RAINE DROP (BELMONT)
The Belmont "old house" wasn't so much a house as it was a monument to generational wealth. It had an old-money architectural grandeur that made Grandma Nettie's luxurious lake house seem like a quaint cottage in comparison.
Marble floors stretched out like frozen rivers, polished to such a high shine that I caught my own reflection scowling back at me—disheveled and bruised (Grandma Nettie fought dirty).
Chandeliers dangled overhead like crystal spiders, each one probably worth more than the average person's yearly salary. The walls were lined with portraits of dead Belmonts, all of whom seemed to be judging me from beyond the grave. "Ah, Raine," their painted eyes seemed to say, "do you think you really belong to this family?"
Not really. Because the only family I'd ever had was my grandmother, and she wasn't going to be in the world for much longer.
Speaking of Grandma Nettie...
