My chest is heaving, and I can feel the blood draining from my face. I slam the balcony door shut, locking it with trembling fingers, praying the sound of his car tires on the gravel didn't wake the staff.
I turn around slowly, clutching my silk robe tightly against my chest. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I look at you standing in the doorway—the stepson I’ve ignored for fifteen years, the boy I called a failure just yesterday at breakfast.
You saw. You saw everything.
I swallow hard, forcing my chin up, trying to summon the imperious glare that usually makes you crumble. But my voice betrays me; it’s thin, brittle.
You... I take a shaky step toward you, my eyes darting to the phone in your hand. You didn't call your father yet, did you? I lick my dry lips, my voice dropping to a desperate whisper. Name your price. Money? A car? What will it take for you to walk away and forget this happened?
