Alex barely had time to catch his breath after Ian shoved him out of the car and into the house before he heard the unmistakable sound of his father's angry voice booming from the living room. His mother's voice followed, sharp and quick, laced with frustration and disappointment.
Taking a deep breath, Alex stepped into the room, bracing himself for the storm that awaited him. His father sat in his usual armchair, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished wooden armrest. His piercing eyes, dark with fury, bore into Alex the moment he entered. His mother stood beside him, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. They had been waiting for him.
The tension in the air was suffocating.
"How dare you, Alex?" his mother snapped before he could even take another step. "How dare you humiliate us like this?"
Alex, still slightly dizzy from the slap Ian had given him earlier, frowned in exhaustion. "Humiliate you? I don't understand."
"You don't understand?" His father's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "Working as a waiter? A waiter, Alex? Do you have any idea what people will say if they find out?"
Alex scoffed. "And why should I care what people say? I like working. I don't want to sit around wasting my life doing nothing all day."
His mother let out a dramatic gasp, placing a hand on her chest as if Alex had just confessed to something criminal. "How ungrateful can you be? We have given you everything, and this is how you repay us? By waiting tables like some commoner?"
Alex clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "You don't control my life! If I want to work as a waiter, I will. I refuse to be your little puppet anymore."
His father shot up from his chair so suddenly that the air seemed to shift with the force of his movement. "Watch your mouth, boy!" he thundered, stepping closer, his towering presence meant to intimidate. "You think you're independent now? You think you can just do as you please?" His voice dropped into something more dangerous. "Let me remind you that you are still part of this family, and you will obey me as long as you live under my roof."
Alex met his father's glare, refusing to shrink under the weight of it. "You don't own me," he shot back, his voice steady despite the panic rising in his chest. "I am not a child anymore. I should be allowed some freedom, at the very least."
"Freedom?" his father scoffed, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. "You want freedom? Fine. Then explain to me why Mr. Sandbrook has asked to see you on Monday."
Alex felt his stomach twist violently at the mention of that name. Damien. The moment he had been dreading had arrived. He had known his father would bring it up eventually, but hearing it out loud made it all the more real. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
"I don't care what he wants," Alex said, forcing his voice to remain even. "I'm not going."
Richard Masterson's expression darkened further. "You will go."
"No, I won't."
His father exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples before looking at Alex with the cold calculation of a man who always got his way. That dangerous glint in his eyes—the one Alex knew all too well—made his stomach churn.
"If you don't go," his father said, his voice eerily calm now, "I will lock you up the way we used to when you were a child. Maybe that will teach you obedience."
A cold shiver ran down Alex's spine. His father wasn't bluffing. He had done it before, isolating him for hours, sometimes days, whenever he was 'difficult.' The thought of being trapped again, of losing his autonomy, sent a wave of panic through him.
His mother's lips curled into something close to satisfaction, as if she agreed that this was the only way to fix him. Ian leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching the exchange with detached amusement, as if he knew exactly how this would end.
Alex gritted his teeth. He knew he had no choice.
"Fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go."
His father's smirk of triumph was instantaneous, but Alex wasn't finished.
"But on one condition."
Richard raised a brow, clearly surprised by Alex's sudden compliance. "And what condition is that?"
Alex inhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "You stay out of my job. I will go see Sandbrook, but you don't interfere with my work at the restaurant."
His father's jaw tensed, and he glanced at his mother, who frowned deeply, displeased that Alex was negotiating at all. Ian snorted from his place by the door, but no one paid him any mind.
After a long, tense silence, Richard finally exhaled. "Very well. But you better not embarrass us any further, Alex."
Alex didn't respond. He simply turned on his heel and walked away, his heart hammering against his ribs. His hands were trembling as he climbed the stairs to his room, his breath uneven. He slammed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, pressing his forehead to the cool wood.
His entire body felt like it was vibrating with rage, with fear, with something in between. He had no idea what awaited him on Monday when he faced Damien—Mr. Sandbrook—but he knew one thing for certain.
He was done being controlled. One way or another, he would take his life back.
***************************************************************************************
The next morning, Alex woke up with a lingering headache, remnants of the stress from the past few days. He sighed, knowing that he had little time to dwell on his family's oppressive ways. He needed to go to the restaurant and ask for some time off for his unwanted meeting with Damien.
When he arrived at work, the restaurant was already bustling with activity. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats filled the air, momentarily distracting him from the weight pressing on his shoulders.
He spotted the head chef, overseeing the kitchen staff. Taking a deep breath, Alex approached him.
"Chef, may I have a word?"
The man turned, giving Alex a once-over. "What do you need?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I was hoping to get the afternoon off," Alex said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "I have some personal matters to attend to."
The chef sighed, rubbing his chin. "You just started working here, Alex. I can't have you disappearing too often."
"I understand," Alex nodded. "It's just for today. I promise it won't happen again."
The chef studied him for a long moment before exhaling in defeat. "Fine. But don't make it a habit."
"Thank you, Chef. I appreciate it."
He waved him off before turning back to his work.
As Alex walked away, he felt an odd mix of relief and dread settling over him. He had secured the time off, but now he had to face the inevitable meeting with Damien.
His heart pounded at the thought. What did Damien want from him? Why now, after everything? And more importantly—what was Alex going to do when he finally saw him again?