Page 27 of Tantalizing Kings

“Hello?”

“Hello, little brother. Don’t we sound cheery today? Did someone shit in your cornflakes this morning?” I chuckle, the need to get a rise out of him is a permanent thing.

“Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“You have a student I’m looking for, Sadie Evans. I need to see her.”

“You could have come and found her yourself,” he mutters.

“True, but I didn’t.”

“Whatever.”

“So, let her know to come to my office.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you. That wasn’t so hard? Now, be a good boy and stop being a little shithead.”

“Fuck you too,” he growls back before hanging up.

Preston Jones is my little brother. We share the same dad, unfortunately. Dear old pops married my mom, for her money, of course. It was a big deal for the Jones and Huntington families to merge together through an arranged marriage.

My mom did her duties for her family, married a man who didn’t love her, and had me. Then my grandfather died, left everything to her, and it was her time to take over as headmaster of Kingston Academy.

Turns out Pops was fucking some girl for years behind my mother’s back and she found out. Like most marriages in our society, he expected her to just pretend she knew nothing and play happy-little-family. Something he didn’t know, or care to learn, is that my mom is a badass bitch, and she refused to be treated like that. She filed for divorce, causing a big scandal between the Jones and Huntington families. But my mom didn’t care. She wanted out. She had her money, her legacy, and no hardass husband to tell her what to do anymore.

Pops got a nice payday out of it, but it wasn’t enough. He hated that he no longer had access to that kind of wealth. He’s been a bitter bastard ever since.

He ended up marrying his side piece, who happened to already be pregnant with his child. Preston.

Pops tried really hard to act like he wanted to be dad of the year and keep his boys together. Mom let him have custody of me on the weekends from the age of two to ten. After that, I refused to go over there anymore.

As much as I loved my brother and wanted to be there for him the best I could, that house was hell. No joke. Pops yelled a lot, always putting my mother down in front of me.

And when he wasn’t there, Preston and I were raised by some good nannies.

When I stopped going, Preston asked me why I never came over anymore. I told him that our father wasn’t a good man, and I didn’t want to be there anymore.

It broke me to see the hurt in his eyes, and even though I told him I would be there for him no matter what, he didn’t believe me because, at the end of the day, I didn’t have to see that monster anymore while he had to live with him every day.

As the years went on, we drifted apart. I tried; I put up a fight to keep a relationship with him, but being under my father’s thumb, having to endure his bullshit, turned Preston into a cold, bitter person for the most part.

I hate my father, and if I could have saved Preston from him, I would have.

Even though we’re not close, I still try. It’s why I became the faculty member in charge of the Host Club. I myself wasn’t a member, even though I am a legacy. I didn’t come back from Archduke Academy until I graduated with a master’s degree last year.

When I found out that Preston was in the Host Club, I took over for a retiring professor.

Even if I did attend this University, I wouldn’t have wanted to be a member of the Host Club.

I’ve never liked the idea of these grown men entertaining women while most of them are arranged to be married to someone once they graduate. A lot of the members use it as a way to fuck around before being with the same woman for the rest of their lives.

Unlike them, I’m not arranged to be married to anyone. At least, not in my eyes. My father set something up—god knows how long ago, but it’s not happening. I don’t know her, never cared to. I already know who I’m going to be with for the rest of my life, and it’s not some rich chick my dad signed my life away to.

I’ve told him this, that I wasn’t going to do it. He didn’t care. He didn’t listen to anything I had to say. So when I graduated, and he showed up on my doorstep with some girl I didn’t know telling me it was time, I laughed in his face, told the girl sorry he wasted her time, and closed the door on them.

Then I called my lawyer and was told that I had the right to refuse. My father hasn’t let it go. He, to this day, is still fighting me on this. I keep ignoring him, and I will continue to do so.

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