"Cleo..." Seth whispers, our breaths mingling as his thumb slowly traces my lips, maintaining eye contact. I watch him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes dare me, and the pulse in my pants surges. Suddenly, our lips crash toge...
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☀︎ ︎MANHATTAN, NEWYORK ☀︎︎ DECEMBER 2:15 pm
A week later, as promised, I'm discharged from the hospital. For the sake of my emotional recovery, I've been forcing myself to stay off social media—the hardest thing I've ever had to do. One of the butlers opens the door for me while another retrieves my bags from the trunk. "Careful with those," I warn before sighing and squinting against the harsh sunlight, taking in the familiar sight of my father's house with my hands on my hips. I can only hope my father hasn't converted my bedroom into yet another office. He insisted I stay with him for a few days of "daddy-daughter time." The idea was ludicrous, and I cringed at the very thought. He's never cared about spending time with me, not even when I was younger. I sigh again, bracing myself for whatever over-the-top gesture he's planning, and step inside.
The second I walk through the door, I'm greeted by an overwhelming display—dozens of flowers and a massive "Welcome Home" sign hanging across the entryway. My father stands in the middle of it all, grinning like an idiot.
I cross my arms, unimpressed. "Welcome home, baby girl," he says.
The words make me want to gag. "Ew, please don't call me that."
His smile falters, and he looks around and he glances around at the flowers. "You don't like it?"
"No, I don't," I reply sharply, sneezing as the scent of roses hits me. "I'm allergic to roses. You'd think you'd know that by now." I wave a hand in front of my face to stop my mascara from running. "I'll be upstairs. Get rid of them." Without waiting for a response, I walk past him and head straight to my room.
When I push open the door, relief washes over me. Everything is exactly as I left it—ballet shoes still hanging on the wall, stuffed animals dumped in the corner, polaroids scattered across the dresser, and the familiar glow of fairy lights above the bed.
Just as I finish unpacking, my father's voice echoes down the hall. "Cleo, dinner's in fifteen!" he calls, sounding way too chipper for someone who's never shown an interest in family meals.
"Yeah, sure," I mutter under my breath, closing my bag. I'm in no mood for whatever awkward attempt at bonding he has planned, but at least it'll be quick.
When I walk into the dining room, I barely notice the over-the-top table setting. What really catches my attention is the guy sitting next to my father—tall, broad-shouldered, covered in tattoos, with dark hair and a brooding expression. Handsome, to say the least.
My father stands up, nervously rubbing his hands together. "Cleo, you're here. There's, uh, someone I want you to meet."
I cross my arms, giving him a skeptical look. "This better be quick. I don't have time for theatrics."
He gestures to the guy like he's the guest of honor at some ridiculous event. "This is Seth. He's... your bodyguard."
