Page 79 of Enticing My Off Limits Billionaire

...and I let myself steep in my anger and resentment...

...and then I text Madison to tell her I'm going to be longer than I expected.

A week passes like that, and I can't bring myself to talk to her. I visit Adam every day, and he tries to urge me to go back to New York and live my life, but I can see how much he's struggling, and I just can't do it.

Madison texts me, telling me she's okay...that she's going to see Andrea and start treatment.

I reach out to my parents with no reply.

And then, in the middle of the night, I hear car doors in the driveway of their cabin in the Alps...and there they are.

I haven't seen them in years, but they look good as they stroll inside the cabin, staff carrying their bags for them. They're both in their late sixties now and have that refined, immortal look that only the rich seem to possess. My mother, Eleanor, is tall and willowy, her hair cut into a fashionable bob, and my father, Richard, is...well, arrogant is the only word that comes to mind.

I can't help but think they were hoping to sneak in without me seeing them, but here I am, standing at the foot of the steps as they chat quietly in the kitchen. They're both dressed up in warm coats that probably cost more than my rent, and they don't seem to see me until my footsteps echo on the tile.

My mom is the first to look over, her eyes widening. "Quinn!" she says. "We didn't realize you were up."

I hate how much we look alike—the brown eyes and dark hair I inherited from her, which I share with Adam. It's always felt like we borrowed features from a woman who doesn't give a damn—like that's all she wanted to give us.

"Yeah...here I am," I murmur. "You two weren't here to say hi to Adam, but he's just up the street at the Refuge."

"We're aware," my father says. "We are footing the bill, after all..."

I let out a harsh laugh, shaking my head and rubbing my jaw. "Thought you would want to greet us, given that we haven't seen you in a few years."

"Well, you've been busy in New York; we've been engaged in our own business here," my father says. "Our schedules don't often align."

I stare at them for a few seconds, not sure exactly what I want or what I'm looking for. Not comfort—I'll never get that here. And I doubt I'll ever get an apology, either.

But I've been so polite for so damn long, and now I've uprooted my life to come here...and I'm angry.

I'm sick of it.

"You know, I dropped everything to bring him here," I say.

My mother peers at me from where she's leaning against the counter, her brow furrowed like she doesn't understand what's going on. And maybe it's Madison's influence, or perhaps just how dire things have gotten with Adam...but I keep talking.

"I want to help Adam," I say. "Like—I actually want to help him, not tuck him away in some rehab resort. And this offer from you two...I thought it meant you actually cared—"

"Le Refuge is one of the most in-demand facilities in the world," my father interrupts.

But I don't let him continue. "He needs to be with people who care about him," I say. "I care about him. Which is why...which is why I need you to let me take him home to New York."

My parents exchange a look, and I can sense the frustration in their voices when they reply. "Quinn, we're doing everything we can to help him. We've already paid for his stay here, and he's making incredible progress. It's not safe for him to return to New York yet."

"Progress?" I scoff. "He's lonely, Dad. This isn't good for him...and it's not good for me, either."

"He's getting the help he needs," my mother says firmly.

"I don't know what kind of help that is," I say, my voice rising. "But it's not enough. I want to take him home. He needs to be in a familiar environment, with people who actually give a damn about him."

There's a moment of silence, and then my father speaks again. "We give a damn."

"You don't," I shoot back.

My father crosses his arms and glares at me, my mother covering her mouth with her hand. "You will not speak to us that way in our home when we are showing you hospitality," my father says.

"Hospitality..." I scoff, giving him an incredulous look. "You pay people to take care of your children. And the thing is...I'm not a kid anymore. I haven't been a kid for a long time. And I'm learning that we don't have to tolerate things from our parents when they treat us like we don't matter."

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