Page 43 of Rough Daddy
The only reason I’ll even let it pass is because she said he never actually touched her.
"Mr. Boone." He sniffs, then focuses back on Tessa. "We need to talk. There are... complications. With your decision to disappear."
"I didn't disappear. I left."
"Without consideration for your contractual obligations. Or your family."
The word 'family' hits wrong, and I see Tessa flinch. This asshole has no idea what that word means.
"Where's Ethan?" she asks.
"Upstairs. Packing, apparently." Richard's mouth twists. "He seems to think he's going on some kind of adventure?"
"He is."
"Tessa." Her mother's voice is sharp. "You can't just take him. He's fifteen. He has school, and responsibilities—"
"What responsibilities?" Tessa's voice turns hard, and I feel proud of my girl for standing up to them. "You mean the YouTube channel you make him film? The sponsored posts? The brand partnerships where you parade him around like a trained monkey? The way you use his neurodivergence slash autism like product placement? It’s all so trending now, isn’t it? Being all inclusive. Nice move."
"That's not fair—"
"Isn't it?" She steps forward, and I watch her transform from nervous girl to fierce protector. "When's the last time either of you asked Ethan what he wanted? When's the last time you treated him like a person instead of a revenue stream? Got him some help instead of exploiting his uniqueness?"
Richard's face flushes. "Everything we did was for both of you. The house, the cars, the opportunities—"
"Were paid for byus. With our childhoods. Our privacy. Our mental health."
"Mental health?" Her mother's laugh is bitter. "Drama, you mean. You've always been dramatic, Tessa. Ever since you were small."
Something dark and protective flares in my chest. The urge to step between Tessa and these brand managers masquerading as parents, to shield her from their poison, is overwhelming. But she's handling herself. She doesn't need me to fight this battle.
Not yet.
"I want to see Ethan," she demands.
"Of course. But first, we need to discuss the financial implications of your... tantrum." Richard glances at me, clearly uncomfortable having this conversation in front of a stranger. Especially one that looks like he’s about to detach his head from his neck. "Your brand partnerships alone are worth—"
"Wereworth. Past tense." Tessa crosses her arms. "I terminated all my contracts. Deleted my accounts. It's over, Dad."
The silence that follows is deafening. I watch Richard's face cycle through shock, rage, and something that looks like panic.
"You can't... Tessa, you cannot be serious. We spent years building you as a brand."
"Dead serious."
"Do you have anyideawhat you've done? The house payments, trips, lawyers, your mother’s illness, Ethan's school—"
"Will be your responsibility now. Like they should have been all along."
Richard's composure finally cracks. "Goddammit, Tessa! You can't just walk away from millions of dollars because you're having some kind of identity crisis!"
"Watch me."
That's when Ethan appears at the top of the stairs, duffel bag in hand.
The kid looks like a younger, male version of Tessa. Same honey-colored hair, same intelligent eyes. But where she's learned to hide her pain behind performance, he wears his on his sleeve. Fifteen years old and already exhausted by the weight of other people's expectations.
"Tess?" The word packs a heavy punch. Like he’s waiting for someone to let him down but hoping they don’t.
