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There’s a round two promised in that gaze if I want to take her up on it.
Unfortunately for her, I never go back for seconds.
“Keep your degenerate son away from mywife,” the man barks at my father as he grabs her wrist in a vicious grip.
I’d feel worse if I didn’t know for a fact that he’s been fucking his secretary for years in this very building. This whole act is merely an effort to hold on to some measure of dignity in the face of his humiliation at his wife’s hands.
I wouldn’t go so far as to claim that what Venetia and I did was a feminist act of retribution, but female rage really is a beautiful thing.
“I apologize on his behalf,” my father tells him, inclining his head slightly, and I know those words cost him.
I know he’s going to be laying awake for many nights to come thinking about how he had to humble himself down from the high pedestal on which he likes to lord himself, and that in it of itself makes whatever punishment he’s going to unleash on me after this worth it.
“No need to apologize for me, I’m right here,” I quip from where I sit. The three of them turn back towards me. “I can apologize for myself if I feel it’s warranted.”
I give them a slow, arrogant smile and let the silence drag out after my statement, making my position clear and enjoying the way my father foams at the mouth at my obvious provocation.
I didn’t know who those two women were when we fucked, but I’m not mad at the unintentional consequences. I hope it creates upheaval within the board, I hope his company falters and eventually crumbles.
Anything to keep me from being forced into following in his footsteps within this corporate nightmare.
Realistically though, I know that’s a pipe dream. I’ve learned over the last few years that the more I resist, the more my father tightens his leash around my throat, the more he forces me to bend to his will, the more he enjoys crushing the life and freedom out of me.
But I can’t stop. I refuse to resign myself to a soulless life like my father’s but he, in turn, refuses to see reason. He’s dogged and unyielding in his plan to have me succeed him as CEO even though he has to know what a disastrous decision that would be.
This entire situation proves my point, but he’ll ignore it like he has in the past. He’ll temporarily restrict my access to my trust and will likely force me on some apology tour of the board. This will all be brushed under the rug in a fortnight and it’ll be back to business as usual after that.
There is no evading the life that he’s mapped out for me since the moment I was born, no matter how hard I try. I know where I’ll be when I’m thirty, who I’ll marry when I’m thirty five, and what I’ll name my kids.
Hell, I’m sure he’s even picked who my mistresses will be because Nobles only marry heiresses to have blue blood heirs, they certainly don’t fuck their wives for the fun of it.
I know all this because he’s already made those decisions for me. They’re all laid out in a folder named ‘Tristan’ he keeps in his office, now with a digital copy on his desktop and in his cloud storage.
He learned the lesson to backup his files the hard way when I set the only existing copy on fire on my eighteenth birthday.
“I won’t stand for this,” the man hisses at my father before stalking out of the boardroom, dragging Venetia behind him.
“Everybody out,” my father roars at the remaining onlookers.
The men seem relieved that a third woman doesn’t pop out of nowhere at the last minute and they leave seemingly pleased to have their wives, daughters, and sisters safe back at home.
I ignore the woman’s searching gaze as she leaves, my own fixed on my father’s tense back. When the last person is gone, he turns slowly back towards me and I think that maybe I’ve done it now.
He’s nearly incandescent with rage, his face mottled and nearing purple, his jaw locked tightly, and his fists clenched at his sides. He’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him and maybe now he’s finally realized that the more he tries to force this path on me, the more I’ll fight him.
Maybe he’ll admit defeat and give up.
But looking into his furious eyes, I know I’m wrong. My father doesn’t ever lose, and certainly not to his son. There’s a sadistic glint in his gaze that tells me my antics will do nothing but redouble his efforts.
“You are a disgrace,” he says, his voice even, his temper now under control as I see the beginnings of an idea forming in his eyes. “Your provocations are nothing more than mild irritants I have to deal with, but you will come to heel. I. Will.Make. You,” he announces.
I stand and put my suit trousers back on, keeping them low on my hips as I cross my arms and stare at him.
“There’s nothing you can do to me.”
“To you, maybe not,” he chirps back, his intent very clear.
I keep my face carefully blank, but on the inside my stomach twists. I have one vulnerability, one he knows exactly how to exploit, but he’s never played that card before.
