My grandfather leans back in his chair, his expression cold and utterly unmoved. He takes a languid puff of his cigarette, then blows a ring of smoke that dissolves just short of my face.
"That's not impossible," he says, his voice dry as dust. "As long as you cooperate."
I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth to the point of breaking, restraining every instinct to vault the desk and wrap my hands around his throat. I take a slow, deep breath, forcing the fury back into the pit of my stomach. My fierce expression is tucked away, replaced by a forced smile that feels brittle and dangerous.
I lean back, crossing my arms. "What is it you want me to do this time?"
The old man pinches the cigarette between his fingers, tapping ash into a tray. "That's more like it," he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "If you had been cooperative like this from the beginning, I wouldn't have had to resort to this method."
"Stop wasting time," I snap, the patience already wearing thin.
"Attend a meeting."
I narrow my eyes. A meeting? I have no vested interest in this family or their businesses. I am an outcast. Why the sudden need for my presence?
"One meeting," I state firmly, "and that's it."
He nods his head once, a curt movement. "Agreed."
"Fine."
I turn immediately to walk out. I'm already past the wreckage on his desk when his voice stops me again.
"I had them prepare a nice outfit for you. Don't embarrass me."
I glance down at the black sweatpants, crop top, and jacket I am wearing. I look back at him and sneer. "No need."
I turn and walk out, leaving him to the smoke and the wreckage. I close the heavy office door behind me and immediately exhale, the breath a sharp, necessary release. The air in the hallway no longer feels neutral; it's thick with malice and control. Cooperate. The word burns in my mind.
I tell myself to prepare for anything. Being in this house is like stepping into a cage full of predators. Every gesture, every word is a calculated move. Any distraction, any sign of weakness, and I will be eaten alive.
I walk down the grand staircase into the lounge. The scene is exactly what I expected: a tableau of false elegance.
My half-brother, Regal, is sprawled on a plush couch, the very picture of lazy, entitled contempt. My half-sister, Angelica, is perched nervously on the edge of a chair, her posture too delicate.
And their father, Frank, is standing by a mahogany cabinet, pouring whiskey into a crystal glass. My mother, thankfully, isn't here.
I don't bother to greet them. They are irrelevant to the current transaction. I bypass them completely, heading straight for the entrance towards the garden.
Before I can take another step, Regal's voice, slow and dripping with condescension, cuts through the space. "As expected of a rat raised in the gutter, no manners."
I stop, turning my head slowly to look back at him. My reply is already forming, something sharp and painful, but before the words can leave my mouth, Angelica is up. She moves surprisingly fast, stepping toward me and putting her hand on my arm.
"Regal, don't say such things," she pleads, her voice soft.
The instant her fingers touch my skin, I feel like a thousand ants are gnawing at me. I infinitely prefer Regal's direct despise, the hatred I can see and punch, to Angelica's smiling tiger act. Her sympathy is more suffocating than his scorn.
I try to shake her hand off, but Angelica tightens her grip. She looks so fragile, like she could easily be blown away by a stiff breeze, yet her hold on my arm is surprisingly firm, nothing to scoff at.
Her smile is saccharine as she looks up at me. "I saw your match yesterday," she says. "It was amazing."
"Angelica, that's enough."
The voice cuts through the forced sweetness. Frank who has been silently sipping his whiskey, speaks without turning around. Saying this man disliked me wouldn't be right; he hated me. If he could have locked me in a vault to hide his shame, he would have.
"But Dad," Angelica protests softly.
This is my chance. I yank my hand free from Angelica's grip and turn, walking away. I take two steps, and then I hear a soft cry.
I look back. Angelica is on her butt on the floor, looking frail and utterly defeated. My brow creases. I hadn't used that much force when I pulled my hand back; it was a simple, firm withdrawal. But Angelica is on the floor. Was she truly that delicate?
I take a step toward her, a flicker of something like concern moving me to help, but Regal shoves me violently out of the way.
"You bitch!" he roars, his face scarlet. "You fucking dare hurt my sister!"
Frank's head snaps up. He shoots me a glare that makes me feel like he wants to kill me with his eyes before he kneels to check on his daughter. "Are you okay?" he demands.
Angelica bites her lower lip, her eyes obviously red, but she still manages to force out a smile. "I'm okay, Dad." She turns her tear-filled eyes toward me. "I'm really okay."
Her unnecessary reassurance only seems to make Regal even more furious. He lunges to his feet and gets all up in my face, his breath hot and smelling of cheap aggression.
"Why don't you pick on someone who is your size," he yells, his voice cracking, "since you obviously want to be a man."
The insult is so predictable, so utterly unoriginal, that a burst of laughter bubbles up in my throat. I quickly restrain myself, letting only a faint tremor of amusement flicker in my eyes.
Regal mistakes my pause for intimidation. He sneers, dropping his voice to a hiss. "Watch your fucking back."
Frank finally moves, grabbing Regal from behind, trying to pull him away, but Regal is like a bull on a rampage. "Let me go!" he yells, flailing against his father's grip. "No, someone needs to teach this bitch a lesson!"
I don't have a habit of self-torture. I have seen enough drama for the day. I turn my back on the pathetic spectacle, walking away leisurely. I can hear the family of three in chaos behind me, Regal shouting, Frank struggling, and Angelica softly crying but I don't care. I just want to get this over and done with.