I’m restless.
Almost neurotic, if I’m being brutally honest.
I spent the early morning hitting the bag, then running, then swimming. My limbs ache to the point of exhaustion, yet nothing has eased the tightness in my muscles, my stomach, my bones.
Everywhere.
I walk into my penthouse in Manhattan. I got this place despite my parents’ objection about security, since, objectively speaking, the most secure place in NYC is probably their mansion. They bulletproofed it so well, no one dares to come close.
However, I needed to have a place of my own after Istarted college, mainly so Danika and I could have our own space. Or maybe it’s because I neededmyown space.
Because, despite Danika’s numerous hints about moving in with me, I’d rather she doesn’t. At least, not yet.
The penthouse is huge, with a contemporary-style interior design. There’s a large, bold impressionist painting with green and red hues in the living area. It’s the only break of color in the beige tones—both of these were Danika’s ideas. It’s not truly my personal preference, but I had to make the compromise so I could dodge her attempts to move in.
When I first decided to live here a few months ago, Dad bought the whole building, had most of it occupied by his security and the rest by people he trusts, so, in a sense, I didn’t really leave home.
I don’t blame him or Mom for wanting to protect me. For using every resource they have to ensure that I’m not only safe, but that I also have access to the best guards, who were personally trained by them.
Ever since the time I was almost killed at that cursed summer camp, my parents have become overprotective. They try not to infringe on my freedom to the point of suffocation, but there’s only so much they can do without having guards in my surroundings at all times.
Their goal is to ensure I’m never separated from my guards again.
Not that I object—I have better things to do than die.
And really, if I don’t focus too much, I don’t notice the guards shadowing me.
As the penthouse’s elevator closes behind me, I expel a lingering breath.
All right.
I need to focus on better things instead of uneven eyes and veiled threats.
With my new resolve, I unpack my gym bag, then put my workout clothes in the washing machine and start the cycle.
Yes, there are staff members who do this for us, but I always liked to take care of my own things. It’s not really controlling tendencies, as my cousin Lidya tells me.
Or maybe it is.
If the shoe fits, I guess.
I just like having everything in order in my structured space. There’s comfort in knowing everything is exactly where it belongs. The clothes in the washing machine, the sneakers in the shoe compartment, the bag in the closet, neatly tucked between other bags, all color-coded.
Mom says I take after Uncle Anton, and I guess I do. He’s also neurotically organized, dare I say more than my parents combined.
After I arrange everything in place, I walk into the kitchen and retrieve some eggs and milk from the fridge. As I set them on the counter, my fingers still wrapped around the neck of the glass bottle, I pull out my phone.
I should text Danika good morning and check on her.
Truth is, I wasn’t the best companion last night. At least, not after that pest showed up.
Break up with her and change schools, he said.
I release a huff.
Who the hell does that prick think he is, expecting me to follow his demands?
And theyweredemands.
