“Who said you could leave? You walked out as soon as Leta arrived. Do you want her to feel sad again? Stupid brat, do you have any idea how this looks for her? Get yourself here, right now.” His words came tumbling out, sharp and accusatory, slicing through my already fragile state. “If you hadn’t insisted on calling Shawn, Leta wouldn’t be blaming herself! She’s unstable right now and keeps talking about apologizing to you. You have to apologize and explain yourself to her.”
“You have five minutes. Don’t let me down,” he added, his tone leaving no room for defiance.
I paused, clarity washing over me like a cold splash of water. “I’m not going back,” I stated firmly, feeling the strength in my voice. The Larsens, the Donovans—those lavish worlds never truly belonged to me and I had no desire to meddle in their affairs any longer.
The moment my words left my mouth, I heard my father’s feigned angry tone cut through the silence, a cruel reminder of my place.