Tom's POV
I followed her to the car, the sleek lines of her dad's Bentley gleaming in the fading light. He was behind the wheel, eyes focused on the road. "Evening, Mr. Storm," I greeted casually, tipping my head in respect. He nodded in response, a brief acknowledgment. Imogen chimed in softly, "Daddy, Tom was on his way home. Can we drop him off?"
He glanced back at us, then nodded again. "He can hop in the back with you, cupcake." His tone was easy, familiar. Imogen's face lit up with a bright smile as she opened the door for me. I hesitated for a split second, then slid into the back seat, she following right behind me. We sat in silence—awkward as hell—as the car glided through the streets toward my place.
She silently scrolled through her phone, completely ignoring me, like I wasn't even there. The silence settled heavy between us, tense and uncomfortable. When we finally pulled up to my house, I stepped out into the dark, quiet night. I looked back at the car as it started to drive off, watching until it disappeared around the corner. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Storm," I said quietly, tipping my head again.
He nodded. "Anytime, kid." They drove away, leaving me standing there in the dark. I watched the taillights fade into the distance, my mind swirling with a headache of mixed emotions. One minute, she was trying so hard to get my attention—then the next, she acted like I didn't exist. It was exhausting. One hell of a headache.
I pushed open the door and stepped into the house, the familiar creak of the door hinge loud in the quiet. The moment I entered, I was met by my mom's worried face. She looked up from whatever she was doing in the living room, her eyes soft but tinged with concern.
"Honey, where have you been? It's late," she asked, voice gentle but anxious.
"Sorry," I mumbled, shoulders tense, and headed straight for my room. I didn't want to deal with her worry right now, didn't want to explain where I'd been or get caught up in whatever her mind was spinning.
But before I could even close the door behind me, I heard him—Daniel's deep, grating voice echoing from the kitchen.
"Where do you think you're going? Your mother's talking to you," he barked, loud and condescending.
Fuck, not him again. My stomach clenched tight. I clenched my fists, feeling that familiar surge of anger. I shot back without thinking, voice sharp and defiant. "None of your business," I snapped, stomping off toward my bedroom door, each step heavy with frustration.
"Come back here, son," he shouted after me, voice booming.
I spun around, my eyes blazing with rage. "I'm not your son," I shot back, voice cold and dripping with disdain. The words felt good—so much better than I expected, like finally, I was standing up to him.
Argh. I hated this guy, Daniel. Just because he was sleeping with my mom—fucking her, even—didn't make him my dad. Not in my eyes. Not in my heart. But my mom? She didn't seem to see it that way. She never saw the truth, maybe because she was so deluded, so blinded by love or whatever bullshit she clung to.
And Daniel? He didn't care. He didn't give a damn what I thought.
I knew he was cheating on her. I saw the signs, heard the whispers, caught the looks. But she refused to listen. She was so damn convinced that everything was fine, that he was "the one," even when it was painfully clear he only cared about himself.
I care too much about her—way too much—to just stand by and watch her go through this again. Not this time. I couldn't let her blindly walk into another disaster. No, I'd fight for her, even if she didn't want to see it. I wouldn't let her get hurt again, not on my watch
It seemed Daniel wasn't done with the bullshit. I could hear him stomping his way upstairs, each step heavy and deliberate, like he was trying to intimidate me. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to like that, young man?" he burst through my door furiously, eyes blazing with anger. I rolled my eyes, feeling a surge of defiance. "Not my dad, that's for sure," I shot back, voice laced with sarcasm.
His face twisted into a sneer. "Your father would be so disappointed," he spat, like he actually believed it. I cringed inwardly. Who the fuck does he think he is? He's nothing but a damn outsider, trying to act like he owns the place. I clenched my fists, feeling that familiar rush of rage all over again.
"I'm sure the deadbeat would be disappointed that I'm not bonding with his wannabe," I retorted, voice cold and sharp. "Get the fuck out of my room, Daniel." Without another word, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him. The heavy thud of the door closing echoed in the silence that followed.
Good riddance.