“Oh, Shay-Lee.” He put down his cutlery and crossed his legs. While I was still dressed in the robe Orson gave me earlier, my father was already in one of his tailored suits. He took off the jacket for breakfast, but the white dress shirt he wore sat perfectly over his wide shoulders and fit his body to perfection. “Talking with that boy won’t do you any good, nor will it do him. After all, you’re the reason he’s there in the first place.”

The bitter taste of guilt filled my mouth as my gut twisted with pain. “I wasn’t the one who hurt him—”

“We both know that isn’t the truth,” he said so confidently, making me doubt whatever I was about to say next. “You said so yourself, remember?”

Did I remember? I had no idea. Everything was a blur. Events were mixed up, and sometimes I wasn’t sure what was real or not. Like now, for example, he was being so nice. Since we got here a week ago, he hadn’t hit me. Not once. He dined with me and bought me whatever he thought I wanted, pampering me with gifts and kind words. We even watched a fashion show together and did some horseback riding. His kindness left me confused, frightened, and vulnerable.

“Shay-Lee.” His calling my name snapped me out of my head, and I noticed he was now crouched before me. My heart raced faster as nerves struck me at his proximity. “You said so yourself that you’ve hurt that boy and admitted that you shouldn’t be with him.”

“But you’re the one who told me to end it,” I whispered, my eyes focused on his hand that rested on my knee before the glint of light coming from the silver ring he always wore on his index finger caught my attention. I wanted to push him away at the same time I didn’t.

“Only because I knew you’d end up hurt. The same as with Miles.”

Miles? I haven’t even thought about him for a while. Why bring him up?

“You get so easily attached to people, and that’s dangerous. Haven’t I taught you better?”

I nodded. He had. Since I was a child, my father made sure I knew that no one could ever be trusted, including myself, and that getting close to others meant getting hurt. The only person I could trust was him.

“If you decide to talk to him, it’s up to you. I simply don’t want you to get hurt again.”

He stood and rested his hand on my cheek. “I want you to be happy, Shay-Lee. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for my son.”

For a mere moment, I wanted his loving touch, but I knew better. How many times had he used that same hand to hurt me? Swallowing my spit was like swallowing daggers. I wanted to recoil from his tender touch, but instead, I eased my face back. “I want to go home.”

I didn’t like it here. It confused me, and my mind felt weak. Being away from everything I knew, I grew detached from reality. It was easy to fall into his trap of kindness. And a trap it was. He didn’t care about me. He only cared about himself. At home, I had more independence, which was everything to me. I wasn’t forced to be with him so much and wasn’t condemned to his sick games that messed with my mind, making me believe he loved me.

“I’m not feeling good here. I want to go home,” I pleaded again, looking him in the eyes.

His frozen stare studied me in silence for a few seconds that felt like an eternity before the corner of his lips curved into a slight smile. “Okay, you can go back today.”

That sounds almost too easy.

Returning to his seat, he fixed the sleeves of his dress shirt and then took a sip of his water. “Since I still have work here, Orson will escort you.”

I knew it was too good to be true.

“No.” My objection was too quick and caught his attention. Shit.

“No?” His head quirked, and his eyes narrowed, making me think of a predator homing in on its prey.

Knowing I’d made a mistake, I looked around the room while nibbling on my bottom lip. “You know I don’t like him” was all that I said, and foolish me thought it was enough.

“Orson.”

“Dad.” My eyes snapped to him with panic.

A moment after, the door opened and Orson stepped in.

“Sir?”

Leaning back against his chair and with his eyes focused on me, my dad spoke. “Shay-Lee doesn’t want you to escort him back home. Why’s that?” His voice might have sounded calm, but Orson and I recognized the danger lurking in his words.

“I don’t know, sir.”

Idiot. Playing dumb with my dad was always the worst option, and from the smile that crept across my father’s lips, I knew he was now officially pissed.

“You are not to speak with my son unless I say so, which I haven’t. Therefore, I can’t think of why he’d so strongly protest my offering that you’d keep him safe on his journey back home.” As Orson remained silent, my father continued. “Could it be that, despite my clear orders, you’ve spoken to him?”