Chapter 24

Shay-Lee

"Ni?o, necesitas levántate."

Boy, You need to get up.

"Tu padre te está esperando."

Your father is waiting for you.

"Ni?o, levántate," Rosa said again, but this time, she nudged my shoulder while doing so.

"I'm up. I'm up." Opening my eyes and grunting, I pushed her hand away. Her waking me up didn't sit well with how I felt right now and only caused me to feel worse. My head felt like a nail was being hammered in my brain while my whole body ached as if a truck hit me. If only.

After Camilo, sorry, Diesel left me on the stall's floor, I somehow managed to get up and drag myself back home, where I'd locked myself in my room for the past—

"What day is it?" I asked Rosa while shading my eyes from the light that broke into the room after she opened the curtains.

"It's Saturday, ni?o."

Okay, so I was wiped out for only two days. Rubbing my face with my palms, I noticed how sweaty and stinky I was. While being fucked-up, I thought skipping a shower—or two—was a brilliant idea because I wanted to feel the traces Diesel left on me for as long as I could, knowing very well it would be the last fucking time he'd ever touch me. If I had any hopes he'd be able to accept that I was Llorón, they were gone now. The look in his eyes after he came all over my face was enough to kill any shred of hope I'd held. There was no remorse there, no care, just pain—pain I caused like I always did because I was a useless piece of trash.

To think I would mourn the loss of my enemy was pathetic, but he wasn't my enemy, and hadn't been for a long time. But what did it even matter? Diesel hated me just as he always did, if not more.

"Ni?o,is everything okay?" Rosa asked as I got up from my bed and walked to the bathroom, leaving her question unanswered.

Nothing was okay. Absolutely nothing.

By the time I got out of the shower with a towel knotted around my waist, Rosa was tidying up my room.

"Leave it," I said after she stopped near the round table in the middle of the room covered in drugs. Uncaring about the concern in her eyes, I climbed up the stairs leading to my closet. "I'll do more later, anyway."

I wasn't an addict, since I only did drugs when I needed to escape and forget life. Shit, maybe I was? Either way, it didn't really matter. Nothing did.

After putting on a pair of black sweats, I left my room and made my way to the kitchen when I noticed the number of people working in the house. Usually, my dad only allowed a limited amount of staff, all carefully chosen, to be in our home. Whether it was the gardener, the cook, or the guy keeping his car collection neat, they all went through a series of background checks and signed shitloads of contracts that would bury them alive if they ever breached their agreements prior to coming to work for him.

My dad had all those strict rules and quirks that must be followed at all times, one of which forbade our staff from approaching me. Orson and Rosa were the only exceptions. As a child, I couldn't understand why none of the people working for us ever talked to me. My dad claimed I was being cherished, while in fact, he isolated me. Living this way often made me feel like a bird in a cage—there to be watched but never approached. Despite realizing that it wasn't my fault but my father's, the lack of affection and sympathy I suffered from profoundly affected me. Therefore, seeing all these strangers setting things up in our yard, carrying tables and huge vases of flowers, caught me off guard.

"What the hell?" I mumbled as I walked into the kitchen, only to find cameras and soundmen surrounding my dad.

"There he is. Everyone was asking about you," my father said as soon as his eyes latched on me. "Come here," he added, waiting for me to join his side. I was well trained in how to act whenever cameras or interviewers were around, so I wasted no time standing beside him.

I gave the room a bashful smile that often made people like me more. "Good morning. What's all this about?" I asked, pretending to be curious while, in fact, I wanted to crawl back to my room and die there.

My father let out a fake, soft chuckle, patting my back. "We were so busy setting up for tonight's benefit that I forgot to mention it would take place here," he said, tearing his stare away from me to glance at the camera. "Since the Eva Rogers non-profit foundation is all about rehabilitating homes and villages destroyed by natural disasters around the world, I found hosting the very generous benefactors in my own home, with my son, would be fitting."

Oh, shit.

While being caught up with Diesel for the past few weeks, I'd somehow managed to forget his excessive benefit. Not only did I have to attend, but it would be held here? What the actual fuck.

After my mom's tragicdeath, my father built a billion-dollar nonprofit organization in her name. Quite the way to divert people's attention away from her mysterious death while making him look like even more of a saint.

The interviewer's eyes, which I only now noticed, shone with admiration before she moved the mic from my father to me. "Aren't you proud of your dad?"

Looking around the room of strangers, I found Orson smirking at me from the far end of the room and looked away as soon as our eyes met.

"Yeah, of course." I smiled at the interviewer, ignoring how I could still feel Orson's stare burning into me.

