I'm on the ground, the impact of the fall jarring my teeth. I look up at the towering figure blocking the sunlight and swear: "Fuck."
A deep shadow looms over me.
Behind me, I hear my father's raging voice cut off abruptly. "Where the hell do you think you are run—" His voice dies.
The sun is shining bright, right into my eyes, so I can't clearly see the person's face. All I see is a hand, large, perfectly manicured, reach over to help me up. I reach out and take it.
I am pulled to my feet by a force so powerful and controlled that I practically bump into their chest. I move back slightly, catching myself. I meet Vega's cold gaze.
My breath catches. He's here.
I'm in a daze for a moment, and when Vega finally lets go, I stumble a bit backwards, regaining my balance. Behind him are several men in suits, all looking impassive, and his secretary who had on a look of worry.
My father still gripping the broom stood at the door. "What is this?" he demands, looking from the stylish, intimidating men to the line of black cars parked on the side of the street.
Vega walks straight past me, his eyes now fixed on my father. He extends his hand, his posture immaculate.
"I am Vega Vastano," he says, his voice smooth and professional. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." I am stunned. Since when was this man ever polite?
Leif, still holding the broom, manages to shake his hand. "Oh, nice mee—wait. Did you say Vastano?"
"You must know about my family, then," Vega replies, his smile thin.
"I do," Leif says, dropping the broom. "But what business do you have with my small business?"
"Can we discuss inside?" Vega suggests.
"Sure," Leif says, turning to go inside.
I rush forward, ignoring the pain in my body, and grab Vega's arm. He stops instantly. Vega turns his head slightly and glares at the hand on his arm, a look that clearly asks: Do you still want your hand?
I realize my mistake and take my hand back quickly. "What are you going to say to him?" I whisper fiercely.
Vega meets my gaze, his eyes unyielding. "The truth."
My eyes widen in a sudden, sharp shock of panic. I lean in close to Vega, dropping my voice to an urgent, furious whisper. "Tell the truth and we both die today!"
Vega's gaze doesn't flinch. "Not me, but you maybe."
I inhale, ready to yell at him, to claw the truth back down his throat, but my dad's voice cuts through the tension from the doorway.
"Tyr! Get some drinks for our guests."
"Sure," I manage, the word squeezed out through gritted teeth as I send one final, desperate glare at Vega. I turn and walk. No, I almost run toward the kitchen. The sooner I return, the better. I need to get back in there and control the narrative.
I grab bottled water and rush back.
The two men are already seated opposite each other at the small dining table. The air is imposing now, with Vega's several guards scattered around the room, making our little gym look like a hostile takeover headquarters.
I hear my father trying to make polite conversation. "Sorry for the mess," he says, gesturing vaguely at the damaged door. "We had a little incident a few days ago..." Leif pauses, his eyes sweeping over the immaculate suits of the guards.
"It doesn't look like a small mess," replies Vega.
Leif is about to reply when I reach the table. I place the water down with a careful hand. I sit down beside my father, immediately taking up a defensive position, and glare at Vega, silently screaming: Choose your next words carefully.
Vega glares back, his cold eyes meeting my warning with utter disdain, making the atmosphere instantly tense.
Then, I feel a gentle nudge from my father underneath the table. I'm so focused on Vega that I don't respond right away. The nudge comes again.
I am forced to break eye contact first, defeated, and look at my dad. He gestures with his eyes toward the breakfast dishes, the soup bowls on the tray.
I let out a quiet sigh. I pick up the bowls, stacking them onto the tray again, and walk back toward the kitchen. The timing couldn't be worse.
I reach the kitchen counter and violently ruffle my hair in frustration. I am dead, I tell myself. My father is going to most definitely kill me when he finds out. The sensible thing to do is hide in the kitchen and wait for the explosion to pass.
Before I can even start plotting my escape route, the door is knocked softly. I spin around and meet Seth's gaze. The man instantly takes a step back.
I find this genuinely amusing. "Are you afraid of me?" I ask.
Seth clears his throat and stutters, "N-no." He quickly recovers, reverting to professional efficiency. "They are requesting your presence."
"Okay," I say, but I'm not convinced by his denial. I walk past him, and just to test him, I slowly raise my hand. Sure enough, Seth takes two steps back. I chuckle, finding his fear strangely entertaining, but I don't tease him for long.
I walk back toward the dining area, my steps slow, deliberately delaying the inevitable. I am braced for the sound of shattering glass, for the roar of my father's anger. I am fully expecting my father to throw the broom or the water bottle at me.
But it doesn't happen.
I walk in and find both men seated exactly where I left them. My father's voice is soft, wounded, but not angry.
"Tyr, aren't I your father?"
I am completely confused. This is not the reaction I was expecting. "You are," I say slowly, glancing at Vega, who wears an infuriatingly neutral expression.
Leif gets to his feet, a huge, happy smile stretching across his face. He looks like a proud father at a graduation.
"Then why didn't you tell me you were dating?"
My jaw drops. The whole room spins.
Leif walks toward me, his hand settling warmly on my shoulder. "I thought you would never find anyone, yet here you were, dating in private."