I’ve spent two years tangled in a web of despair; it’s only now that I’m on the other side that I can see it. But I also see the girl before me for what she truly is too.
“Leave me alone, but more importantly, leave my mate alone.”
I breeze past her without waiting for a response, refusing to give her any more of my time as I stomp up the stairs, faltering when I reach my floor to find Dorian leaning against the wall across from Ivy's room.
“What are you doing out here?” I grunt, and he drags a hand down his face.
“She wouldn't let me in. Ah, well, Greta kicked me out,” he admits, and I roll my eyes.
There’s no arguing with Greta. I like her too much.
“And you're sure they're in there?” I clarify, but before he can answer, a round of laughter seeps through the doorway, giving me the confirmation I need.
Exhaling, I shake my head and storm for my door instead, bathing in the darkness and silence as I let the door click shut behind me, but before I can steady my breathing and my emotions, the light flickers on and bleeds through the room.
My body stiffens as I open my eyes, and my nostrils flare at the sight of my father seated at my desk.
His jaw works from side to side as he adjusts the collar of his black shirt. His expensive, heavy watch glints in the light as he sits with his feet shoulder-width apart, his leather loafers shiny against the worn flooring.
He looks out of place.
Heisout of place.
I scour my thoughts, mentally trying to figure out where he should be instead of here, but I come up blank, just as blank as I do when I try to guess what has him here to begin with.
I haven't missed any phone calls or received any notes passed on from Coal, so I definitely didn't see this coming.
That’s just how he likes it.
Catching me off guard.
All I can tell is that he's pissed.
I can see it in his eyes.
“Father,” I mutter, and he drags his tongue along his teeth.
“Archer, would you care to guess why I'm here?” he asks, pursing his lips at me, and I muster a sour smile,
“Because you missed me,” I muse, and he scoffs.
“Don't play games with me, Archer,” he warns. “I’m not here to be amused.” His tone has been dredged from the depths of Hell, my hands burning with heat at the truth of his words. “I’mhere because I'm furious, and I want answers,” he snaps, and I cock a brow at him.
“From me?” I clarify, and his eyes narrow.
“Who else?” he bites, and my hands curl into fists at my sides as I try to contain my emotions.
“What would you like to know that I couldn't have answered over a call?” I state, and the tension rippling between us escalates as a malicious sneer takes over his face.
He rises from his seat, measured and slow as he lifts his hand, curling his fingers one by one.
In an instant, I'm overcome with pain.
My head feels like it's going to combust as I drop to my knees, hands clamping over my temples as I will the pain to subside. The sharp ringing in my ears and the pulsing of pain are impossible to fight against.
He lets his power burn through me for a few more moments before it subsides.
“Stand,” he barks, and on wobbly feet, I follow the order, rising with a heavy head. “Why did you go home?” he grunts, and my eyebrows furrow deeper.
