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  Darlington Academy, Book 1

  D.V. Eeden

  Copyright © 2020 D.V.EEDEN

  All rights reserved.

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  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters and events are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, establishments or events is coincidental. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used without the express permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in the context of a book review or article.

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  Written by D.V.EEDEN

  Edited and proofread by J Rose and Stanley Editing

  Cover design by Maria Spada

  Created with Vellum

  This book isn’t dedicated to anyone in particular, but this book started out as a little daydream I had once, my wild imagination creating another world which seemed better than life itself. I must admit, I hated reading whilst growing up, never knew why people loved books so much, but my friend once recommended a series, which I read from start to finish, and that was the first time my imagination - I like to say ' Ignited'. Now reading is a form of an escape from my depression, my anxiety, and every day that I struggled. I would lay in my bed creating worlds in my mind. So, I thought, why not write down the stories and share with the world. This book is dark, but it represents a lot of hurdles I had to face whilst growing up. I come from South Africa, and a lot of comments mentioned - be warned they are rather nasty - are what were said to me, but I faced those challenges. I take this time to thank you for the time you are investing in reading my story. A story I slightly relate to, even though this is greatly exaggerated for effect!

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  Enjoy the book, but please be warned if you do have trigger warnings, I wouldn’t recommend reading beyond this page, but if you do, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

  Disclaimer

  This book is a reverse harem, which means the FMC will end up with three or more partners.

  This book also has trigger warnings for emotional/physical bullying, eating disorders, suicide attempts/references, abuse, mature content/ swearing and drug use. So please do not read this book if you are easily offended.

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  As this book involves bullying, that does not mean I condone any form of bullying, and there will be a happy ending in book 3.

  Also this book is written by a South African/British author so references may be used that the reader may not understand.

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  This book is intended for the ages of 18 and older due to mature content.

  Unofficial Playlist

  Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance

  Call out my name by The Weeknd

  Messed up by Fredrik Ferrier,

  Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman

  Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky ‘Swan Lake’,

  I Don’t Care by Apocolyptica

  Heart shaped Glasses by Marilyn Manson

  Pour it Up by Rihanna

  Haunted by Beyoncé

  The Dope Show by Marilyn Manson

  Greatness by Don Broco

  Popular Monster by Falling in Reverse

  The Drug in me is you by Falling in Reverse

  The Kill by 30 seconds to Mars

  Mr. Brightside by The Killers

  Scream by Avenged Sevenfold

  To Be Loved by Papa Roach.

  Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana

  Bloody Valentine by Machine Gun Kelly

  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

  To be continued in…

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  ‘’Are you all set to go, hon?” Paul shouts from the bottom of the stairs as I pack the final bits in my suitcase, ready to leave for him to drive me to the airport. As I zip my suitcase shut a tear escapes, staining my already red cheeks. I haven’t been able to stop crying since realization hit me last night- I’m leaving today.

  Wiping away the tears, I pull the suitcase down from my bed and then roll it through the corridor to the top of the stairs. Taking in a deep breath, I lift the twenty-three-kilogram suitcase, and step by step I carry it down, trying not to stumble and fall flat on my face.

  “There you are, are you all set?”

  Paul comes into view, grabbing the handle when I reach the last few steps. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how he must feel. Right now, he’s acting as happy as can be, but the look on his face says it all. The corners of his lips are unable to reach his eyes when he smiles, and the sadness fills his deep brown eyes when he looks in my direction.

  “Yup, all good,” I respond, my body shaking from anxiety.

  The nerves are riveting through my veins. I keep replaying the same questions in my head, on repeat like a broken record – was this the right decision to make? Is this now my future? And will I regret this?

  Paul places his warm hands on my bare shoulders. He takes in a deep breath before speaking.

  “Look, I know this is hard, but England will be an amazing opportunity for you. It’s not every day you get invited to attend a privileged college, and it will be a great time to reconnect with your father.”

  My breath hitches as another tear escapes and falls to the ground. Why did my life have to drastically change within a few days? The few days where my mum died, and I received a call from my father who then offered an amazing opportunity for me to attend Darlington Academy. I was stunned when father called, considering the last time I heard from him was on my birthday, and even then, it was rare. But why now? Why does he want to build a relationship after eighteen years of no effort? When he offered for me to move to England and attend Darlington, my emotions were all over the place. I had a serious conversation with Paul, because he has been a father to me since my mum married him. I couldn’t wish for a better father, but he agreed that letting this opportunity slip was stupid and I would regret it in the long run.

  Unfortunately, I have no future here in South Africa, and in order to broaden my horizons, England is the best option - I was born in England after all.

