Fabricated, page 1
FABRICATED
M.T. MORGAN
Copyright © 2022 by M.T. Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner or by electronical or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Fabricated
Edited by: Rumi Khan
Cover Designer: TRC Designs
To Nana and Aunt D, may you clutch your pearls.
Contents
Playlist
Author’s Note
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Connect with M.T. Morgan
Playlist
BAD THINGS- MACHINE GUN KELLY & CAMILA CABELLO
ZOMBIE- THE CRANBERRIES
PARALYZED- SUECO
ISSUES- JULIA MICHAELS
LEFT OUTSIDE ALONE- BLIND CHANNEL
ONLY LOVE CAN HURT LIKE THIS- PALOMA FAITH
NEVER BE THE SAME- CAMILA CABELLO
NEVER FORGET YOU- ZARA LARSSON & MNEK
LISTEN TO THE FULL UNOFFICIAL PLAYLIST HERE-
Play Now
Author’s Note
As you’re reading this book and think to yourself, “psssh, this book isn’t dark!”
I want you to think of the name of the book and keep pushing. Because it will come!
XOXO, M.T. Morgan
Chapter 1
@RayneMarshall: “When life gives you lemons, make them weapons and throw them at stupid people’s faces.”
Rayne
They say everything happens for a reason, but I’d say they’re too optimistic, too forgiving. And how does one rationalize children dying of starvation, random acts of violence taking an innocent life? How does one say, ‘everything happens for a reason,’ when a man overdoses on drugs instead of choosing to get help, when cancer continues to take so many lives, when a child dies from a heinous act of crime?
Depressing, I know, but when you come from where I have, you see things in a new light, as in there is none. I’m not a stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of girl, more of the accept-the-fate-and-not-question-it variety. Like me standing in front of this mansion. I am not questioning it.
“You’re not going to fit in here,” Jordan says as she rips her sunglasses off and drops her purse to the white marble floor. Yeah, I know.
My heart is pounding as I take in the… shit. I’m not sure what kind of stairs these ones are called, but the stairs from Cinderella? Yep, those. All white marble. Everything is white, to be honest. Off-white walls. Two-toned white marble flooring with a shine so intense you can see your reflection in it.
The house has a modern aura with its greige stucco exterior and black terracotta tile roof. Parts of the structure are in black brick and raw, dark wood. The front yard is checkered greens, the driveway paved by off-white cobblestone. I already knew the backyard had tall black beams holding up a huge pergola. Black-and-white stone holds an infinity pool that looks over a pond. Black lounge chairs adorned with striped accent pillows and throw blankets. A fire pit surrounded by beanbags, floor pillows, and swivel chairs. A tiki bar that connects to one side of the pool along with TVs. Thanks, Google.
Jordan is right, I would not fit in here. Not in this life and not in the next. I’m starstruck. I’d never seen or been anywhere like this in my entire life. Okay, so maybe I should pull the brakes here and clear a few things up. So, this is me, Rayne Marshall, I’m twenty-three, orphaned at birth. Runt of the litter, considering no one ever chose me to be adopted. Child of the States my whole life. Flunked out of college due to juggling three jobs to pay for college and housing. Poor. Broken. And down to my last chance before being homeless.
A month ago, when I was looking for work, I came across a flyer, right? I had no clue people even did that anymore! Anyway, I saw the flyer for a reality TV show. Ages 21 to 25. Check. Must not have a similar life to The Children of Nobility. Triple check.
That was it. The only requirements. And I met those checkboxes. I filled out the application and sent it in via email. For the people who made the flyers, it was unsettling for them to ask me to email it in due to, and I quote, ‘not wasting our natural resources.’
The Children of Nobility were a group of, let’s say, the rich and famous. Their parents are super rich, super important. Part of the 1%, if you catch my drift. Money so old you weren’t entirely sure where it came from. The idea of the show is to shove them all in a big as fuck house and have them live together. To show how the better half of the population lives. This is the fifth season. I’d caught a few episodes, but I would rather read than watch any sort of TV, and I guess they wanted to spice it up a bit this season. And I was the lucky person with the most dramatic trauma, the furthest thing from these kids as can be. I don’t know why they wanted someone with my brand of trauma, I just know this job pays a lot of money, while paying for my bills, as long as I’m in the show.
Perfect? I think so, but… there is this part of me that’s scared. Nervous. I have no clue what this is going to come to but…
“Rayne Marshall?” a small woman with a black pixie cut asks me.
“Yep, that’s me.” I smile as she zooms by, snapping at me to follow.
She wears a mob style suit. Purple. No, I can’t make this up. She is tiny, coming in at around four-nine, her energy polluting the air with stress and authority. Jordan marches behind me with wide eyes, pulling my other suitcase. Up the marble staircase. One, two, three, four, five different hallways. I am lucky number five. To white double doors and I… faint. That is what I want to do. Faint. But luckily, I keep it together.
