We reached home after a while. The house was the same one Charlie and Renee had bought years ago, only now expanded to three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Even after all this time, it still carried the scent of familiarity—slightly worn wood, faint traces of Renee's perfume, and that indefinable, lived-in smell of a home where love and chaos had both left their marks.
Bella and I had shared her bedroom until we were six, but I had insisted on moving into the attic. It was the largest room in the house, with space enough for a private bathroom. Dad had agreed almost immediately, and I had insisted on paying for the renovations myself. I wanted my space to feel comfortable and personal, a place I could retreat to before the inevitable move to Forks. The money came from Grandma Higginbotham's will—eighty thousand dollars. I used ten thousand for the attic and left the rest untouched in my college fund. Pride and practicality drove every decision; this was my life, my domain.
Since I never stopped visiting, unlike Bella, there wasn't much to unpack. Most of my things were already there from my previous summer visits. But I wanted to make it feel more like me, more modern. I needed the house to reflect that the Swan family could thrive, that life went on, and that I wasn't some pampered, helpless child of a divorced household.
I grabbed a pen and clipboard and began walking through the rooms, noting every minor detail: the slightly peeling wallpaper, the chipped cabinet corners, the small cracks in the hardwood. Each flaw was a challenge, a puzzle to be solved before my mates arrived. Tanya and Rosalie didn't deserve anything less than a properly cared-for home. My thoughts flicked briefly to them, imagining Tanya's discerning eyes scanning the kitchen, Rosalie's perfectionist tendencies noting every detail. It would all need to be perfect.
I moved into the kitchen, noticing the yellow cabinets Renee had painted over seventeen years ago. They were cheerful but dated. I made mental notes for colors, textures, and minor adjustments. Dad came downstairs, having changed clothes, and smiled when he saw me.
"Are you planning on renovating the house?" he asked, tilting his head.
"Yes, Dad," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral but firm. "I want things organized before Bella comes back. She's… well, she's clumsy."
He grimaced but nodded slowly. "Good idea," he admitted. Then he handed me an envelope.
I opened it and was floored to find fifteen thousand dollars inside. "Dad, where did you get all this?" I asked, blinking in disbelief.
He shrugged. "Ten grand is your contribution from before. The rest… I saved. For emergencies, for… you."
I tried to insist he take it back, but he refused, ruffling my hair before heading to the sink. I sighed, resigned, and tucked it away. I would use it wisely—everything in its place, just as I liked it.
A loud honk outside pulled my attention. I peered out the window and saw a beat-up old truck pulling into the driveway behind Dad's cruiser. Billy Black and Jacob had arrived. Perfect. My least favorite people, in my space, on my terms.
I braced myself. Jacob, pouting as usual because Bella wouldn't be back for another week, scowled from the passenger seat. I didn't bother hiding my disdain internally. That boy had never understood the meaning of "no." He had kissed Bella without consent, manipulated her with theatrics about his life, and ended up imprinting on her daughter. And Billy—his father—was no better: a bitter old man, blind to logic, letting Jacob run roughshod over others, acting as though the treaty with the Cullens meant nothing. Both of them were the epitome of entitlement and arrogance, and I could already feel my patience thinning.
I descended the stairs, planting a polite smile on my face, even as my eyes narrowed slightly. "Hello, Billy," I said, voice controlled. "Hey, Jacob."
They returned my greeting mechanically. "Hi Hadrian, how are you?" Billy asked.
"Doing fine," I said.
Jacob, impatient as ever, cut in. "We just came to drop Bella's new truck."
I muttered a curt "Thanks" and quickly moved toward the kitchen. As I walked away, my thoughts were merciless. Privileged, arrogant, self-important fools. They think this world bends for them. Billy, with his smug grin, acting as though his opinion is law. Jacob, always pouting, always sulking, always assuming he can manipulate everyone around him. I hope Bella never actually needs them for anything. And yet, I'll be polite, because I refuse to give them the satisfaction of knowing they annoy me.
Once inside the kitchen, I let the clipboard drop to the counter and immediately began scanning the pantry and fridge. Food was sparse, but manageable. Mac and cheese would do for tonight. Dad watched me with a faintly surprised expression.
"I didn't know you could cook," he said, amusement in his voice.
I smirked, adding a hint of pride. "Bella can cook well too. You won't need takeout anymore."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Tomorrow, I'll visit the hardware store and the grocer. You'll need supplies for renovations." He handed me a jar of cash. "Take that for groceries. Oh, and there's a three-day police meet in Seattle starting tomorrow, so you'll be alone for four days. Do you need someone to check on you?"
"No, Dad," I said firmly. "I can handle myself. And it's good—I can get a head start on the house."
He ruffled my hair and smiled, washing dishes while I went to bed.
Lying in the attic, I allowed my mind to wander over the events of the day, letting my irritation at Billy and Jacob simmer. Every time I see that boy, I'm reminded of how much of a brat he is. He manipulates, he pouts, he kisses without consent. And his father? Encouraging all of it. The audacity to act like they're morally superior. They'll get no satisfaction from me. I'll do what I need to do, keep my manners in place, but internally… let's just say they'll remember I exist.
Even as sleep overtook me, my thoughts drifted to the future—Tanya, Rosalie, Forks. I imagined them walking through this house, their eyes scanning every detail. I wanted them to see me as capable, competent, and worthy. Every action today, every detail noticed, every meal prepared—it was all a step toward being ready for them, and for the life I was choosing.