  Wiping away the tears that fall, I nod in response to Paul, who unclasps his hand from my shoulder and already I feel the warmth deteriorating. He picks up my suitcase and carries it out to the car.

  Meanwhile, I walk into the living room, taking it in for the last time. The small room is only able to host two cream leather sofas, both facing the open brick fireplace, and just above it is our fixed forty-inch television. The magnolia painted walls are scattered with golden frames filled with family portraits.

  I step in front of one where my mum, Paul and I are sitting in a safari jeep, admiring the view of the animals with no care in the world. My finger involuntarily brushes against the panes of my mum’s face, admiring how beautiful and happy she was – how happy I was.

  Taking in a deep breath, I fight the urge to cry again. I can’t spend my last
moments here crying as I have been these past few days. I want Paul to remember me with a smile on my face at least.

  Walking out of the room, I make my way outside to where Paul is checking up on the car, a routine he has always completed before driving. He checks the oil, the water and the tyres, making sure the vehicle is safe to drive. My heart strings pull knowing this is the last time I will ever witness such a routine. Before, I thought it was a tedious job but now, I am admiring him. Admiring the fact that he has always put safety first, ensuring I am protected in his care.

  “Hey, are you ready?” he asks, his voice slightly breaking as he approaches me. The smile on his face does not reach his eyes. Unknown to him, I’m studying his features, taking in the wrinkles around his eyes as he smiles, his light brown shaggy hair with a few scattered greys blowing in the wind. He is always wearing a goddamn checkered shirt. He has them in every single colour.

  “I am ready” I say, my voice sounding raspy.

  I clear my throat and turn to look at my home for one last time. The little townhouse which has been my home since I can remember, but now it’s time to move on.

  The drive to the airport is silent, no words spoken between us, so I turn the radio on to break the sadness. There doesn’t seem to be anything left to be said. Paul looks brave on the outside, but during the evenings he locks himself in his room and I can hear him shed his tears. Some nights I can hear his night terrors, with him shouting out my mum’s name. I never bring this up to him, knowing he won’t be able to confide in me. He leaves his burdens before the threshold of the bedroom, a smile replacing the frown as soon as he exits the enclosed room. He always ensures that I am taken care of, with breakfast on the table for when I wake up.

  When we arrive at the airport, Paul drives through to the parking lots, grabbing a ticket from the machine so that he can pay later. He parks the car in a visitors parking bay and shuts the engine off.

  “Adelaide, your mum would be so proud of you, I hope you know that…” he whispers without eye contact, and he rushes to climb out of the car before I can say a thing. My hands start to shake, the nerves getting the better of me. It takes a while to compose myself before I climb out of the car, whilst Paul grabs my luggage out of the boot. The fresh air hits me, and I take in a deep breath, appreciating the African atmosphere and heat. This is something I will definitely miss.

  Paul escorts me all the way to the check in desk, where I collect my tickets and I notice that father has upgraded me to the first-class experience, which should be a lot more comfortable than economy. Once I have checked in my suitcase and watched it disappear into the baggage hold, I turn around and walk away.

  It’s too late now.

  Without a word, I crush into Paul’s chest, wrapping my arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly.

  I don’t want to let go.

  I can’t let go.

  Tears appear in the corner of my eyes, staining my cheeks red as they fall onto the blue checkered shirt that Paul wears. His arms wrap around me tightly, giving me a reassuring squeeze before I let go. His scent of tobacco and cloves lingers in the air.

  This is a moment I don’t want to forget.

  “It’s time, Adelaide,” he whispers with a faint smile.

  I nod in response, the words not leaving my lips.

  “This is not goodbye Adelaide, you know that. This is your chance to make a life for yourself. Enjoy what’s to come, and you never know, you might prefer it in England. You know you can always come back home if you decide to. I will always be here for you,” he says, looking me dead in the eye, and I know he’s right. I can always come back home if things don’t work out.

  Letting go, I brush the stray tears away from my cheeks, a faint smile ghosting my lips as I watch Paul smile down at me. It truly is infectious.

  Turning to leave, I walk towards the escalators to make my way through to security. As my feet land on the first step, I turn and look over my shoulder, finally seeing the tears escape from Paul’s eyes and the strings pull around my heart.

  “This isn’t goodbye,” I shout before I reach the top. I hope he can hear me.

  Inhaling a heavy breath, I look towards the metal detectors and decide that I won’t turn around again. I can’t face seeing him destroyed once more.

  The one piece of advice I would always give another would be to spend as much time with someone you love as possible. You never know when it will be the last time you see someone or be able to tell them you love them.

  One moment of happiness can always turn into a lifetime of sadness, but we learn to live with it rather than let it burden our lives.

