If I fought him on this, I wouldn’t just lose an argument. I would lose my future career because there was no way I could complete three years of a psychology doctorate while working full time to support myself.
Imani leaned in, eyes softening. “Vi, if you let him keep doing this, when does it stop?”
It didn’t. Not until I had the qualifications to make him irrelevant.
I could fight him now, sure. But I wouldn’t win. I’d just be broke, proud, and doctorate-less.
Play along. Get the money. Get the doctorate. Get out.
I swallowed, then, with a resigned sigh, typed out my location and hit send.
Imani groaned, leaning back in her chair. “Unbelievable.”
Cleo shook her head. “You need to grow a spine.”
“I have a spine.” I grabbed my jacket. “I also have rent-free housing and a degree to finish.”
They gave me matching unimpressed looks.
I sighed. “Look, I appreciate the feminist intervention, but I’ll pick a fight I can actuallywin, alright?”
Neither of them looked convinced.
Imani raised her glass in mock toast. “RIP to your freedom, babe.”
“Took you long enough.”
I barely managed to step onto the pavement before my father threw the accusation at me, already turning toward the house.
“Right. I was controlling traffic the entire way here.”
He didn’t bother responding, just walked up the path to the house, his pace clipped and angry. I followed, smoothing the front of my jacket and checking my reflection in a darkened window. If I was going to sell my soul for tuition, I needed to look the part.
“Whose place is this?” I asked, my steps quickening to match his.
“You’ll see.”
I huffed out a breath, glancing around the quiet, upscale neighbourhood. Nothing about the sleek townhouse screamed ‘urgent Aedris business.’ No journalists lurking outside, no desperate PR stunt.
I sighed. “You’ve dragged me across the city with no explanation. I need context,Dad.”
He stopped at the door, his hand hovering over the brass knocker. He turned to me, his eyes cold and assessing, raking over my appearance like he was checking for a smudge on a trophy.
“Fix your face,” he said, his voice a sharp command that left no room for argument. “We’re here to solve a problem. Do try to look capable.”
The audacity nearly choked me. I wanted to laugh in his face. I wanted to scream that the only reason I was standing here wasbecause he held my future hostage, not because I needed his validation.
My nails dug crescents into my palms and, for a second, I let the pain ground me while I held back every biting retort locked behind my teeth.
Don’t burn the bank, Violet. Just get the money.
I clamped my jaw shut and forced my features into a mask of blank obedience. The corners of my lips curled up into the plastic smile I’d perfected at a dozen charity galas.
“Loud and clear.”
He knocked.
The door swung open, and I regretted caving so easily.
