Chapter 9 - cesspools in eden

“Heyyy daddy! Guess who settled into their suite and is stoked to see you? I’ll give you a hint: it’s your favorite daughter!”

If he had not already checked the caller ID, Chapman would have known Felicity by the grating squeal of her voice. Its cadence was usually bright and soothing, but regressed into a grating, girlish whine whenever she had his ear. The tactic had lost its charm well before her twelfth birthday, and had only grown more distasteful now that she was 25.

Her puerile fawning was no longer cute or endearing, if it had ever been.

Chapman audibly sighed and raked his nails across the nape of his neck, “You are my ONLY daughter, Felicity. So happy that you made it.”

Felicity brushed a bronzed hand through a wave of tawny hair, pulling her pillowy lips into a childish pout as she sprawled out on her bed. Her well-muscled body lay flush against her mattress, hardly making a dent in the memory foam. She kicked up her legs, the fullness of her heart-shaped ass straining her salmon gym shorts. The matching sports bra cradled her 34A bust, uniquely soft amidst the trim musculature of her torso. Felicity’s backside was softer still, her generously rounded hips appearing almost out of place, flaring out from the fatless taper of her waist. Aside from these two considerations, the rest of her body was all tone and discipline.

Her dark brows furrowed as the gray-blue of her otherwise inviting bedroom eyes turned contemptuous and bloomed with frost. “You know that’s a lie, daddy, but I can’t stay mad at you, anyway! As long as I’m your favorite and that little vulture isn’t in your will, I’m peachy! Promise.”

Chapman could feel his teeth grinding down to their nerves, even as he tried to hold his jaw still with one hand. He had been so careful, had calculated every aspect of Felicity’s upbringing, but he could only endure her with marginally more ease than suffering through any interaction with Scarlett. He had not been all that inclined to adopt, but his last wife had worn down his defenses. Chapman’s ex was plenty convincing (especially while he was still inside her), and he’d come around on the idea of “building his brand”, as she had put it. A ghoulish motivation for adopting, granted, but any ethical argument for the practice would have repulsed him immediately. His empire needed an heir, a future — anything to further his legacy. But while his then-wife had been riding him and plying him with promises of immortalizing the Chapman name, the deciding factor was ultimately buried to the hilt in his ex’s expertly sculpted body. It was a done deal.

He spent the next six years in agony over that split second lapse in judgement. It was the last time he allowed himself to think with his lesser head, so to speak.

Chapman was ill-equipped for parenthood, as anyone would have predicted, and only invested enough time in little Felicity to ensure she would bring no shame upon him. It wasn’t until his marriage deteriorated that he saw an immediate use for the tiny beast: vengeance. Love cannot be bought, but a child’s loyalty? Oh, it had been such a simple task to turn Felicity against his ex! The child she had craved so desperately wouldn’t even stoop to speak to her if he could help it. Consequently, Chapman did not mind pouring hundreds of thousands into some orphan if it meant sticking it to his bitch wife, but this lapse, too, did not go unpunished.

Felicity had grown from a spoiled and blindly loyal child to a clingy, needy, fanatical woman. Fortunately, having spent her life in close proximity to Chapman’s world of excess and ruin, she at least knew how to not tarnish his image. Scarlett was cutthroat, but a loose cannon. So he had taught Felicity to play the game, and properly, to guarantee she’d steer clear from his dealings until he was good and dead. She’d make a fine figurehead for his brand, and that’s all he needed from her.

He could rest easy, six feet under and blessed with silence, while the Chapman name persisted.

Until then, though, he had the burden of play acting as a father. It was only an occasional phone call, but it still sickened him. Felicity’s slavish affection was incredible leverage, but maintaining it only reminded Chapman of the yawning crevasse he possessed where most others had a heart. God, the tenderness she craved, and for what? His platitudes could not pay rent or gain interest or purchase a single stock option, so what spawned her obsession with receiving trivial praise? At least Scarlett spoke in cheques and transfers, not forced smiles and feigned sweetness.

Lost in his compounding frustrations, Chapman spoke thoughtlessly for the first time in over a decade.

“You worry too much, Felicity. Your parasite of a sister has already proven herself to be an embarrassment. I trust you’ll be better behaved, here. Understand that my invitation is not given lightly. You are here as a Chapman above all else. This island is an invaluable asset. I need you focused.”

“Yessir! As if I haven’t been prepping for this like crazy. We only really talk on holidays, so I knew you had an extra special mission for me! I am so so so psyched, daddy! My socials are positively buzzing already. Bacchanalia is primed to be the top resort for, like, ever!”

“I’m counting on you, Felicity. This place is the future — our future.”

*beep*

Felicity yelped as she flopped onto her back, carelessly tossing her phone away while her mind raced with possibilities and body blazed with eager energy. She bit her lip, slender fingers tracing her chiseled abs — she was in bliss, but only for a moment. Chapman, in a rare display, had shown his hand, and in the next second it all sunk in.

Her father scarcely ever spoke of Scarlett. She must have really fucked up for him to mention his bastard child by name, and to her! Chapman abhorred gossip, so the stakes had to be pretty damn high for Scarlett to get under his skin like that. And what higher stakes than the fate of Bacchanalia?

Scarlett had been an embarrassment

Scarlett had been here first.

Scarlett could still be on the island.

Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. How had she connived her way into daddy’s deep, deep pockets this time? Always one step ahead! It wasn’t fair! Scarlett had been exposed as a pathetic failure, sure, but it still stung to know she was sharing in her birthright, her paradise. Felicity refused to be upstaged, her claim to the throne upended. She’d protect her father from that money-grubbing, scum-sucking leech — come hell or high water. Felicity may have been dimly aware that Chapman was fully capable of keeping Scarlett at a distance, but how could she resist the siren call of petty revenge veiled by the noblest of intentions? The self-righteous high was too good not to ride.

She had to hunt down Scarlett immediately. Focus be damned. Pleasure before business.

It wouldn’t be difficult to pin down that arrogant little whore. She was slippery, but too vain for an alias. Definitely not in good enough graces with their father to be lodged within the palace, but she had to be close. There were countless suites perched upon the terraces, but Scarlett was certainly hiding out in one of them. Most of the outer croppings of properties were brimming with tourists already, but the suites closest to Chapman’s personal estate were reserved for his entourage and his favorite daughter. Likely one was reserved for his totally inferior daughter, too.

Felicity sprang from the bed, grinning wildly. Yes, she’d have a trek ahead of her, surveying all those sprawling accommodations, but she could use the cardio to burn off steam. Before too long, she’d have her prey cornered. Bacchanalia was basically a sovereign state, right? Or it would be, at least, once her father put his plans fully into motion. Would it be so bad if Scarlett just… disappeared? Chapman would quash the controversy swiftly, and the staff would obediently turn a blind eye to any foul play.

So much blood he spilled in the name of his paradise.

No one would notice if she added a few more drops.