Page 47 of Twisted Kings

“Not working today?” I moved over to the side table and poured a cup of coffee from the carafe.

“I’m always working. You know that.” He folded his copy of the Financial Times neatly in half and fixed me with a hard stare. “I’m flying out this evening for a meeting with investors. I trust you’ll behave yourself while I’m gone?”

It couldn’t be government business - parliament was in recess.

“Investors?”

He said nothing for a beat, then smiled. “Yes, Cassian. Investors. You really haven’t been paying attention, have you?”

“Attention to what?” I sat down at the table, ignoring the silver platters of food. My appetite was non-existent these days, although I usually forced something down, if only to fuel my gym workouts.

“To anything.” He had a point. Ignoring him and our fucked up family life had long been a favored coping strategy. An optimism bias, my old therapist called it. The therapist Dad sacked off because he thought having therapy made me look weak.

To be fair, the guy hadn’t been all that helpful. The only useful shit he did was give me the tools to diagnose my father as a malignant narcissist.

I yawned, enjoying how my father’s jaw clenched with irritation at my lack of interest in his words.

“I pay attention to the important stuff, like school.” To further irritate him, I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and opened up the TikTok app to scroll through the latest videos, while laughing at the more stupid ones.

Landon had made none for a while. I quickly pulled up his account. Nope. Nothing since the Christmas Gala.

I guessed he was lying low while the sex tape furore died down. Not that it had. Our hashtag was still trending on all platforms, with every misogynistic asshole in existence eager to come out and troll us. Or rather troll Thea.

Dad slammed his hand down on the table, causing a glass of grapefruit juice to jump and fall over. I watched as the puddle of pink spread, staining the white damask tablecloth.

“And the shit happening in the world,” I added as an afterthought. “How is Operation Willow going?” Well, I assumed, judging by the flurry of news reports on the topic.

“It’s time you focused, boy.” Dad stood, looming over me. There was a time when I found him intimidating. My father was a big man. Tall with broad shoulders. As a kid, he’d scared the shit out of me. Not because he yelled and threw things. No. He wasn’t that type of man.

It was the dead eyes. The subtle threats of what would happen if I failed to behave. And the slow realization as I got older that when I fucked up, my mother paid the price.

“Focused on what?” I looked up, giving him my best bored expression while a video of some dude lip syncing to Ariana Grande’sThank U, Nextplayed in the background.

He was mad.Really mad. I could tell from the way a vein pulsed in his temple. Any second now, he’d blow a gasket.Three…two…one…

But to my surprise, he exhaled slowly and then stepped back.

“The family business.”

Dad poured himself a whiskey as I sat in one of the leather chairs in his study. Part of me wanted to remind him it was not even 9 AM yet, so way too early for hard liquor, but the rest of me was desperate for a drink. But because he was an asshole, he didn’t offer me one.

We were a highly respectable family with links to the Royal Family on my mother’s side. Thanks to Mom, we were also fabulously wealthy. Why would my father risk any of that for what? More money?

Then I recalled what the therapist had told me about malignant narcissists, aka my father. They believed themselves to be superior to others. They liked to break the law. And they were highly manipulative and very good at charming people to get what they wanted.

Dad smiled. A crocodile smile with zero warmth.

“It’s time you became more involved in our business,” Dad said before sipping his drink. “I’ve been patient with you. Let you attend college, forge useful connections, and make a name for yourself, but all you’ve done is embarrass me and drawn unwanted attention to us.” He slammed his glass down and I forced myself not to jump.

I could feel my temper rising and fought hard to keep my emotions in check. Losing my shit now would only provoke him. Dad’s jaw ticked in anger for a moment before he continued.

“It’s all your mother’s fault you’re a spoiled brat,” he spat with a sneer. “She tried to take me from you several times. In the end, I warned her if she didn’t stop, bad things would happen.”

She had? I thought back. There had been a few holidays where Mom had taken me without Dad. One time, we’d flown to the US to stay with some friends of hers. She’d said at the time we might be moving there. But then Dad arrived, and we came home. After that, things changed. She stopped being present so much, and for a while, she disappeared completely.

“The US trip?” He nodded. “Is that why she spent months in the Highgate Clinic having treatment?”

Once again, he smirked. My fists clenched tightly. That bastard. He’d deliberately sent her there as punishment.

---