwood Academy. Before I could reach for the door handle, the tinted rear window glided down with a whisper of German engineering.

Piper Mercer leaned against the leather upholstery, one manicured hand draped possessively over the arm of her new boyfriend, Zachary Brooks.

She looked past me, directing her voice to the front seat with an air of practiced indifference.

"Thomas, Zach is coming over for dinner tonight. Don’t unlock the door for her." She paused, letting her gaze flick to mine, heavy with theatrical pity. "A distant cousin living off my family’s charity shouldn't expect a private chauffeur every single day, should she?"

A ripple of low, smothered laughter broke out among the seniors lingering on the stone steps behind me.

Zachary frowned, his handsome, patrician face twisting into sharp irritation as he leaned across the console to lecture me.

"Sloane, when you’re living on someone else’s dime, you ought to know your place. Don’t make things awkward for Piper."

I stood on the curb under the yellow glare of the carriage lamps, watching my family’s car, driven by my family’s chauffeur, pull away into the dusk—carrying an imposter who had crowned herself an heiress and the social-climbing prep-school prince she had just reeled in.

In that quiet, absurd moment, an involuntary laugh caught in my throat.

I had kept my head down for so long, trying to navigate this world without the suffocating baggage of my family’s name, that someone had actually convinced herself she could slip into my skin and wear my life as her own.

* * *

A few girls from the equestrian team slowed their stride, whispering behind their cashmere scarves.

"Does she seriously think Piper’s family owes her a ride?"

"I heard Arthur Mercer only houses her because of some tragic family favor. The sheer audacity."

"Piper has the patience of a saint. If some freeloader tried to leech off my house like that, I would’ve thrown her onto the street months ago."

I turned my head and met their eyes.

They flinched, instantly looking away, their voices climbing into forced, bright laughter as they pretended to debate where to get lattes before curfew.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a direct extension.

The line clicked on the second ring.

"Mr. Henderson," I said, keeping my voice level and low. "Thomas just altered the pickup protocol without my authorization and left me standing at the academy gates. Call him and have him bring my car back. Right now."

A beat of sharp, stunned silence fell over the receiver.

"Miss Sloane? Please remain exactly where you are. I am contacting him immediately."

Ten minutes later, the Bentley’s tires crunched aggressively over the gravel drive, coming to a halt in front of the main archway.

The door swung open, and Piper stepped out first.

Her lower lip trembled, her eyes rimmed with artful red, perfectly staged for anyone still watching from the courtyard.

"Sloane, was that really necessary?" she whispered, her voice cracking just enough to sound wounded. "I was teasing you. It was a joke, and you actually went crying to Mr. Henderson?"

Zachary climbed out right behind her, his jaw clenched, his posture radiating chivalrous indignation.

"Are you truly this bitter, Sloane? Are you that obsessed with snatching whatever belongs to Piper? It’s a car ride. God forbid she asked you to take a fifteen-minute shuttle so she could have a private evening."

Thomas, the driver, stood beside the open door, his face drained of all color, his knuckles white against his trousers.

I looked at him.

He dropped his gaze to the asphalt, his voice barely audible. "Miss Sloane, I am so sorry. Mrs. Mercer told me Miss Piper required the vehicle for a personal guest this evening. I assumed—"

"Who is Miss Piper?" I asked.

Thomas’s mouth worked silently. He didn't dare utter another syllable.

Piper’s composure cracked, a flash of panic cutting through her rehearsed sorrow. She stepped forward, reaching out to clutch my wrist.

"Sloane, stop making a scene, please," she murmured under her breath, her grip tightening until her nails bit into my skin. It was half a plea, half a hissed warning. "You know how many years my mother has given to your family. Are you really going to humiliate everyone over something this trivial?"

I ripped my arm from her grip.

I didn't tear into her on the sidewalk. Not yet.

Not because of her, but because of her mother, Helen. Helen had managed our domestic staff for thirteen years, cooking my meals and washing my sheets since I was in grade school. Her husband had passed away when Piper was a toddler; my parents had felt sympathy for a widow raising a daughter alone.

I slid into the back seat without another word.

Piper didn't speak for the entire drive through the gated roads of the estate. Her thumbs flew frantically across her screen, texting in furious bursts.

When the car pulled up beneath the stone portico of the main manor, Helen was already waiting outside the double mahogany doors.

She bypassed me entirely, rushing to catch Piper’s hands, inspecting her daughter from head to toe with frantic, suffocating concern.

"Piper, sweetheart, what happened? Did you get upset? Did someone make you feel small?"

Only then did she turn her eyes on me, the disappointment in her gaze heavy and sharp.

"Sloane, I don't like speaking to you like this, but Piper had an important dinner tonight. Couldn't you have yielded just this once? You’ve had every luxury handed to you on a silver platter since the day you were born. She asked to borrow the car for an evening. Why must you count every penny with her?"

I looked at her.

The face I had looked at across breakfast counters for over a decade suddenly felt grotesque, warped by a strange, creeping greed.

"Helen," I said quietly. "That is my family's car."

Her breath hitched, her jaw tightening, before she smoothed her features into a dismissive sigh.

"Listen to you. Why must you speak so cruelly? Your father’s surname is Mercer, and Piper’s late father was a Mercer as well. To anyone outside these gates, we look like one family anyway."

Piper gave her mother's cardigan sleeve a frantic tug. "Mom, stop."

I walked past them without answering, climbed the curved staircase to my bedroom, and pulled out my phone to text my mother.

Mom, Helen and Piper have lost their minds. When are you and Dad flying back from Zurich?

My mother’s response arrived within minutes.

Next week, darling. Don't let them rattle you. Mom will handle it the second wheels touch down.

I stared at the screen, letting the soft glow illuminate the quiet room.

What I didn't realize then was that Piper couldn't wait until next week.

She had already woven herself so deeply into my skin, into the tapestry of my life, that in her twisted fairy tale, I was the only loose thread left to burn.