thick tension, the formal address a deliberate choice.

o the unaccustomed formality. He opened his mouth, a retort already forming on his lips, but Dea

ed against his chest, "please just take

shot me one last, cold glare, his face hardening into that familiar mask of indiffere

eir own toxic dance. I shook my head, a dismissive gesture that carried more weight than any angry word. My heart, once

hoing with a decade of silence, of unspoken desires, of a life I had mistakenly believed w

ks on the shelves were generic bestsellers, not the dog-eared classics I loved. My personal effects amounted to a single small suitcase. Everything else was e

few trinkets, I found it. A simple silver ring, engraved with my father's initials. It was his. My

e and family, was the last precious thing I had left of him. I remembered the da

oft. "It means the world to me. I want you to hav

ep it safe." He never wore it. Not once. I had told myself he was just forg

new it, deep down. He j

. A sudden thought struck me. Where had he put it? I had searched for it befor

ther. Nothing. My gaze fell on the small, discreet waste bin tucked into the corner of his dressing room. It was usually

and pulled out the tissue. And som

her's ring. Discarded.

quiet doubts-they coalesced into one brutal, undeniable truth. He hadn't just forgotten

ntless. But these weren't tears of grief. They were tears of rage, of incandesce

ring, my father's ring, I placed carefully in my pocket. I wouldn't let him

e front door suddenly opened. Arthur stood there, his face still etched with anger, his eyes dark.

contempt. "You really are a drama queen, aren't you? Trying t

rless laugh escaped me. "Attention? Arthur, my mother just died. My life is i

s face. But it was quickly replaced by his usual arrogance. "Your mother? What are you talking

sheer, unadulterated ignorance, the chilling detachment, was almos

y lungs. "We're over, Arthur. For good.

ulled up to the curb. My ride

n just walk away from me? From everything I've given

of emotion. "You gave me nothing but an illusion, Arthur. A gilded ca

If you walk out that door, there's no coming back! You hear me? Y

on my face. "Good. Because I'll never look back, Art

mask of thwarted rage. As the car sped away, I looked out the window at the receding skyline, at the penthouse that had once been my aspirational prison. My dreams her