  It’s what makes us who we are…

  Chapter One

  Walking through passport control and collecting my baggage has filled me with a bundle of nerves. I haven’t been to England since I was ten years old and the memories are flooding back. I can remember when we were a normal family, before my mum and I moved to South Africa, and my father stayed behind to run his business. My childhood was great, I loved how hot the climate was and enjoyed surfing, seeing wildlife, and not having a care in the world. That is, until a week ago when one incident changed my life.

  My mum was murdered.

  I haven’t seen my father since the divorce and our move to South Africa. Mum quickly found a new husband who was a local, and she decided that it was best that we start a new life. She was incredibly happy with my stepdad.

  Paul was a great man. Since my mum married him, he really stepped into the fatherly role, brought me up as if I were his own daughter. During my mother’s passing, Paul was there for me. He consoled me and really stepped up in being both a mum and dad.

  Holding back my tears, I picture Paul’s face when he had to tell me the news of my father moving me back to England. Paul was so distraught, one moment he loses my mum and now me. My father never once visited because of his business commitments. I was lucky if I received a phone call, but we are not close, so it didn’t really bother me until now. My great old dad has always put his business before family, so it was unsurprising that he’s decided to send me to a boarding school a few miles away from Stonewall Cove

  After entering the arrivals terminal, I notice a tall, stocky man wearing a sharp black suit and holding a sign with my name on it. “Adelaide,” he calls. “My name is Steve; your father has sent me to pick you up. He has a last-minute meeting but said that he will see you before I take you to the Academy.”

  “Thank you, Steve,” I say with disappointment. I shouldn’t be surprised my father hasn’t even bothered to pick me up from the airport. He is full of empty promises, I am not surprised by another one.

  Steve takes my bags and escorts me to the car- a Bentley - which is parked literally outside the airport doors. Just this small walk is refreshing after a ten-hour flight without stretching my legs. Father was nice enough to book me a first-class ticket, so I spent most of my time in the makeshift bed watching movies to pass the time. Steve opens the car door for me right behind the passenger seat and waits for me to get in whilst putting my luggage in the boot.

  I climb into the plush vehicle, the fresh new car smell hitting me in the face, the leather seats hugging me into safety. Between me and the front seats is a black box and when I open it, I find a mini bar, filled with tiny alcoholic drinks and two champagne glasses. This must be an added feature for posh people. Steve climbs into the driver’s seat, turns over the engine and drives us out of the airport. As we get onto the main road, I plug in my earphones, leaning my head back against the leather headrest to take a little nap. I haven’t slept for nearly twenty-three hours; exhaustion is taking over.

  “Miss, we are five minutes away from your father’s house,” his monotone voice jolts me from my nap. Steve is a really intimidating guy, reminding me of a hitman from action films. He’s wearing an all-black suit, aviator glasses and an earpiece; all he’s missing is a gun.

  It has taken nearly a three-hour drive to arrive at Stonewoll
Cove, a town I vaguely recognise. We take a left turn down a single lane road, which seems to be in the middle of nowhere. I am guessing my father has decided to move to a more remote location. We come up to a large black electrical gate which Steve has to intercom through for the gates to open. The whole property is surrounded by ten feet brick walls, obscuring the view of the mansion he resides in. We drive down a gravel road which is decorated with beautiful rose bushes along the side. Upon the horizon I can see the mansion my father has built.

  “Wow,” I whisper, my eyes wide as I take in the view.

  From the outside, the house looks grandiose, built with white bricks and marble decorations. Large French windows brighten up the house, symmetrically placed. The roof is high, triangular, and layered with stone slabs. The house itself is surrounded by a well-kept garden. Bright green grass, colourful flower patches and trees have been placed in a stylish way, making the whole scenery extravagant.

  We pull up in the courtyard, the driveway circular with a magnificent water fountain placed in the middle, a naked lady holding a serpent around her neck. She looks like Eve from the Bible, with the snake in one hand and an apple in the other. My father – the great Victor Vaughn- stands proud, hands placed in his grey suit trousers and wearing a crisp white button up shirt, matching grey suit jacket, and finished with a royal blue tie. He hasn’t aged a day since I last saw him, considering he has always looked rather old for his age. Salt and pepper coloured grey hair, cleanly cut on the sides and the top gelled back. The scowl on his face is no change, wrinkles etched into his forehead from where he frowns too much. He doesn’t look too pleased about my arrival, staring down at his watch as if this is a waste of his precious time. As Steve walks round the car to open the door, I inhale a deep breath to try and calm my nerves. I plaster on a fake smile before the door opens so that I look a little excited to see my father.