“You feel out of control,” he interrupts softly, understanding dawning.
“Exactly,” I admit. Before I realize it, I’m sinking back into the chair. God, my head’s a mess.
Dr. Smith leans forward, watching me carefully. “Luca, we’ve been through this. You know control isn’t always something you can hold in your hand.”
Except it is. You just heard me say it, Doc.But I don't voice that out loud. Instead, I nod quietly. “I need to know her location to stay focused. We're very close to overtaking our competition, and I can't afford distractions.”
When I say "competition," I mean the Collins Lozano Group—specifically, Troy Lozano, the CEO, my nemesis; yeah, I have a nemesis. I plan on burying him deep in the Atlantic. The latest financial predictions suggested Lozano's group would triple its earnings, leaving Property Group stagnant. That can't happen. It’s not just about my competitive siblings, either. I need to be the best in Florida. End of story.
That's why I hired a damn marketing firm.
“I understand,” Dr. Smith says gently. “But these small shifts—these compromises—are exactly what you need to surf through the chaos if you can't avoid it. Emma is just one person. Remember, she only has as much power as you give her.”
Emma's one of those people who fills silence with endless chatter. Usually, people like that drive me nuts, but Emma's different. Yeah, she talks a lot, but her voice is soft, melodic even. Easy on my ears.
After our quick dinner at Sonic, I dropped her off at home and headed back to mine. Now, here I am facing my dad’s wrath for showing up after dinner.
“I had homework, Dad,” I say. “Library’s the only decent place to get info.”
My father, the mighty Thomas Walker, paces by the fireplace in his office. The house is old, drafty, built of stone and pride, and his office feels like the heart of it—dark wood paneling, Persian rugs worn thin under his shoes, and shelves crowded with leather-bound tomes and odd relics from his travels. A pair of hunting rifles hang above the mantel, polished to a gleam, while a bronze bust of some forgotten general keeps watch from the corner. Shadows crawl across the walls, making the oilportraits of ancestors look like they’re sneering down at me as he stalks the carpet like a restless lion.
“I don’t care, Luca,” he snaps. “If you can’t finish your work on time, that’s your problem. Your mother expects you at dinner by six. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, eyes fixed on the flames licking at the grate.
Breaking rules isn't my thing—at least not when my parents are around, which isn't often since they're usually off traveling—but tonight was worth it. Time with Emma was amazing, refreshing even. Honestly, I didn't want to leave her. I wanted to talk to her for hours.
When I step out of Dad’s office, Silas is standing in the hall, arms crossed, clearly eavesdropping.
He falls into step beside me as I head to my room. “Where were you?” he demands.
“At school," I say, avoiding his eyes.
“You’re lying. Just tell me.”
I pause at my bedroom door and finally meet his gaze, eyes identical to mine. “I was with Emma Green.”
Silas freezes, clearly shocked. “Doing what?” he blurts out.
I sigh. “Eating, Silas, just dinner.” I start turning the knob.
“Wait!” He grabs my arm. “Was Lauren there?”
“No,” I reply, watching his reaction carefully. “According to Emma, Lauren was home crying.” I slip inside my room, shutting the door in his face.
Having Emma around has made school a lot less boring. Sometimes, I see her walking through the halls with her sister,she always smiles and winks. Of course, I never smile back, but damn if I don't want to.
I find her painting in the art room sometimes, totally absorbed in her work. She lights up when she's creating—focused, quieter, observing her art from all sorts of angles. From far away. Up close. From the side. Walking away and then spinning around suddenly.
One day, I finally step inside. When she sees me, I realize that something is not right.
“What’s going on?” I ask, leaning against the door.
“Luca, I’m freaking out,” she says, tears pooling in her eyes.
I immediately move toward her. “Tell me.”
“I’ve got artist’s block!” She waves her arms dramatically.
