“Spare me the lie.” He cuts in. “You think I didn’t notice? Half the fucking staff saw you sneak out like some rebellious little brat.”
My stomach twists. “I went for air. That’s not a crime.”
He laughs. The sound is strange and not normal.
“Air? Is that what we’re calling it now? Because what I saw was you sneaking off with that boy.”
“His name is Lorenzo,” I hiss.
“You are going to destroy everything,” he snarls. “Do you understand that? Do you have any idea what your little rebellion costs this family?”
“Costs you,” I bite back, heat rising under my skin. “Not me. You. Because you see me as a bargaining chip, not a daughter.”
He storms down the stairs toward me, voice rising with every step. “You are seventeen—”
“Eighteen,” I snap. “Today, remember?”
“You are a child,” he spits, “who is about to ruin a billion-dollar deal because she got wet over a boy who fixes the goddamn gutters!”
His words slap me across the face. Tilting my world until my ears begin to ring. I want to hit him. I want to scream. I want to disappear. But my voice comes out cold. Steady. Lethal.
“I love him.”
He stops.
And laughs again. This time it’s sharper. Crueler.
“Love?” he echoes. “You don’t know the first thing about love. But let me tell you something about reality. That boy is a liability. And if you think for one second that I’ll let you throw away your future—our future—for a fling, then you’re more foolish than I thought.”
I take a step forward, the marble cold beneath my bare feet. “You don’t get to decide who I love.”
He leans in close. I smell scotch. I smell smoke. I smell the ruin of everything I should have been but never wanted to be.
“You think this is about love?” His voice drops to a whisper sharp enough to cut. “No. This is about power. About reputation. And you . . . you are my daughter. Which means your heart isn’t yours to give away.”
I shake my head, whispering, “I won’t let you control me.”
He grabs my wrist hard, and I yelp out in pain.
“You won’t have to,” he says. “Because you’re leaving. Your bags are already packed. The car will be here in twenty minutes.”
My mouth falls open. “What? No. You can’t do that.”
“I can, and I have.”
I yank my wrist back like his touch burns. “You’re insane.”
He gives me the kind of smile men give seconds before they break something fragile.
“You think this is insane? If you don’t cooperate, I’ll make sure that boy and his mother are on a bus to nowhere by sunrise. Better yet”—he pauses, savoring it—“I’ll let the people who are looking for them know exactly where they are.”
Everything inside me freezes.
“What . . . what do you mean?” My voice cracks as my heart slams against my ribs.
He just shrugs. Casual as hell. It’s infuriating.
We aren’t discussing the damn weather.