“Mint green, as per your request. En suite bathroom. Bookshelves and, oh, a balcony. Also, at your request.” She snaps her fingers and two women rush to open my closet. “This is your wardrobe for the show. Hair and makeup will be here every morning. And, oh, Briggs is the name. Manager and director.”
I go to stick out my hand, but she’s already moving again out my door, and that’s when I decide I should take it in. Mint green and light pink bedding. Mint green flowing curtains by the balcony. Off-white walls. Light wood bookshelves line one whole wall with a furry white rug under a hanging chair. There are some abstract paintings on the walls, but I’m not bothered about that. I have my very own tiny library!
“Holy shit, Ray!” Jordan screams, jumping on my bed and doing slow waves of her hands.
“Hurry and go stand in front of the balcony so I can take your picture for social media.” Walking over to the balcony, I duck behind it before half my body peeks back around. A shy smile playing on my face. “Perfect!”
Jordan and I fall onto my bed laughing. My laughter slowly dies as my head snuggles with hers. Clinging to the only person who has ever been close enough to family to me. “Your life is about to change.” She squeezes my hand, smiling.
“Yeah,” I whisper as we look to the ceiling.
I made the executive decision to stay in my room after Jordan left last night. All night there was loud music and giggling. This is another reason why I requested a door with a lock. Someone even came by and rattled my doorknob and sang, “New girl, new girl, come out, come out, wherever you are.” Like, I think not.
Today is the first day of shooting. I’m nervous. But Briggs informed me to just be myself. “We want the real you. Whoever that may be.” So that’s what I’m going to do. It seemed like solid advice at the time, but the more I think about it, the more self-conscious I become. I am nothing compared to the people who live under this roof. A mere speck of dust among glittering diamonds. Unappealing and disappointing.
I take a deep breath and release it in front of the mirror. My strawberry blonde—heavy on the blonde—hair is in loose curls down my back. They kept my makeup light and chose for some unknown reason to leave my freckles exposed. Makes me authentic. My light blue eyes pop with my newly tinted lashes.
Do you know I can’t be trusted to dress myself? Crazy, considering I’ve been doing it since I was three.
I’m in a spaghetti strap dress with a small V-neck to show off my cleavage, tight around the waist and flaring out at the hips. It’s a royal blue dress, paired with strappy sandals, something I’ve dreamed of affording but never could.
I have my signature necklace on. A dragon with a tiny crown on the top of its head. It’s strange. I’d never seen anything like it, but it was given to me by my birth mother. It’s gold. Real gold from what I can tell, and I’ve never taken it off. It was around my neck when I was left at the nunnery. How cliché of my egg donor. Be more original. I could have been the first ever abandoned baby left at a donut shop or ice cream shop. Ima
“Okay, sweetie. You need to get out there,” Rhonda, my mother hen or PA—whichever—says with a big smile behind me. I return the smile, even if it’s weak.
Rhonda pushes me toward my door. I stumble before catching myself. Gently, I turn the knob and walk out, reminding Rhonda to lock this place up like Fort Knox before she leaves. Turning, I hit hard muscle. My hands rest on his pecs. His large hands envelop my waist and squeeze.
I look from his dark army boots, up his torso, pausing on his thick thighs the jeans stretch around, up his black t-shirt, then stop again on his bulging muscles. Because I’m an arm girl, yeah, I said it! Arms are so underrated, but I love good arms. His are shown off by a black sleeveless shirt. One arm completely covered in ink. His hands are covered in rings on most of his fingers. It is surprisingly hot. Continuing my journey of eye fuckery, up his neck to his sinful lips. He has a tattoo of scripture behind his ear spilling onto his shoulder. Sharp as glass jaw to his God-created nose. It’s slightly bigger but not in a bad way. Okay, fine, I also like bigger noses, and this is on my radar. A gold hoop pokes out of the left side. His black hair hangs in his eyes, damp and curly. When my eyes connect with his black ones, he curls his lip in disgust. I jerk back but his hold tightens.
“You should really watch where you’re going.” His eyes narrow as he takes me in. “Do I know you?” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, creating dormant butterflies to skyrocket.
“Well, no, I’m actually—” Cut off is what I am. Rude.
“Doesn’t matter. Stay the fuck out of my way.” And with that, he releases me. I stumble into my door, my hand over my heart as I watch his retreating back.
“Yes!” Briggs claps. “That was what I was looking for! Good job, Rayne. It takes a lot to rattle Branson Lexington, but look at you.” She smiles and my eyes widen in shock because I had no clue they were even there! How could that many people sneak up on me and I did not notice? I guess because all I could notice was Branson Lexington.
