Page 6 of Misconducts & Temptation

“Oh, you'll care,” he growled, his eyes narrowing. “You’re used to the best schools, the finest clothes, the luxury cars. You’re used to never having to worry about money, about your future. You’re used to power and influence, Keaton.”

“Do it, old man,” I shot back, leaning forward in my chair. “I fucking dare you. I'm all you've got.”

His eyes flashed with anger, a dark cloud passing over his face. It was a low blow, and we both knew it. My mother was dead, had been for years. He had no one else.

“Why am I here?” I demanded, my patience wearing thin.

“You are going to do your duty,” he said coldly. “Now that you've graduated, you will be expected to marry Lola Perez?—”

“Fuck no,” I said firmly, cutting him off.

“Keaton,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

“That bitch is a fucking whore,” I spat out. “I'm not touching that cunt with a ten-foot?—”

His hand slammed down on the desk with a force that echoed through the room. The sound hung in the air like a death knell.

“Enough!” he barked, his face red with fury, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his desk. "You will marry Lola Perez at the end of the summer, or you will be out on the street. No more money, no more support. She’s on a plane right now to finalize the arrangements."

I stood, crushing my cigarette into the polished wood of his desk, leaving a charred black mark.

"I don't understand," he said, his voice straining to keep calm. "The two of you were together in high school?—"

"And then I found her with my friend's dick in her mouth," I interrupted, my voice cold and unyielding. "I'm not marrying her."

Without another word, I turned on my heel and headed for the door. My heart pounded in my chest, anger coursing through my veins like wildfire.

Just as I took the knob in my hand, his voice rang out behind me, filled with a venomous finality. "This is your last chance, Keaton. Marry Lola and secure our future or walk out that door and lose everything."

I clenched my jaw so tightly it felt like my teeth might shatter. The weight of his ultimatum pressed down on me like a physical force.

I didn't look back.

I walked out of that room, each step echoing with defiance and resolve.

No one was going to dictate my life anymore—not even him.

The cold airinside Pandora's Box clung to my skin, the familiar chill doing little to soothe the fire raging inside me. I had just finished my laps around the rink, the physical exertion doing nothing to calm my thoughts. The place was practically deserted; summer had a way of making even this haven feel empty and abandoned.

I leaned against the boards, gripping my hockey stick so tightly my knuckles turned white. My mind replayed the conversation with my father on an endless loop, each word stoking the flames of my anger. Marry Lola? He must be out of his fucking mind.

Coach Morgan had given me a nod of approval to use the rink despite having graduated. I respected the man, even if his methods were ruthless. But right now, not even the solace of the ice could break through my fury.

I skated toward center ice, trying to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of skating drills. The sound of my blades cutting through the ice was usually enough to drown out everything else, but not today. Today, every glide and turn only seemed to amplify my frustration.

My father's voice echoed in my head.This is your last chance, Keaton. Marry Lola and secure our future or walk out that door and lose everything.The ultimatum felt like a noose tightening around my neck. He'd always known how to push me just far enough without snapping the rope—until now.

With each stride across the rink, I replayed every moment with Lola—the betrayal, her lies, and now this absurd demand from my father. It was like he wanted me to relive that humiliation over and over again.

I skated faster, trying to outpace my own thoughts. The rink blurred around me as I pushed myself harder, needing to feel something other than rage and resentment. But no matter how fast I went, I couldn't escape it.

Finally, I came to a stop at center ice, panting heavily. I slammed my stick against the ice in frustration, sending a reverberating crack echoing through the empty rink.

The silence that followed was deafening. It pressed down on me from all sides, amplifying every raw emotion clawing its way to the surface. I ripped off my helmet and threw it aside; it skidded across the ice before coming to a stop near the boards.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I stood there, feeling more trapped than ever. The weight of expectations—my father's control—felt suffocating.

What did he think he could accomplish by forcing me into this marriage? Did he really believe I'd bend that easily?

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