I need to get to the warehouse. Need to finish this and move on. But after overhearing my father mention the idea of institutionalizing me, I don’t push back as hard as I used to.
Opening the door, I toss my bag into the backseat and climb into the driver’s seat, the leather cold against my legs, even through my jeans. I send a quick message to the dealer, canceling our meeting.
After tossing my phone onto the passenger seat, I start the SUV. The ignition roars to life, and I pull out of the lot, leaving the others behind.
The drive back to the mansion is quiet, the low hum of the engine the only sound as I navigate the empty streets. Most people are still out of town for the holidays, leaving the streets of Crestwood deserted. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my head.
When I finally pull into the circular driveway, the sight of the house, even after all these years, irritates me—all stone and glass, pristine and perfect like everything else in my father's world.
Except for me.
I park next to my stepmother's Mercedes and get out. After climbing the front steps, I shove the front door open and step inside. Voices drift from the living room, and I follow them. But when I turn the corner I stop dead in my tracks.
Merci.
He’s sitting on one of the Italian leather couches, his legs crossed casually. His lavender eyes flick to me, sharp and calculating, and then he smiles. “Hello, brother.”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might crack. How the fuck is he here? Who—
"Zach," my father's voice cuts through my thoughts. He sits in his leather armchair, looking pleased—too pleased. “Your brother has finally come home."
"Stepbrother," I correct automatically, my voice flat.
Evelyn rises from her seat beside Merci, her face glowing with happiness. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"How fortunate. Let’s throw a fuckin’ party.”
Judging by the looks on my father’s and Evelyn’s faces, my words land like a grenade. But Merci snorts a laugh and leans back against the couch.
“Actually, I didn’t plan to be here, but sometimes you gotta surrender to the tides of life.” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it.
I look from him to my father to Evelyn. Our parents’ expressions don’t show any hint they know how Merci got to New York. They just look . . . happy.
Relieved.
He didn’t tell them?
Evelyn looks at her son again, brushing some of his black hair behind his ear. “Mrs. Novotny found him and brought him home.”
Fuck!
This day just keeps getting worse. And now the storm of emotions inside is spiraling out of control. My temples throb, my heart beating wildly.
My father looks at me and his smile falters, like it always does, and something inside snaps.
I grab the nearest object—a crystal vase full of roses—and hurl it against the wall. The crash is satisfying, the shards scattering across the floor like broken promises.
Evelyn jumps, her hand flying to her chest. "I'll just . . . take Merci to the kitchen. Get him something to eat." She touches his shoulder gently. "Come on, sweetheart."
As they pass, Merci leans close, his breath hot against my ear. "Can't kill me now. Especially since Viktor's mom brought me home. She'll skin you alive if you even try."
My hands curl into fists, but I don't move. Mrs. Novotny and my stepmother are good friends, which means I’m fucked. I’ll need to call Viktor later. Come up with a new plan.
"Zach." My father's voice has an edge to it. "Sit."
"No."
"This vendetta needs to stop." He runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