The main stars, minus Branson, are all waiting in the living room when I make my way down. Heads turn, judgmental eyes narrow. And suddenly I’m frozen on the bottom step.
“Ugh.” A girl with light brown hair rolls her eyes. “They hired a fucking ginger?” My head snaps back and suddenly I find my strength to move. “Good try attempting to cover it up with the blonde.”
I ease my way into a chair so I don’t have to sit next to anyone. Not that anyone offered. “Actually, it’s natural,” I say with a sugary smile.
“Tori, leave her alone,” comes from a beautiful mocha-colored girl with curly purple hair. They are all beautiful, but she has a freedom the rest didn’t.
Tori, who I’m gonna guess is going to be the mean girl, smirks. “The carpet won’t lie.”
“Seriously?” I whisper under my breath. My cheeks are flaming with embarrassment.
Briggs comes in, clapping her hands to get our attention. Lime green suit today, by the way. Makes her black pixie cut hair pop.
“Let’s introduce everyone, starting here.” She points to Tori. “Tori Bancroft.”
Tori has shoulder-length brown hair. Perfect porcelain skin. No freckles. No blemishes. Her body is killer on her small form. But her personality makes it hard to see the beauty in her.
“Tucker Ashford.” She points to the man with blond hair and a killer smile. He has puppy dog green eyes. Seriously. Adorable in a completely hot way. He smiles, waves, and winks.
“Josefina Rivera.” This one is beautiful with her tanner skin and hazel eyes. She has a blank look on her face while she blows bubbles. Her black hair is straight and shiny.
“Dante Marino.” He is who Michele Morrone wanted to be. Deep olive skin. Golden eyes that twinkle with seduction. He wears a white button-up shirt. Sleeves rolled, exposing his delicious skin. And cigar pants. He winks and I hear a collective sigh.
“Kalisha Hart.” The girl who stood up for me. She has double nose piercings and a thousand bracelets and rings on. She gives off this vibe about not caring, and I like it.
“Kyler Pierce.” He looks like he smells of the ocean. Long wavy hair with his flannel open, showing off his body. His skin is golden and his eyes are the deepest shade of the ocean. He runs his hand through his hair with a nod.
“Emerald Lexington.” Long black hair. Her brother's eyes. Light ivory skin. She gives a shy smile and a tiny wave. Comes off sweet.
Briggs sighs like the introductions are above her.
“Justin Wilson.” Chocolate skin and athletic shorts. Looks like he works out a lot. Beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, it kind of hurts to look at him with his brilliant green eyes.
“And this,” she points to me, “is Rayne Marshall.”
Tori laughs. “This is who you hand-picked? Seriously, Briggs.”
“Shut it, Tori.” Briggs glares at her. My heart swells. “Save it for the camera.” And drops. Damn.
“Where’s Branson?” Briggs snaps.
Tucker scratches his head. “He’s, uhm. Okay, so get this, the new housekeeper?” As if on cue, moans start coming from the kitchen.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Briggs sighs. “Lexington! It’s day fucking one. Keep it in your pants and stop fucking my staff!” There’s a dark chuckle and the girl’s moans increase in pitch.
“What the fuck did I sign up for?” I mumble.
Tucker sits on my lap and a breath leaves me from his weight. “A roller coaster of fun, Strawberry.”
He grins, plants a kiss on my cheek—unsanitary as hell—before hopping off and running upstairs.
“Well, from this moment forward, everything will be recorded. Welcome to The Edge of Nobility.”
The rest of the group begins to leave as an arm loops through mine. “Come on,” Kalisha says, dragging me to the back deck.
Chapter 2
@RayneMarshall: “Coffee was God's way of apologizing for giving you insomnia.”
Rayne
After Kalisha took me to the back deck so she could smoke and get to know me, I went to my room. Locked my door. Cried. I wasn’t going to fit in here. I knew that, but these people, they have no regard for everyday struggles. I was everyday struggles. If anything, I’ll just be the odd one out.
So, I did a full investigation and stalked all their TikToks. Branson Lexington was a toxic man thirst trap. Tucker Ashford was the cute guy who did all the dances with overly excited facial expressions. Justin Wilson was the workout hype man. Dante Marino was another thirst trap. Shocker there. Kyler Pierce did the slow motion running on the sand or surfing videos. Nailed that one. Kalisha Hart was the super peaceful stoner.
Josefina Rivera did voice-overs that made people laugh. Surprised with this one. Tori Bancroft did woman thirst traps. Of course, she did. Emerald Lexington did art. Like amazing art, her paintings jumped off the page. Her drawings looked like photographs.
They all had little checks next to their names. And me? I had to freaking make a TikTok account since that helps promo each show that premiers on Saturdays. I had no clue how they got the show edited by then, but whatever. I was here to get paid and nothing else.
