“For his image.” I grab my plate. “I know exactly what matters in this house.”
“Sit down.” Dad’s voice cracks like a gavel. “We’re not finished.”
“I am.” I head for the kitchen, my heart pounding against my ribs. “I’ll wear the blue dress tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to ruin your carefully crafted family values narrative.”
His chair scrapes against the hardwood, but I don’t look back. I know what’s coming.
I make it three steps into the kitchen before his hand clamps around my upper arm, spinning me back so hard I drop the plate and it shatters.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”
His fingers dig into my flesh, the same spot he grabbed last week. The bruise there hasn’t fully faded yet.
“You’re hurting me.”
“I’m talking to you.” He releases me with a shove that sends me stumbling against the counter.
“William—” Addison appears in the doorway, her face pale.
“Stay out of this.” He doesn’t even look at her. “My daughter and I are having a conversation about respect.”
I press my spine against the counter, hating how my hands shake. “I showed disrespect by having my own opinion?”
“You showed disrespect by acting like an ungrateful brat.” He steps closer, crowding into my space. “Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed for you? The opportunities I’ve given you?”
“Opportunities you’ve given yourself, you mean.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
His palm connects with my cheek and jaw, the crack echoing through the kitchen. My head snaps to the side, ears ringing.
“William!” Addison gasps.
“Everything I’ve built, everything we have—” His face is inches from mine now, red with rage. “—is because I’ve played this game smarter than everyone else. And you will not destroy that by acting like some rebellious teenager.”
I touch my jaw, feeling the heat bloom across my skin. Tasting copper where I bit my tongue.
“You’re twenty-three years old, Cora.” His voice drops lower, more dangerous than the shouting. “It’s time to grow up and understand how the world works. You go to law school. You build the right connections. You become what I need you to be.”
“And if I don’t?”
His smile makes my stomach turn. “Then maybe you’ll find out what life looks like without your trust fund. Without this house. Without any of the privileges you take for granted.”
He steps back, smoothing his tie like nothing happened.
“Clean up this mess. We’ll discuss your attitude in the morning.”
I drop to my knees, grabbing pieces of shattered porcelain with trembling fingers. A shard slices my thumb, and I watch the blood well up, mixing with the tears that won’t stop falling.
His footsteps fade down the hallway. The clink of ice in a glass. The distant murmur of Addison’s voice, probably smoothing things over, making excuses for him the way she always does.
My cheek throbs where his hand connected. The familiar sting that I’ll cover with makeup tomorrow, that I’ll hide behind my practiced smile while donors tell me how lucky I am to have such a devoted father.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, leaving tears and snot smeared on the sleeve of my jumper. The expensive cashmere. Everything in this house costs a fortune and means nothing.
The plate pieces clink into the trash can. I grab paper towels, blotting at the sauce on the tile, my knees growing damp from kneeling in the mess.
“Cora.” Addison hovers in the doorway. “Let me help?—”
“Don’t.” I don’t look at her. “Just don’t.”
