“Have you ever treated her like your sister? Have you ever accepted us as your parents?” There is hurt and anger in his voice.
“Get out of this house. I don’t want to see your face ever again,” he shouts.
Zoan nods and starts walking toward the still-open door. I follow him, but Daddy grabs my arm.
“And you?”
I look at him with tear-filled eyes. “I love him, Daddy. Please stop him.”
“You love him? Can you hear yourself, Avira? You love your brother.”
Tears finally fall from my eyes. This is the thing I was always afraid of, the look in my father’s eyes that says I’m a morally-less girl who has fallen for her brother. I look down, unable to meet his gaze.
“Adopted brother. They are not related by blood, Alexander,” Mama speaks in a tight tone.
I look toward the door from which Zoan has left. It’s now raining outside.
Mama makes Daddy let go of my arm. I run toward the door, but he has already left. The lights of his car shine down the road, then vanish behind the trees.
I stay at the door until Mama comes by my side and wipes my tears. “You did nothing wrong. No need to feel shame or guilt. Your father will understand it, I promise.”
I nod.
“Now call Zo and talk with him,” she says, patting my cheek.
I walk upstairs to Zoan’s room and find my phone on the bed.
Zloban
My phone rings, the different ringtone I use for her calls echoes in the silent car. I pick up, keeping my eyes on the empty road.
“Zoan, where are you?” she asks in a small voice.
“Going to office penthouse.”
After a pause, she asks, “Are you okay?”
I hum, not liking the sadness in her voice. “Go to bed. I will see you tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to Daddy?”
“He is angry. Things wouldn’t have ended well even if I had talked back. I will come back tomorrow morning and talk to him.”
“Drive safely. It’s raining. I will call you once you reach the penthouse,” she mutters.
I hum. She cuts the call.
Suddenly, my senses go on high alert. I scan the road, trying to figure out what’s wrong, but nothing looks unusual. This stretch of road outside the city is always silent late at night.
And then my AI assistant, Vault, announces, “Zloban, there are vehicles coming from all directions. One kilometre away from us.”
“How many?” I ask.
“Ten. Moving closer.”
My phone rings. I ask Vault to pick it up. It’s Dad’s call.
“Where are you?” His voice is anxious.
