Sunlight stabbed through the blinds like it had a personal vendetta.
I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow, trying to erase the taste of saltwater and tequila still clinging stubbornly to my tongue.
My head throbbed like a drumline had moved in overnight and refused to leave.
"Rise and shine, Your Highness. Car's waiting on the dock."
Charlie's voice mocking and annoyingly chipper cut through my misery like a knife.
I cracked one eye open.
He leaned against the doorway, sunglasses already on, hair somehow perfect, looking like he *hadn't* spent the night doing shots and nearly drowning in style alongside me.
"Don't call me that," I rasped, dragging myself upright.
My shirt someone else's, because clearly I didn't care whose stuck to my skin in all the wrong places.
I rubbed at my face, bleached-copper strands sticking up like tiny warning flags. "What time is it?"
"Late enough that if you don't move, your dad's gonna send helicopters." Charlie smirked, tossing a bottle of water toward me. "And I'm not fishing you out of the ocean twice in twelve hours."
I caught it against my chest, winced, unscrewed the cap, and downed half in one go.
Water ran down my chin. "Relax. He's probably mad about something stupid. This whole 'get home first thing' drama? Overdramatic as always."
Charlie arched an eyebrow over his shades. "Says the guy who swan-dived into the Atlantic at midnight."
"That was performance art," I shot back, yanking my duffel bag from the corner and shoving clothes in haphazardly.
Wrinkled shirt. Inside-out shorts. Whatever. "You wouldn't understand."
He didn't laugh. Just leaned there, arms crossed, watching me too closely.
The silence stretched.
"Maybe not," he finally said, voice quieter now. "But I do understand the look on your face when he called last night. That wasn't you being dramatic, Ethan. That was you being scared."
My fingers tighten around the water bottle until the plastic crinkles.
My throat worked. Jaw tight.
I forced a scoff. "Scared? Please. I don't get scared. I get… annoyed. Big difference."
Charlie let it go, but his stare stayed heavy, like he could see straight through the bravado I'd spent years perfecting.
I zipped the bag shut with more force than necessary and slung it over my shoulder. "Whatever lecture Dad has waiting...it's tomorrow's problem." I slid my sunglasses into place, the only armor I needed against judgment and sunlight alike. "And.Today is tomorrow. Let's get this over with."
Charlie didn't argue.
He just stepped aside, watching me swagger past him, every step equal parts hangover and defiance.
Shoulders tight. Pride intact.
But my hands? Shaking just enough that I shoved them in my pockets before he could notice.
The car hummed along the highway, sunlight flashing through the tinted windows in harsh, relentless stripes.
I slouched against the leather seat, duffel bag at my feet, fingers drumming against the armrest in a rhythm only I could hear.
My knee bounced. My eyes squinted behind the shades.
The city blurred past towering glass buildings giving way to sleepy suburban streets, sprinklers misting lawns in the morning heat.
I used to love this view.
Proof that my father's reach stretched everywhere, that I was connected to something bigger than myself.
Today, it felt like walls closing in.
I pulled out my phone.
The group chat lit up with notifications grainy photos of me mid-dive, hair plastered flat, water exploding around me in a chaotic halo.
Ella: Ace, you're actually insane
Someone else: That's our boy
Charlie: RIP to his liver and his dignity
I smirked despite the pounding in my skull and tapped a heart on the worst photo the one where my face looked like a startled wet cat.
Then shoved the phone back in my pocket.
The driver's voice cut through the hum of the engine, startling me. "We'll be at the estate in fifteen minutes, sir."
I sat straighter, tugging at my collar even though it didn't help the wrinkles or the faint salt stains.
Fifteen minutes.
My stomach twisted. I told myself it was just the hangover.
I cracked the window, letting the wind whip through my hair, cool against my clammy skin. "Whatever this is about," I muttered to no one, "it can't be that bad. Maybe he just found out about the yacht. Maybe Sarah told him I called her a vampire again."
I tried to picture it Richard sitting at his massive desk, that tight, controlled smile on his face.
The kind that says you'll regret this, but I won't yell. Careful. Precise. Lethal in its restraint.
My smirk flickered.
Died.
Because that voice on the phone last night hadn't been careful or precise.
It had been final.
Come home. Tomorrow morning. No excuses.
Eight missed calls.
My father doesn't call twice. Ever.
The knot in my stomach tightened.
The car slowed, turning onto a private road.
Iron gates swung open smooth, silent, inevitable and the long driveway stretched ahead like a sentence I couldn't escape.
Trimmed hedges and ancient oak trees formed a tunnel, shadows and sunlight flickering across the windshield.
Then the estate came into view.
Stone facade catching the morning sun.
Windows gleaming like eyes that had been waiting all night.
Judgment in glass. Silence in stone.
Grand. Cold. Familiar.
The gates open with a low mechanical growl, like the house itself is clearing its throat before it swallows me whole.
The car rolled to a stop at the base of the marble steps.
I didn't move.
The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "We've arrived, sir."
"Yeah," I muttered, throat dry. "I noticed."
I exhaled slowly, adjusting my sunglasses one last time, fingers lingering on the frames like they could protect me from whatever waited inside.
Through the tinted glass, I saw the front door.
Still closed.
But I could feel him in there. Waiting.
I grabbed my duffel, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the sunlight.
The air smelled like fresh-cut grass and old money.
I tilted my head back, staring up at the house that raised me, trapped me, defined me.
"Alright, Dad," I murmured under my breath, forcing one foot in front of the other. "Let's see what game you're playing this time."
The marble steps felt longer than they used to.
Each one heavier than the last.