OXFORD
ariella
“Daddy,” I burst through the doors of his office at CynoTech HQ without knocking. “You wanted to talk to me,” my heels click hard against marble as I stride straight to his desk.
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” he leans back in his chair. “I’m proud of you. You’ve got my support to chase your dreams,” and he focuses back on his work.
I roll my eyes with an audible scoff.
I know he didn’t mean that when he said he’d let Asher choose any life he wants.
“My little princess,” he begins gently, already getting it wrong, “you don’t need to rush your life away. You’ve got everything you need right here.”
“I’m not asking to rush. I’m asking to go.”
“You’re still a child, Ari.”
The word is insulting.
“I’m not,” I snap.
“You are to me,” he smiles as if that settles it. “And Oxford is… far. New country. New people. Why would you want to put yourself through all that when you’re safe here?”
“I just want to be there. I don’t want to stay on the same campus where my friends… died.”
“Well then, let’s get you into a new school.”
Here we go again… “No, I want a restart. And also, I’ll also help you manage CynoTech’s England branch,” wasn’t prepared to propose that… I mentally shrug.
He exhales, patient in the way only men with power can afford to be. “This isn’t about education, is it?”
Is it like some sort of parental superpower or what? They always seem to get it right.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I stiffen.
“It means that seventeen-year-old girls don’t wake up one day wanting Oxford without a reason,” he says carefully.
“I’m eighteen,” I correct, “which means I’m an adult, so I don’t need a reason you approve of.”
“Ari—”
“No,” I cut him off. “This is exactly what I mean. You’re not listening. You’re simply deciding for me like you always do.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“From what?” I laugh, sharp and humorless. “Books? Campuses? A plane ride?”
“From the world,” he says simply. “It’s not kind to girls like you.”
“Girls like me?” I echo, pointing at myself.
“My sweet girl,” he says. “You’re still my responsibility.”
“So that’s it?” I ask. “You’re just going to keep me here forever? Locked inside glass walls because you’re scared? Then sell me off to one of your friend’s sons, the highest bidder, in the name of a wedding?”
His eyes darken. “Watch your tone.”
“Watch your control,” I fire back. “You talk like every other parent who thinks love means confinement.”
“That’s not what I implied.”
“Is it?” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “You don’t want me to grow, do you? You want me exactly where you can keep an eye on me.”
“That’s because I care.”
“And I’m suffocating because of it!”
I almost brought up Asher, how he left because of his suffocating control. But the silence stretching between us hints that he already realized I actually meant how Asher hates him now. And how I’m one step away from doing the same.
“You’re not ready,” he finally says.
“I am,” I insist. “And you know it too.”
“You’re still in high school.”
“In my final year.”
He finally looks at me again, brows knitting just slightly. “Oxford doesn’t work on impulse.”
“It works on influence.”
“And you think Oxford will just—what? Open its gates for you?”
“You’ll do it,” I say. “However, you always do. Donations. Connections. A signature with the right weight behind it,” I finish with a pause. “Then I can handle the rest.”
“That’s not how universities function, Ari,” his voice firms. “You’re under eighteen. You’re still in high school.”
“In my final year,” I repeat. “Which means this isn’t entirely impossible.”
He opens his mouth, already forming the argument.
“Have I ever given you a reason to doubt my grades?” I ask instead, tilting my head, letting the question settle.
“All I’m asking is to get me into their high school system. I’ll get into the university myself. Merit-based, I promise.”
I repeat the same thing I kept telling all the damn time, hoping this time it will do its magic.
He studies me then—not indulgent anymore but measuring.
“You’re asking for a lot,” he says quietly.
“I’m asking for a change.”
“You’d leave everything?” he asks. “Your family?”
“You already broke this family, Dad,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
His jaw tightens.
“I’m not asking you to buy me a degree. Just give me the access. I’ll earn the rest.”
“And if I say no?”
I meet his gaze. “Then you’ll prove to yourself that you never saw me as anything but the Rapunzel.”
Another long pause stretches between us.
Dad studies me with an expression I don’t see often. The kind he reserves only for boardrooms and billion-dollar acquisitions.
“I don’t think you understand what you’re asking,” he says with an exhale.
“I do.”
“You think you’re asking to attend a school. What you’re actually asking is for me to let my only daughter move to another continent,” his voice remains calm.
