berystraw

Erine's Library

She/They | ForeverHerron9 on Wattpad | Writer✍️ | Reader📖 | Multi-Fandom

55 posts

Love Leaves Scars: Your Move, My Riddle.

[L.L.S. Masterlist] | [G.H. Masterlist] | [M. Masterlist]

Warning: Mention of throwing up and being nauseous, Skye and Asnid having a screaming match, reader has a panic attack and faints, Skye is just being herself, and Tobias being a dickhead. (Tell me if I missed some)

Pairing: Oc!reader x Grayson Hawthorne

W.C: 1.4k

The room erupted in yells and accusations. And all of them were directed at me and Avery, but I could barely hear them through the ringing in my ears. I had my hand clutched to my chest, and my vision was blurry. My chest was heaving, and I felt myself gasp for air.

Thump.

was all I could hear.

I saw the blurry figure of Asnid arguing against Skye Hawthorne, and I tried to call out her name, but no sound came out. I tried to catch a single word that came out of the older Hawthorne's mouth, but it was no use. Her voice was simply hidden away by the loud sounds of my heart beating against my chest. My throat tightened and I felt less and less air enter my body.

"Breathe, Verity, breathe," I kept telling myself, but it was no use. It was as if no amount of reminding could teach me how to breathe. It was like I was underwater, and every intake of breath hurt and made me even more distressed.

I looked down at my hands and they were shaking uncontrollably. I stood up and felt the room spinning as I did so. I reached a shaking hand towards Asnid, but before I could get a hold of her arm, I felt my eyes close.

With one last final gasp of air, I allowed the darkness to embrace me in its warm and comforting embrace. I just hoped I didn't hit my head and bleed to death when I collapsed.

When I regained consciousness, I was laying in a king-sized bed. I blinked once. Twice. Thrice. My eyes adjusted to the bright light coming from the windows. My head was throbbing as I held it in my hands and sighed.

Once the throbbing subsided, I took in my surroundings. The walls were wrapped in a deep red color with gold intricate patterns. The floor was covered in a soft gray-white that tickled my toes as I walked around the room.

While looking around, I wondered if I was dead and this was the place I would be staying in for the rest of my afterlife.

The bed sat in the very middle, and across from it hung a big TV, possibly 55 inches. A small shelf placed below it held different kinds of books, allowing the guests of the room to enjoy and lose themselves in a reality built on words and imagination.

I was so caught up reading the titles on the spines that I failed to hear the door of my room open. It was only when I felt two arms wrap around my body and the flowery scent of the person's clothes invade my senses that I realized I was indeed alive.

"Asnid," I whispered, her name falling off my tongue so smoothly. I felt water dripping down on my neck where Asnid had buried her head. I chuckled softly and pried her head away from my neck. Her eyes and nose were red, and tears continued to stream down her face.

"I'm okay, Asnid, I'm okay," I assured her and placed her hand on my heart. A sob came out of her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. I whispered assuring phrases in her ear and gently patted her head.

It went on for a few more minutes before her breathing started to even out. She sniffled into my shirt, and I jokingly told her not to get snot on my favorite shirt. She shoved me away, laughing, her tears drying on her cheeks.

"Good thing Mr. Blonde guy saved your head before you got to hit it, I was so worried, Vers," she told me, holding my head in her hands.

"Grayson," I said under my breath. "Grayson? That's his name?"

I couldn't help but feel a warm, comforting feeling in my chest at the thought of Grayson's actions.

"Stop with the delusions, Verity," a voice in my head said, and I shook my head and closed my eyes. Focus. Focus. Focus. I repeated over and over.

"This bed feels so soft, Verity," Asnid said as she laid down and rolled around the bed in delight. I looked to my side and smiled at her as I watched her move around the bed and try to get comfortable, until something caught my eye.

There, sitting comfortably on my bedside table, was an envelope. To be specific, the envelope that the lawyers had given us before the will reading started.

The memories from the will reading resurfaced in my mind. From the moment we entered the room to the moment they'd announced me as the new owner of Tobias Hawthorne's belongings.

I started feeling the uncomfortable rumbling in my stomach. It made me sick. I felt like throwing up, but I didn't want to ruin and stink up the carpet.

"All remaining monetary assets and worldly possessions not otherwise specified, I leave to Verity Quinn Rosewood."

The words echoed in my head over and over and over again. The scenes of Asnid and Skye screaming at each other in anger, and Skye pointing her manicured finger at me, accusingly, flashed through my head. Nash and Jameson's laughter. Xander's jokes. Grayson's piercing grey eyes.

"Verity? Are you okay?" Asnid's concerned voice snapped me out of my trance. I tore my eyes away from the envelope and ran a hand through my hair, smiling at her.

I nodded at her, but her eyebrows pinched together, and her eyes continued to stare at me, utterly unconvinced of my response. "Yes, Asnid, I'm fine," I assured her with a soft smile and sat beside her.

Asnid turned to something behind me and reached for something I couldn't see. It wasn't until she placed it on my lap that I realized it was the unopened envelope.

"You should read it," Asnid nodded her head towards the envelope. She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Call me if you need me, I'll just go and check on Avery and Libby," Asnid said. I assumed the two other girls were staying in another room outside of mine.

I heard the soft indication of the door opening and closing. A shaky breath left my lips, and I reached for the envelope laying on my lap. My hands shaking slightly as I held the white paper in my hand.

Open it. Open the letter and read what he wrote.

I carefully ripped open the sealed envelope, and a card sat inside, waiting to be read. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

It's just a letter. Just a letter from the man you hate the most.

I took the card out of the envelope and read the words on it. I was expecting maybe a long explanation of why he chose me as his heir, why he chose to ruin my life again. Maybe I was hoping too much that he'd explain why he did what he did.

It was delusional. But I hoped and hoped and hoped. I was slapped awake by my own delusions.

4 words.

16 words.

"Your move, My Riddle."

No other words or letter were written on the paper. After his message, he had written his initials:

T.T.H.

I threw the card beside me on the bed and cradled my head in my hands. Anger, betrayal, and frustration bubbled in my chest. I wanted to scream and break something to let out my frustration, but I was sure it would be no use.

It would not help me in the slightest. It would not help my ongoing anger towards the now deceased Tobias Hawthorne.

T.T.H.

"Your move, My Riddle."

Riddle...

The words swarm in my head, and I could feel the pain pinching itself in my head once again. I was forced to recall all the times he called me that nickname. The number of times he used to congratulate me with that nickname. The number of times he prompted me to start my move in chess with that nickname.

"Your move, My Riddle."

My Riddle...

I hastily reached for the card again and noticed something I hadn't seen when I first read it.

Your move. My Riddle.

It was not an apostrophe, but a period.

My breath caught in my throat as the words started to make sense now.

It was an indication. He wasn't calling me "my riddle"; he wasn't just saying the phrase he used to say whenever we played chess. Now, this was no longer the chess game we played when I was younger. It wasn't just his little games we played during the weekends.

Tobias Hawthorne. Even in death, you are playing your silly little riddles.

I hurriedly ran to my door and yanked it open. "Asnid—" I began, but the rest of the words I wanted to say became air. Because standing in front of me was none other than Grayson Hawthorne.

Taglist: @whysosmugwitch

Love Leaves Scars: Your Move, My Riddle.

More Posts from Berystraw