Chapter 3

The next morning, I woke up exhausted. The party had been ruined, and the confrontation had left a bitter taste in my mouth. I was sitting in my kitchen, nursing a strong coffee, when I heard a key in my front door.

I froze. Only two people had a key: me and Olivia.

The door swung open, and my mother walked in, followed by my father and Kevin, who were carrying suitcases.

"What a lovely place, Ethan," Martha said, looking around my penthouse with a critical eye. "A bit minimalist for my taste, but we can fix that. Richard, the big guest room has the best morning light. We'll take that one."

I stood up slowly. "What are you doing here? How did you get a key?"

"Oh, Kevin made a copy years ago, back when you still trusted him," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We've decided to move in. A successful man like you shouldn't live alone. And besides, we need to be taken care of. It's only right."

They started walking toward the guest wing as if they owned the place.

"And you can move into the smaller bedroom," she called over her shoulder. "The master suite is for your father and me. It's more appropriate."

I felt a surge of rage so hot it almost blinded me. I took a deep breath, clenching my fists until my knuckles were white. Yelling would get me nowhere. They thrived on drama.

"And another thing," she said, reappearing in the kitchen doorway. She eyed my coffee mug. "That partner of yours, Olivia. She's a little too ambitious, don't you think? A woman's place isn't running a company. It's finding a good husband. You should be careful."

"Get out," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.

"Don't be silly," she scoffed. "We're family. In fact, I've already told a few of my friends that Kevin will be taking over as the new COO of Phoenix Innovations. He needs a respectable job now that he's a family man."

A family man. The words hit me hard. I remembered Kevin's wedding. He'd wanted a lavish, over-the-top affair to impress his new bride's wealthy family. An affair I paid for. It cost me nearly a quarter of a million dollars, money I had to borrow against my first company's assets. It was one of the loans that helped sink me.

And his wife? When I called her during my bankruptcy, desperate for even a small loan to buy food, she had laughed. "Sorry, Ethan," she'd said. "We can't associate with failures. It's bad for our image." Then she hung up.

"And I'll take a position on the board," my father announced, strolling back into the kitchen. "Director of Strategy sounds about right. I have a lot of good ideas."

I stared at them. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it all. They weren't just leeches; they were vampires who thought they owned the blood bank.

My golden retriever, Buddy, who had been sleeping in the living room, trotted over and nudged my hand, sensing my anger. An idea, sharp and sudden, sparked in my mind.

"Buddy," I said, my voice changing, becoming light and cheerful. "You see those people? They have treats! Go get the treats, boy! Go get 'em!"

Buddy was the gentlest dog in the world, but he was also a hundred pounds of muscle and fur who loved nothing more than a game of chase. He let out a deep, booming "WOOF!" and bounded toward my family.

Martha shrieked. Richard yelped and tried to climb onto a kitchen counter. Kevin, the bravest of the lot, just screamed and ran for the door.

"Get this beast off me!" Martha cried, batting at Buddy's friendly, wet nose with her purse.

"He's not a beast, he's a dog," I said, leaning against the counter and finally letting myself smile. "And he thinks you want to play. You should probably run."

They didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled out of my apartment, tripping over each other in their haste. Buddy stood at the open door, tail wagging, a confused look on his face. He had just wanted to play.