His Inheritance

Whispers

When you woke the next morning, you were hoping that everything from the day before was a bad dream. Just maybe you'd wake up back in the home where you'd always lived, ready to start another day.

But you were in Steve's home now. No, you'd be damned if you'd call it your home. It set your nerves on edge.

How would today go?

Dyson kept you from Steve's wrath last night after you'd thrown your drink in his face and hauled ass out into the storm. But Dyson couldn't shield you from the bastard forever. Steve was his boss.

Reaching for your robe, slung across the back of your vanity chair, you secured it around your body and quietly made your way to one of the frosted bedroom windows. The world outside was white, bright. There was a good two feet of snow on the ground which didn't help your case.

Unless Steve had compelling business, he wasn't likely to leave the house.

Blowing out a resigned exhale, you made your way over to the boxes that held your personal items. You fished out your toiletries, something to wear. You showered and dressed, decided to unpack everything since you likely weren't going anywhere. You took your time.

By midday, no one had come to check on you and you really didn't want to venture out. But your stomach was growling like a caged beast, and you just knew Dyson would force your hand and make you venture downstairs for food.

You didn't want to leave that room. You didn't want to deal with Dyson. He could lay guilt better than any Catholic mother you'd ever met. And Steve...

Oh, hell no. You weren't ready to face that music right now.

By early afternoon, you were unpacked, and your anxiety was high. Still, no one checked up on you and your empty stomach was your only companion.

What had you expected?

By five, you couldn't take it anymore. You texted Dyson. You knew that would get his attention. You rarely, very rarely, ever texted him over the two years he'd lived with you and your father. He wasn't overly fond of technology, you knew. He preferred actually talking to people.

You simply typed Dyson?

Dyson didn't immediately answer. When he finally did answer, it was brief.

Dyson: Yes?

Deciding to cut to the chase, you typed quickly. Your fingers were shaking.

Can Luca bring my dinner up tonight? I'm not feeling well.

Hunger did that to you.

Dyson: No can do. Steve insists you have dinner with him tonight.

Fuck.

You shouldn't have been surprised that Steve was forcing the issue. That's what brutes like him did. Memories of him crowding you into the chair in his study filled your mind's eye. You remembered the scent of him, the heat. His arrogance had both angered and scared you.

There was no doubt in your mind that he was pissed at you for the entire scene. Dinner would likely be a miserable affair.

If you wanted to eat any time soon, did you really have a choice?

When?

Dyson: Come down in an hour.

Dyson didn't say anything else. It left you feeling even worse.

Steve couldn't be avoided forever.

You paced a rut in the floor in your agitation, considering your next move.