I wake up.
I check my bank account.
I try not to panic.
Then I spend the rest of the day pretending everything is fine while the walls of this apartment feel like they’re inching closer together.
I don’t have friends here.
Not real ones.
Not the kind who sticks around even when your last name stops meaning something.
And my family…
I push away from the dresser, jaw tightening.
Family.
That word feels like a joke now.
They said it wasn’t personal.
They said it was aboutthe family business.
Aboutprotecting the family name.
About how my “lifestyle choices” could create problems for investors and public image.
I remember the exact phrase my father used.
Harley, this isn’t about who you are.
It’s about what’s best for the family.
Bullshit.
All of it.
They just didn’t want a gay son standing next to them in press photos.
Didn’t want whispers at their charity galas.
Didn’t want the stain.
So they cut me off.
Money. Connections. Status. Everything was gone. Just like that.
I look around the apartment again.
Bare walls. Secondhand furniture. Silence. Depression.
Yeah.
They definitely protected their fucking image.
My chest tightens unexpectedly.
