Sterling decided to explore his new house. Mostly because he was curious about how rich he was now, but also because sitting in his room staring at his reflection was starting to feel excessive even for him.
The hallway outside his bedroom was ridiculous. Hardwood floors that looked like they cost more than a car. Paintings on the walls that were probably actual art, not prints. A chandelier hanging from the ceiling because apparently his family was the kind of people who put chandeliers in hallways.
"This is insane," Sterling said to himself, running his hand along the wall. "I'm living in a museum. A museum where I also happen to be the hottest exhibit."
He passed several doors, all closed. One had a brass nameplate that said "Mother's Study" in fancy script. Another was labeled "Library." There was a whole room just for books. Sterling had lived in an apartment where the kitchen and living room were the same space.
The staircase was wide enough to drive a car down. Marble steps, gold-plated railing. Sterling descended slowly, mostly so he could admire how good he looked doing it. There were mirrors everywhere in this house. It was like his family knew he'd end up here someday.
Downstairs was even more excessive. The foyer had a ceiling that went up two stories. More chandeliers. A grandfather clock that probably cost more than his previous life's student loans. Rooms branched off in every direction.
Sterling poked his head into what looked like a formal sitting room. Uncomfortable-looking furniture arranged in a way that suggested people sat here to have serious conversations about money and disappointing their children. He moved on.
The next room was clearly his father's office. Dark wood everywhere. A desk the size of a small country. Bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes that had probably never been read. Sterling was about to leave when he noticed the family portrait above the fireplace.
Two adults in expensive clothes looking stern and vaguely constipated. Two blonde boys standing in front of them. Younger Sterling looked about twelve, already handsome in a way that was probably insufferable to be around. The older brother looked maybe sixteen, bored and superior.
"We look like we're about to foreclose on an orphanage," Sterling said. "I love it."
He continued exploring. Found a dining room with a table that could seat twenty people. A music room with a piano that was definitely just for show. A conservatory with plants that someone was definitely being paid to maintain.
Then he found a door at the end of the second-floor hallway that didn't have a nameplate.
Sterling opened it.
The room was dark. Heavy curtains blocked out the sun. He felt along the wall for a light switch and flipped it on.
"Oh," Sterling said. "Oh no."
The room was a shrine.
Photos covered every wall. Not family photos. These were all of the same woman. Dark hair, pale skin, intense eyes. She was beautiful in a severe, dangerous way. Like she might stab you but make it look artistic.
Morticia Addams.
Sterling recognized her from the show. Wednesday's mother. And apparently his dead brother's obsession.
The photos were everywhere. Some looked like they'd been taken from old yearbooks. Others were clearly candid shots, probably taken without her knowledge. There were newspaper clippings pinned to a corkboard. Articles about the Addams family. A whole section dedicated to Morticia's wedding to Gomez Addams.
In the center of the room was a desk covered in notebooks. Sterling picked one up and flipped it open. Page after page of obsessive handwriting. Plans. Rants. Declarations of love that got progressively more unhinged.
"My brother was a psychopath," Sterling said, dropping the notebook back on the desk. "Fantastic. Great family legacy to inherit."
There was more. Dried flowers in a vase, probably nightshade based on what he remembered from the show. Maps of Nevermore Academy with certain locations circled. What looked like bomb-making instructions.
Sterling backed out of the room and closed the door.
"Okay," he said. "So Garrett was completely insane. Good to know. Great. Love that for me."
He went back downstairs, suddenly less interested in exploring and more interested in finding out what his actual family situation was.
He found his parents in the formal sitting room he'd passed earlier. They were having tea, because of course they were. Actual tea from an actual tea service, sitting on furniture that looked like it would break if you sat on it wrong.
Both of them looked up when Sterling walked in. Their expressions didn't change.
"Sterling," his mother said. Her voice was cold and precise. "You're finally awake."
"Yeah," Sterling said. "I was just—"
"We need to discuss your situation," his father cut in. He was tall, blonde going gray, wearing a suit at home like a complete psychopath. "Sit down."
Sterling sat on a chair that was exactly as uncomfortable as it looked.
His mother set down her teacup. She was beautiful in an ice-queen way. The kind of woman who'd never had a hair out of place in her life.
"Your ability manifested last week," she said. "During the incident at the country club."
Sterling had no idea what incident she was talking about, but information was filtering into his head. Memories that weren't his. He'd been at some fancy party. Another outcast kid had been there, some fire manipulator showing off. Sterling had touched his arm and suddenly he could do it too. Flames everywhere. Property damage. Screaming rich people.
"Right," Sterling said. "That."
"Adaptive Mimicry," his father said, like the words tasted bad. "You copy other outcasts' abilities through physical contact."
"We had hoped you would be normal," his mother added. "Like your brother."
Sterling almost laughed. Garrett had been anything but normal. But clearly his parents had no idea about the creepy shrine upstairs.
"Unfortunately," his father continued, "you are an outcast. This is unacceptable for a Gates."
"The family has a reputation to maintain," his mother said. "We cannot have an outcast heir."
Sterling looked between them. They were serious. Actually serious. He was their son and they were disappointed in him for something he couldn't control.
"So what?" Sterling said. "You're just going to disown me?"
"We're giving you a choice," his father said. "You will attend Nevermore Academy. Learn to control your ability. Hopefully reform yourself into someone presentable."
"Or," his mother added, "you can refuse. And we will remove you from the family entirely. No inheritance. No support. No Gates name."
They both looked at him, waiting.
Sterling thought about it. He could refuse, get disowned, and figure out life with no money and no connections. Or he could go to Nevermore, the boarding school from the show where all the plot happened.
"How long do I have to decide?" Sterling asked.
"Now," his father said.
"You've had a week to think about it," his mother added. "We expect an answer."
Sterling looked around the formal sitting room. At his cold, disappointed parents. At the expensive furniture and the life of expectations and family reputation. Then he thought about Nevermore. Gothic boarding school full of outcasts. Monsters and mysteries and Wednesday Addams walking around being weird and unsettling.
"I'll go to Nevermore," Sterling said.
His mother nodded once. "A wise choice."
"You leave tomorrow," his father said. "We've already made the arrangements."
"Great," Sterling said. "I'll go pack."
He stood up and left before they could say anything else. Went back upstairs to his room and started pulling clothes out of his closet. Everything was expensive and perfectly tailored. He threw it all into a designer suitcase that probably cost more than most people's cars.
This was insane. His parents were terrible. His dead brother had been a stalker. And now he was being shipped off to boarding school like some kind of problem that needed to be hidden away.
Sterling caught his reflection in the mirror and paused. Even stressed and packing, he looked good.
"At least I'll get to see Wednesday Addams in person," he said to his reflection. "That's something."
He went back to packing. Grabbed his expensive shoes. His silk pajamas because apparently he wore those now. A leather jacket that fit him perfectly and made him look like he should be on a motorcycle.
Tomorrow he'd be at Nevermore. The place where all the plot happened. Where Tyler was secretly a Hyde and people died and Wednesday solved mysteries while being aggressively Gothic.
Sterling zipped up his suitcase. He had no idea what his ability actually did beyond copying other outcasts' powers. He barely remembered the show's plot. His family hated him and his dead brother had been completely unhinged.
But he looked incredible and he was about to walk into a Netflix show.
"Yeah," Sterling said, checking his reflection one more time. "This is going to be interesting."