31. Tobias
Chapter 31
Tobias
B eing back in this house is a special kind of hell. Every time I'm here, my father makes it his mission to guilt me, to wear me down, and try to convince me to forget my life and "carry on his legacy," as he so dramatically calls it. But fuck that. I get one shot at this life, and I'll be damned if I waste it living for someone else's expectations.
Our relationship has been strained for as long as I can remember—a tension that's woven so deeply into our dynamic it's practically hereditary. He resents me for not being who he wants me to be, and at this point, the feeling's mutual.
I don't have deep-rooted daddy issues. Or mommy issues, for that matter—though she's a piece of work in her own right. I hate being alone because I spent half my life that way, but I'm not desperate for his love or validation. That ship sailed long ago, probably when I realized he'd never see me as more than a failed investment.
The truth is, the guy's a prick, and some relationships are beyond repair.
The lectures, the sighs, and the way my dad looks at me like I've personally ruined every dream he's ever had—it's something I stopped caring about a long time ago. Still, it's easier to put on the suit and endure it than to deal with the fallout of not showing up here.
But these gatherings? They're not all bad. If there's one thing that makes them tolerable, it's Amelia. These parties were always my excuse to see her after I left for college.
In a sea of fake smiles and shallow conversations, she's always been the only thing real in this house.
My heavy steps echo down the hallway, each one screaming that I'd rather be anywhere else. When I knock, David Sinclair's deep voice rumbles through the thick wood, calling me in. I push the door open, step inside, and when he looks up, I can't help but take him in for a second. The tailored suit, the neatly combed hair, the ever-present air of superiority—he's the pictureof power. If I were to follow in his footsteps, this would be my future. I'd be him. I'd be trapped in a too-stiff suit, chained to this chair, commanding respect while sucking the happiness out of everyone unfortunate enough to cross my path.
No, fucking thank you.
There's no smile. No warm welcome. No hug or happiness that his only child is home.
Just an empty space where a father should be.
The room feels as cold as he looks. David Sinclair sits behind his massive oak desk like a king surveying his kingdom, his sharp eyes cutting into me like I'm some underperforming employee rather than his flesh and blood.
"I expected you here yesterday."
"Yeah, well, we decided not to drive through the night."
"Why didn't you catch the flight I paid for?"
Because I wanted to spend time with Mills.
"I didn't want to leave Amelia driving all that way alone."
"She's done it before," he counters, his tone dismissive, as if Amelia doesn't factor into his equation of priorities. To him, she's just a piece on the board, something to maneuver into place—not a person to care about.
"I thought you'd rather I was with her." I level him with a look. "Isn't that why I'm living with her? So she has someone looking out for her?"
"Yes," he replies, his jaw tightening like he has to force the word out of his throat, "but I had a meeting arranged last night that I expected you to be a part of, and you weren't here."
"What meeting?"
"Well, considering you have no intention of taking over the business when I can't do it anymore, I'm having to put some things in place. I had a meeting with my lawyer, and since you're my only child and will ultimately be affected, I wanted you to be part of the conversation."
"Whatever you decide is fine with me," I reply, not bothering to hide how little I care. I know exactly why he wanted me there—so he and his crooked little lawyer, who looks like he crawled out of a swamp in a cheap suit, could pile on the pressure. "So are we good here? Because I'm gonna try to get a couple of hours of sleep before tonight."
"I'm going to have to leave the company in the hands of someone who isn't a Sinclair. Do you understand that?"
"Will you care when you're dead though?"
"This isn't a joke," he says, his tone darker now.
"Oh, I'm fully aware, but what exactly do you want from me? Do you want me to abandon my life and give up everything I've worked for just so I can spend the next forty years locked in this office, staring at spreadsheets and playing CEO? All so that, when you're long gone, I can sit in this chair and be a miserable fuck like you? No thanks. I'm not interested in inheriting this fucking cage."
"If I'd known what a selfish, entitled little bastard you were going to turn out to be, I would've given you a lot less growing up."
There it is—the snap. My jaw locks so tight that it aches, my breath slicing through my chest like a blade, and before I can stop myself, words fueled by pure rage explode out of me.
"You don't think growing up without a mother was punishment enough? You think being left with you was a life I wanted?"
"I gave you everything," he snaps, his voice rising with indignant righteousness as if that erases the years of neglect.
"You gave me things," I bite back, leaning forward, palms flat against the desk. "Did you ever show me love? Or compassion? How about basic fucking care? No. The only thing you've ever cared about is your job and getting someone way too fucking young for you to suck you off."
"Watch your goddamn mouth," he growls, standing, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Or what? What are you gonna do, old man?" I straighten up, towering over him, my fury burning hotter as his face hardens. He doesn't answer, but his silence says everything. "You realize I'm only here for Mills, don't you? And maybe Kayla—because at least she treats me with some respect."
"She feels the same way I do about your lack of responsibility and family commitment," he sneers, throwing Kayla into his line of fire like that'll somehow cut deeper.
It doesn't.
"Then she can tell me that herself, and if she does, I'll say the same thing I'm saying to you." I turn and walk away, my pulse pounding in my ears.
"You'd better not cause an issue tonight! You'll shelf this shit, do you hear me?" He calls out, the threat echoing down the hall
"Don't I always?" I hurl the words over my shoulder, refusing to pause or give him the satisfaction of looking back.
Asshole.
When I get back to my room, I slam the door shut and throw myself on the bed, my body still vibrating with anger. My mind drifts to the question I've asked myself too many times—how could my mom have ever left me withthatpiece of shit?
Because she's an even bigger piece of shit for leaving in the first place.