I felt a tap on my shoulder.
A rough one.
I groaned and cracked an eye open, blinking against the flashing red lights inside the club.
"Uh... sir, no one's allowed here this late," one of the bouncers said, staring at me awkwardly.
I rubbed my face, trying to focus.
"Shit," I muttered. "I fell asleep?"
The guy gave me a small, nervous laugh. "It's 3 A.M., sir."
3 freaking A.M.
I patted my pockets, searching for my phone, my keys—
Nothing.
An ugly pit started to build in my stomach.
Where the hell were they?
"That bitch," I blurted out, remembering the stripper I was all cozy with last night.
I knew it.
The girl must have pickpocketed me the moment I passed out.
Cursing under my breath, I stumbled outside, hoping maybe my Ferrari would still be parked where I left it.
Nope.
Gone.
The empty space on the street felt like a slap in the face.
My Ferrari SF90.
My baby.
My Sweet baby.
Gone like it never even existed.
"Perfect," I hissed, kicking at the ground. "Fucking perfect."
I stood there, shivering slightly in the cold, the alcohol wearing off just enough to make everything feel worse.
How the hell was I gonna get home now?
Hissing under my breath, I waved at the first cab I saw.
The driver recognized me immediately.
Lucky me, being rich and famous had some perks.
"Hop in, Mr Vincent," he said, wide-eyed like he was picking up a celebrity.
I slumped into the back seat and kept my head low the whole ride home.
When we pulled up at the gates of my house, I threw some crumpled cash at the driver and slipped out quietly.
The mansion was dark and silent.
Maybe if I was lucky, I could sneak in without my old man noticing.
I crept up the stairs, shoes in hand, moving slowly.
Almost made it.
Then I heard it.
A loud, sharp clearing of a throat.
Busted.
A throat cleared behind me.
I froze.
"Four A.M Vincent," came the annoying voice from the dark hallway.
"You really outdid yourself this time."
I squinted and saw him my father, standing with his arms crossed.
He shook his head. "Look at you. Wasted. At your age. You're worthless."
My tightened my fists.
Breathe, Vincent. Breathe.
"Well, old man," I said, forcing a fake smile, "at your age, you should be asleep.
Or else you'll keel over from a heart attack, creeping around the house like a damn teenager."
His face twisted in anger, but before he could shoot back, she appeared.
His mistress.
Draped in some long silky nightgown.
She placed a hand on his arm and said sweetly, "Calm down, honey. Vincent needs to learn to respect his father. You should listen to him, Vincent. He's only thinking of you."
I scoffed so hard it hurt
I dragged myself up the stairs,ignoring them.
Behind me, I heard my father yelling, "Wake up early, young man! We need to talk in the morning!"
Yeah.
Good luck with that.
I slammed my bedroom door, locked it, and tossed myself face first onto the bed.
Plugged in my earbuds.
Turned the music up until I couldn't hear anything else.
Not his voice.
Not hers.
Not even my own thoughts.
The world could burn.
I didn't care anymore.
The next morning,I woke up to sunlight stabbing straight through my eyelids.
My head pounded like someone was drilling into my skull.
Hangover.
Of course.
Groaning, I rolled over and grabbed my phone
Oh wait.
Yeah.
Gone.
I turned to the digital clock glowing beside my bed.
12 PM.
Shit.
Overslept again.
Not like I cared.
What were they gonna do, ground me?
A sharp knock rattled my door.
I buried my face deeper into the pillow.
"Who is it?" I mumbled.
The door creaked open before I even got an answer.
Of course.
Her.
Lena.The mistress.
She stepped in wearing... what even was that?
This time she wasn't wearing one of those long, fake "motherly" silk dresses.
Nah.
A dress that barely covered anything definitely not something you wear around your husband's son.
Her heels clicked against the marble floor like she owned the place.
She smiled way too sweetly, holding a glass in one hand.
"I brought you this," she said, holding up a glass of something green..
"Helps with hangovers."
I sat up, wiping my face.
Didn't even have the energy to argue at first.
"You didn't have to."
She didn't listen ,she just let herself right in, sat on the edge of my bed, and crossed her legs like she was posing for some magazine cover.
I sighed, sitting up slowly.
"You know, I didn't actually invite you in."
She smiled sweetly. "I'm just trying to help."
"You can help by leaving," I waved towards the door.
She stood up slowly, walked closer to where I was sitting on the bed.
Way too close
Her perfume hit me, like fake roses covering up something rotten underneath.
"I see you've been working out," she said, trailing her eyes over me like she had any damn right.
I scoffed.
"And how the hell is that your business?"
She smiled, tilting her head like she thought she was being cute.
I froze.
What the actual
I stared at her in disgust.
I'm just... trying to be nice to you, Vincent. It's been five years... and you still don't accept me."
She took another step closer, reaching out her fingers to touch my arm.
Something inside me snapped.
Without saying a word, I grabbed the glass out of her hand and poured it right onto the floor in front of her bare feet.
The green liquid splashed across her painted toes and designers heels.
She snapped.
Before she could fake another sad little smile, I grabbed her wrist hard enough that she got the message and dragged her toward the door.
"Get out of my room," I said.
"Stay the hell out of my business, Lena."
"You should show me some respect," she hissed, her fake-sweet tone gone.
I smiled, slow and sharp.
"You want respect? Earn it.
Until then, don't talk to me.
Don't look at me.
And definitely don't touch me."