Such a pity he wasted it all onher.
I smiled. His face didn’t change.
“Oh—you’re home early, sir,” Connie said, straightening as her fork clattered against the plate. “What time would you like dinner?”
His eyes shifted to Connie. Not to me.
“Six p.m. Make sure Everly joins me,” he said flatly. Like I wasn’t in the room. “In appropriate clothing.”
His gaze dragged over me like a cold scan, from the hoodie to my boots.
I let out a soft gasp. Then narrowed my eyes at him.
So. He was still a prick.
?? ?? ??
The room had a balcony and screamed designer excess.
But instead of admiring the surroundings, I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the only photo I had of myself and my dad. It had been restored and digitised, but touching the creased old paper always made me feel closer to him. Tangible. Real.
Every time I looked in the mirror, I thanked God I didn’t take after her.
She knew I’d graduated. She knew I was coming here.
It didn’t hurt anymore.
It stopped a long time ago.
I kissed my fingertips and pressed them to the photo, then tucked it carefully into the drawer.
Everything I’d done—everything I’d achieved—was for him.
If it weren’t, I would’ve gone off the rails years ago.
I glanced in the mirror and stood.
The dress was simple. Black. £12.99 on sale. The neckline sat high, the hem just above my knees. It hugged my waist and gave me a clean hourglass silhouette. Nothing flashy. Just enough.
I wore only gloss and mascara. My hair left down. Natural.
He’d asked me to dress appropriately at his dinner table.
So be it.
I slipped on my black ballet flats and checked the time.
Three minutes to spare.
As I made my way downstairs, I realised I was glad my mother wasn’t home.
She never needed to work. She could’ve kept me close. But she always made it clear—I was a hindrance. An inconvenience.
I reached the dining room and stepped inside.
He stood near the window, back turned, lifting a glass to his lips.
I hadn’t made a sound, yet he turned around—glass in hand, eyes dragging over me with slow intent.
