Chapter 5 A Drive To Nowhere

Chapter 5: (Nolan's POV)

Nolan gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

The city stretched out before him, neon lights bleeding into the night, but he barely noticed. His mind was still stuck in that conference room-his mother's sharp voice, his father's cold disappointment, the weight of their expectations suffocating him.

It was always the same. Show up. Smile. Pretend.

He pressed his foot on the gas, the engine growling as he sped down the near-empty streets. He didn't care where he was going-he just needed to get away.

The car's interior was silent, aside from the steady hum of the road beneath him. His phone buzzed in the passenger seat. He ignored it. Probably his mother, or worse, his father, ready to continue the lecture.

He didn't want to hear it.

Didn't need to.

He already knew the words by heart.

You're reckless, Nolan.

You're a waste of potential.

You're an embarrassment.

His jaw tightened. He turned sharply onto an open stretch of highway, the wind whipping through the slightly cracked window. The speedometer ticked up. Faster. Faster. The pressure in his chest should have eased, but it didn't.

It never did.

By the time he reached his penthouse, the anger had burned down to something dull, something hollow.

The elevator ride up was suffocatingly quiet.

The second he stepped inside, he tossed his keys onto the counter and headed straight for the minibar. He poured a drink-**whiskey, neat-**and downed half of it in one go.

The burn felt good. Familiar.

He leaned against the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the city. From up here, everything looked... small. Insignificant.

Kind of like how he felt.

He hated that.

Hated that his parents could still get under his skin.

Hated that, for all his money, all his charm, all the distractions he threw in his own way, nothing ever made that feeling go away.

And, most of all...

He hated that someone had heard.

The thought made his fingers tighten around the glass. He hadn't seen her, but he'd felt it-that prickle at the back of his neck. Someone had been there when he stormed out of that room.

And if they had heard his parents?

Then they had heard him, too.

His stomach twisted.

He threw back the rest of the whiskey and reached for the bottle again.

Tonight, he didn't want to think.

Tonight, he just wanted to forget.