Page 57 of F*ckboys

The air in the study grows colder still, as if the temperature has dropped several degrees. My father's eyes bore into me, a storm of emotions brewing behind them. But instead of relenting, he only digs his heels in further, tightening his grip on the reins and reinforcing his reputation as an extremely stubborn bastard.

"Fallon, you need to understand that this isn't just about you," he says, his voice tense and unyielding. "This is about our family legacy. It's about carrying on the name and the reputation we've built. You can't risk it all for some misguided venture because it makes you 'feel good'. Altruism is for the weak."

My heart slams against my ribs, fury at his words threatening to burst forth like an unstoppable torrent. The weight of hisexpectations, and the relentless pressure to conform—it's all too much. And yet, I can't bring myself to reveal the truth, to expose the hidden depths of my success. Instead, I steel myself, determined to prove him wrong on my own terms.

Yet I'm worried about pushing things too far. It's a delicate tightrope, and if I don't play it just right I risk him pulling all funding from my business, and everything that I've worked so hard for crashing down around me. But I'm angry, and if there's one thing I know about myself it's that my anger leads to recklessness. Damn this all to hell.

"Legacy?" I hiss, my fists clenched at my sides. "You're so concerned about maintaining appearances that you'd rather see me fail than forge my own path? Well, I won't do it. I won't be another pawn in your game."

As the words leave my lips, I realize the enormity of what I've just done. A line has been crossed.

My father's mouth sets in a firm line, his eyes blazing. He's not used to anyone speaking to him this way. In this moment, the fragile bonds that once held us together begin to fray, threatening to snap under the strain of unspoken tensions and unresolved conflicts.

The room feels as though it's closing in on me, the weight of my father's disapproval bearing down like a suffocating blanket. His eyes bore into mine, searching for any sign of weakness, any indication that I might succumb to his demands.

My eyes flick to my brothers, who are all doing their best to maintain their composure. They know better than to try to intervene in a showdown like this, lest they become the next target of our father's wrath.

"Very well," he says finally, his voice strained. "Have it your way. But don't come crying to me when it all comes crashing down."

I watch as he turns on his heel and stalks from the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding bang. The sound reverberates through the study, a bitter reminder of the chasm that now divides us, my status as the nonconformist ne'er-do-well of the family more firmly entrenched than ever.

The clink of silverware against fine china fills the dining room, punctuated by animated chatter between my brothers. I sit in relative silence, picking at my food, acutely aware of the empty chair at the head of the table. My father's absence speaks volumes. I should have left right after my father stormed out, but I thought maybe we could put a Band-Aid on things over dinner. Hard to do when he doesn't even show up.

"Hey, Fallon," Link smirks, a glint in his eye betraying the cruel intentions behind his words, "Daddy's little princess is awfully quiet tonight. Did that little tantrum earlier tire you out?"

I glance at him briefly, but refuse to take the bait. Instead, I focus on my plate, stabbing my fork into a piece of roasted chicken with more force than necessary. The strain in my hand mirrors the tension suffocating the room, and my heart clenches in response. This isn't who I am—it's who they've made me.

As dinner drags on, I retreat further into myself, shutting out the world around me. Let them have their victories, their laughter—let them believe they've won. In the end, it'll only make my revenge that much sweeter.

After we've finished eating, I slip away from the others, making an excuse about needing to leave early.

Escaping to the solitude of my condo, it's there that I finally allow the façade to crumble, revealing the raw, vulnerable woman beneath. My hands tremble as I reach for the bottle ofwhiskey from my vintage bar cart, desperate for the numbing embrace of alcohol.

"Fuck them," I whisper to myself, taking a swig straight from the bottle. The fiery liquid burns its way down my throat, igniting a spark within me. It's not enough to erase the pain, but it's something.

The days pass in a blur, each one melding into the next as I continue to plot my revenge—against fuckboys, my family, Aksel, anyone who has ever done me or anyone I know wrong. The routine becomes second nature: punishing workouts, numbing alcohol, and stolen nights with strangers, all in an attempt to keep the demons at bay. I venture out to clubs, seeking the company of strangers who offer fleeting moments of connection beneath the dim lights and pounding bass. Their hands on my body, their breath hot against my skin—it's a temporary reprieve from the ache in my chest, a way to forget, if only for a little while. But even as I indulge in these vices, I can't shake the feeling that I'm teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something I might not be able to come back from.

Despite my efforts to distract myself, it isn't enough. The fog of my emotions remains thick, suffocating me, and I find myself drawn to darker thoughts. Revenge becomes an obsession, a lifeline in the chaos threatening to consume me. Each step I take down this path carries me further away from the woman I once was, but I can no longer turn back. I will destroy Aksel for hurting me, and I'll address my family pain in the process. I'm not sure exactly how yet, but I will. In the meantime, my clients' abusers will serve as proxies and guinea pigs.

"Fallon," I whisper to myself more than once while at work, gripping the bathroom sink for support, my knuckles white with strain, "you have to keep it together."

But the cracks are starting to show to others, too. My brothers notice how quiet I've become at the family dinners that I still drag myself to, and the way I avoid their gaze when they try to engage me in conversation. Link, in particular, seems determined to break through my carefully constructed walls, but I refuse to let him in, letting his barbed words wash over me like water off a duck's back.

"Come on, Fallon," he taunts one evening, smirking as he tosses a casual insult my way, "where's that fire you used to have?"

I simply stare at him, my face a blank mask, before turning away without a word. Let them think I'm broken, that I've finally succumbed to the weight of their expectations. It will only make my eventual triumph all the sweeter.

"Link," I murmur one night, staring blankly at my reflection in the mirror, "you've underestimated me. You all have."

With each passing day, I grow colder, harder. I embrace the darkness within me, allowing it to shape me into something new—something fierce. And as the storm clouds gather overhead, I know that there's no going back.

This is who I am now. This is who they've made me. And when the time comes, I will make them pay for what they've done.

Chapter 30

Fallon

The city lights cast a seductive glow on the sleek glass windows of my office, painting the room in shades of midnight and desire. I lean back in my chair, restless in the growing silence. It's late, but sleep is a luxury I can't afford. Not when there's so much at stake.

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