…
The car pulls up in front of a towering glass building. Holy shit. The entrance is grand, polished floors, high ceilings. My mother leads the way, her heels clicking against the marble.
I follow, adjusting my blazer because I don’t know what to do with my hands.
We step into the elevator. When the doors slide open, the space that greets us is something straight out of a high-end magazine. The office is massive. There’s dark wood paneling and modern, minimalist furniture. A long conference table sits in the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs.
Everyone looks expensive.
Everyonesmellsexpensive.
Someone bathed in cologne, and I’m offended.
What catches my eye is the view, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the whole city. For a moment, I almost understand why people choose business over therapy.
Then movement brings me back. People are greeting each other and shaking hands.
Like we are not all secretly hate each other.
"Eden, Charles!" a familiar voice says.
Gio’s mother. Claudia.
I haven’t seen her in years, but she looks almost exactly the same. Maybe a few more lines beneath her eyes, but still elegant. What am I even supposed to say to her, after all this time?
"Hi, sorry your husband died and also… your son is painfully irritating?"
Yeah, no. Perfect way to get kicked out.
Or maybe, "Hello, I’m the number-one hater of your son. Truly. I have no fucking idea how you’ve tolerated himthislong." Wonderful. I rub my face. The thing is… I never had a problem with her. She was always sweet to me. Caring.
The issue was never the mom. It was always Gio.
Gio, who managed to be an asshole to me specifically and somehow charming with everyone else. He talked to my siblings normally. Never snapped at them. Never messed with them.
But with me? He acted like tormenting me was his birthright. It’s like he was born with one mission: make Rava suffer 24/7. Literally since we were babies.
She extends a hand toward me, and I take it, offering a polite nod. "It’s been a long time," she says with a smile. "Yeah," I reply simply, releasing her hand.
As the small talk continues around me, I glance back at the view. Maybe this whole thing won’t be as miserable as I thought. Maybe I’m overreacting.
Twenty minutes later
Okay, I wasn’t overreacting. This is fucking hell.
I’m not really listening. My dad has been rambling about expanding hotel investments for what feels likehours.I sit there, spinning my pen fast between my fingers, barely even pretending to care.
"Rava?" Shit. I straighten immediately and snap back into the moment. My dad and a few others are looking at me like they expect an answer.
No clue what I just missed, but I know how to fake it, because I know my dad.
"Sounds like a solid strategy," I say, nodding. My dad seems satisfied and goes right back to talking, and I exhale quietly.
The door opens. I don’t look right away. I only notice the sudden, subtle change in atmosphere. Like someone walked in and sucked all the oxygen out with them.
I turn my head.
A tall guy, early twenties. Black, slightly wavy hair. Ink trailing all over one hand, sleeves rolled up. A helmet dangling from the other hand. Piercings. Many fucking piercings.