After asking me a few more basic questions regarding my dad, our relationship, and my plans for the future, I was free to go. Even though it was still early in the morning and the benefit wouldn't start until the late afternoon, I had to start getting ready. Tonight was about deception, and for that to happen, I needed to make sure no one would be able to see how damaged I truly was.

"What do you think, sir?" Mr. Ross, the tailor, asked as he straightened the jacket over my shoulders.

Looking at the full-length mirror, I gave myself a once-over. Typically, I would have gone for something more eye-catching, but since my father disapproved of my taste in clothing, I went for the classic slim-fit black suit with a matching tie and white dress shirt underneath.

"I think I look boring," I mumbled while buttoning the jacket. "Can't you make it tighter?"

Mr. Ross ran his fingers through his silver hair, his brown eyes scanning me carefully before he wrapped the tape measure around my waist. "Well, I'm afraid there's not much we can do now. It seems like you've lost weight the past month, and now the suit is half a size too big. If only you came for another fitting as I had asked."

I was ready to tell him I had better things to do than to waste my time in his shop when the door to the room opened and my father walked in.

Not bothering to say a word, he walked around me, checking me carefully before looking up at Mr. Ross. "It's half a size too big," he said, his voice cold.

"He lost weight."

"So why didn't you adjust it to his new size?"

Mr. Ross frowned at my father's words, then ran his fingers over his mustache. "I can see if I have a better suit—"

"It's fine," I tried to jump in.

"It's not fine." My dad touched my shoulder, softly feeling the fabric. "I pay Mr. Ross more than enough to make sure you wear a suit that perfectly matches your size." The corner of his lips curved into a small smile that was erased once he looked back at the tailor. "Go and see what you can do so he looks no less than perfect."

Mr. Ross couldn't have moved faster while leaving the room.

After ensuring the door was closed, my father's eyes returned to me as he tucked a lock of stray hair behind my ear. "Care to explain why you spent $120,000 last Thursday?"

I huffed, moving his hand away from me, and stepped down from the small podium Mr. Ross had brought with him. "I bought a motorcycle."

"A motorcycle?" He scowled, obviously not pleased with my answer.

"Yeah, a really cool motorcycle." I poured myself a glass of champagne from the bottle sitting on the desk and was ready to drink, but before the glass could even reach my lips, my father grabbed my wrist hard enough to make me writhe.

"When I ask a question, I expect it to be answered properly, Shay-Lee." He took my glass away and put it back on the table. Still holding my wrist, his face was now so close I felt his breath on my skin.

Despite still being high from the coke I did earlier, my stomach flipped, and I braced myself before looking up to meet his eyes. "But I thought this was our agreement, Daddy." I spat the last word, well aware of how much he hated it. "I can spend your money, no questions asked, and in return, I don't tell people what you actually do to me." Unable to stop myself, a sad laugh broke past my lips. "Aren't you proud of your dad?" I repeated the interviewer's question, making my voice higher to sound like her. "Oh yeah, of course I am." I smirked and then laughed. "Especially when he beats the shit out of me. Even more so when he—" My dad yanked me off my feet before I could complete my sentence, twisting my wrist so hard I fell to my knees.

"Are you high?"

I grinned through the pain. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"For your own sake, you better be sober tonight, or I swear to God—"

"Why?" My brows pulled together as I looked up at him with malicious eyes. "I thought you liked it when I'm wasted. Makes it a hell of a lot more easy." He knew exactly what I was talking about because the muscle in his jaw ticked before he twisted my wrist until I cried out in pain.

"Don't make me break your hand," he warned through gritted teeth.

"D-dad."

"You continue to behave this way and I'll lock you up in a mental hospital for the rest of your wretched life." He let go of my hand and turned his back on me.

Finally free, I quickly brought my wrist close to my chest and rubbed it, but the pain didn't go away. It never did. Even though he was no longer holding me, I still felt him on my skin, cuffing me with his invisible chains.

"Like you'd ever let me go." I spoke the painful truth. "I'm locked with you forever," I hissed at my father's back, wishing I wasn't doomed to be his and that I had the power to break these chains and run away.

"You're goddamn right about this. I'll never let you go." It wasn't a threat but the cruel reality I was molded into. "Be sure to behave tonight, or there will be consequences." He fixed his suit and then left the room without glancing my way.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to burn this whole place to the ground.

"Okay, I think we have just enough time to fix the jacket so it would sit perfectly on you, young sir," Mr. Ross said as he returned to the room, reminding me that no matter how badly I wanted to escape this world, I couldn't.

I wasn't strong enough.

Swallowing back all those emotions and thoughts, I cleared my throat.

"Okay."