I drop my arms and brace my palms on his desk, leaning over. “You let Asher leave.”
Something akin to hurt flickers across his face.
“I let Asher make his own choices. And look how that turned out.”
“He left.”
His jaw tightens. “Exactly.”
The answer catches me off guard. For a second, I forget to argue.
“Do you know what your brother did after I agreed to his stupid decision?” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer. Because I know too much.
“Do you know how many times I had to clean up after him? How many people wanted him dead before he was barely twenty-one?”
I look away. “Asher is different.”
“To put it in simple terms, he’s stupid,” Dad sharpens his tone.
“You know what? I’m done,” I back off. “If you think I’m your daughter, do me this one favor and never try to talk me out of Oxford again,” and I turn on my heels, already heading to leave.
If I have to stay in Australia, I’ll find somewhere else to live alone too. Just like Asher. Until I find my way to England.
“You’re both too intelligent for your own good. Both stubborn. Both incapable of accepting the word no. And both are too convinced to believe you’re invincible.”
The word halts me mid-motion. “We’re not you, Dad,” I say without turning back.
“You’re worse.”
My mouth falls open as I whirl around, only to find him reaching for a tablet sitting on his desk.
A few taps later, he turns the screen toward me.
I glance down and freeze.
Academic records. Competition results. Engineering certifications. Advanced online coursework. Research programs.
Everything I’ve completed over the last year. Some of it I don’t even remember telling him about.
“You think I haven’t noticed?”
I slowly lift my gaze to meet his burning amber ones. For a split second, they look awfully like Asher’s.
“You’ve spent fourteen months teaching yourself university-level engineering.”
I blink.
“You’ve maintained the highest grades in your year,” another pause. “You’ve somehow completed coursework most first-year undergraduates struggle with.”
My heartbeat starts doing strange things.
“You’ve attended every Oxford lecture available online.”
Okay. That’s definitely too much.
He leans back. “For months, I thought this was just a teenage phase.”
I immediately feel offended. “It wasn’t.”
His expression softens. “And that’s the problem here.”
For the first time since entering the office, I don’t have a response to any of this.
Suddenly, this conversation isn’t about Oxford anymore. It’s about him acknowledging I’m really serious.
“If I agree,” he starts carefully after a long silence, “you’re not coming home after two weeks because you’re feeling homesick and lonely.”
Is it really happening? “I won’t.”
“You’re not changing your mind six months later.”
Yes, it is! “I won’t.”
“You’re earning your place there. Not buying it.”
“Well, you should know that by now.”
“You won’t be officially managing CynoTech from England, but I’ll have Adrian delegate part of his workload to you. Consider it a trial run.”
I almost regret what I said on impulse, but it sounds doable.
“And if I agree,” a pause, he studies me for a beat, and finally sighs. “You’re not getting into any trouble.”
I straighten immediately. “Got it,” I manage to say firmly.
Then slowly, with much reluctance, like a man signing away something precious, he says with a huff. “Okay. You’re going to Oxford University.”
I stop breathing even though my lips part. Internally, I’m squeaking, screaming, and jumping until his gaze hardens before the excitement can fully hit me outwardly.
“Don’t celebrate yet. There are conditions.”
My stomach drops. Of course there are.
“You’ll attend self-defense training.”
I blink. “Eh?”
“And I’ll assign you some bodyguards.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s mandatory.”
I open my mouth.
He raises an eyebrow, challenging me to argue and give him a solid reason to dismiss it for good.
So I clamp my lips shut. Cowardly. For now. My trust fund matures soon, and we’ll see.
Dad smirks at my submission.
“But most importantly, if I discover you’ve lied to me about why you want this so badly, I reserve the right to drag you back home myself.”
A strange chill crawls down my spine. If there’s one thing Dad excels at, it’s finding secrets.
Fortunately for me, there’s absolutely no chance he discovers my entire life revolves around a British engineering professor who doesn’t know I exist.
With that confidence, I smile widely at him, “You got this, daddy,” and round the table to wrap him into a tight hug from the sides. “Thank you soooo much. I love you,” I say and leave a kiss on his cheek.
“Oops,” my hand immediately rubs off the stain of the lip gloss from his cheek.
He smiles, hugging me back. “Love you too, my stubborn little princess.”