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Movement in the drawing room catches my eye, and when I look over, my stomach knots as I find my father staring back at me impatiently.
Steeling myself, I pocket my phone again and push the door open.
The sooner I get in there, the sooner this will be over… I guess.
I have no idea what I’m being invited for, but that’s not unusual. Dad hardly ever explains himself.He just dishes out the orders and I’m expected to follow, no questions asked.
But I was expecting—hoping—there would be more people here than just me.
As unbearable as his business dinners are, I prefer that than to having to spend time with just him. I’d do anything not to have to spend one-on-one time with my father. Even if it means enduring my brother at the same time.
By the time I get to the front door, the shadow of his body has vanished from the window making my stomach knot.
He’s waiting for me.
Rolling my shoulders back, I twist the handle and push the door open.
“You’re late.” His voice rumbles around the cold, silent house making my blood turn to ice.
I bite back any kind of response. It’s not worth it.
His top lip peels back as he assesses me. I’m wearing Johnathon Eaton approved black dress trousers, a white shirt, and a black wool coat. I’ve no idea what he could be offended by, but from the look on his face, he seems to have found something.
But whatever it is, he doesn’t feel the need to share. Instead, he spins on his heels and marches toward his office.
By the time I catch up to him, he’s finishing a glass of bourbon and setting the glass back down.He doesn’t offer me one. But then, he never does.
Probably too worried that it’ll loosen my tongue and allow me to say what I really think.
Although… something tells me that he’d enjoy that. Or more so the punishment that I would bring on myself.
Stalking around his desk, he lowers himself to his ostentatious chair, rests his elbows on his mahogany desk and steeples his fingers.
A unique type of hatred seeps through my veins as I stare at him.
I’m pretty sure I’m meant to be impressed by him. In awe of him and his position in his town. I know almost everyone else is.
But all I feel for him is loathing and resentment.
He isn’t a father. Not the kind that any child needs.
“I spoke with Mr Porter earlier today, and got an update on your progress as exam season approaches.”
“I already told you how it was going,” I quietly seethe, unable to keep my mouth shut.
“Yes. Well, forgive me. I wanted it from the horse’s mouth. I need assurances that you’re achieving as you should. I don’t trust that you wouldn’t try and flower it up for me. You’re just like your mother.”
My stomach knots as he mentions her.
She’s the only bit of good in this house. How she’s still here, fuck only knows.
Well, no. I know exactly why she’s still here.
She’s under his control.
She has no choice.
None of us have any choice.
