"Do as your mother says."
**Stepmother**, you mean, I wanted to say. Instead, I stood silently, my lips pressed into a thin line, as my father informed me that I had to go on this so-called weekend trip they had planned with his friend. I know why exactly this trip was planned and I would rather stay away from it.
The plan is to go on a weekend getaway in the vacation house of My father's dangerous, mafia friend. Killian Knight. If you're smart, you stay out of his way. If you're wise, you become his friend—if you can manage it, that is.
I've never met him, only seen photos, but I know enough. And what I know is enough for me to decide that he is too dangerous and too close to my father for comfort. He kills people for a living, and I've decided I'd rather live my life without the constant threat of being snuffed out in my sleep. Besides, I can't go on this little *family-friendly* trip. I'll never have an opportunity like this again: three days alone, unsupervised. There are things I need to do and people to expose.
"But Father…"
"No buts!"
I refrained from rolling my eyes.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Adeline—my dearest stepmother—wearing a smug expression. She tried her best to suppress it in front of my father. She wants this, she wants to secure her son's position as the next chairperson of Anderson Cooperate Empire and also doesn't let anyone know that she is stealing my rights.
The look on my father's face told me it was pointless to argue.
I am so not in the mood to play Happy Family charade.
"Understood," I said, trying my best not to roll my eyes or give a sigh. I think I partially lost in the end.
"Don't look like I've just killed your cat. This is a family vacation, and Mr. Knight and his wife have so graciously chosen to host us. I don't want anyone backing out. We'll enjoy it like a family," he said, his rough voice sounding like he had something stuck in his throat.
"Yes, my dear, we most certainly will," Adeline added, placing her hand over his in what seemed like a loving gesture. My father smiled at her sweetly.
I held back my gag reflex.
"I'll excuse myself, Father."
He nodded without looking at me, and I slowly walked out of the study.
The devil's spawn—my stepbrother—was leaning against the wall, waiting with a smirk on his face. I was sure he was there to gloat over my failed attempt to escape this hell trip.
"Told you it'd never work. Father holds the Knights in high regard, and Mr. Knight invited the whole family, little sis," he sneered.
"It's bold of you to assume I consider you family," I shot back.
"Be careful, sister. If Father hears you talking like that…" He put a hand to his chest in mock injury, then his expression darkened as he cocked his head. "You'll be out of here."
I gave him no response to his obvious threat. It was a threat that could very well come true any of these days considering my 21st birthday day is exactly one month away. It will be my end or I will be free from this prison I am forced to call home.
I slipped away down the hallway, past the lobby, and toward the giant staircase leading to the South Wing of the mansion.
This is the Andersons' ancestral house. My father, Tommen Anderson, is the third-generation Chairman of Anderson Group Of Companies, a multinational company worth over $3 trillion. As his firstborn, I am technically the heir to this corporate empire. But if my stepmother's scheming works, my stepbrother might end up taking over the company.
I don't need Anderson Empire or neither I am so stuck up to hold on to the fact what was supposed to be mine and create havoc for it. The truth of my life is the shackle around my feet is this legacy and the only way to free it is to own it.
I remember it quite clearly when it was tied to me.
"Only an Anderson will sit on this chair. You must promise me, Mila," my grandfather said when he first made me sit on the chairman's chair behind the large, old mahogany desk at Anderson Tech's headquarters. I was ten years old and had only recently learned that I was an Anderson.
I still remember him kneeling in front of me, looking me in the eye as I sat in the highest chair at Anderson Tech. His blue eyes—Anderson's blue eyes, the same eyes I see in the mirror every day— were cold, just like my father.
"You are the only valid candidate,"
I didn't know what to think until it became clear that I had just transferred from an iron cage - my orphanage to a golden one - the Anderson Mansion. He was nothing but a jailer.
Two years later, he passed away.
This weekend was supposed to be my lone opportunity to act without Adeline or Nicolas breathing down my neck. Three consecutive days… but damn her for playing the perfect mother, pretending to care.
For five years, I've been careful with every move I make. All anyone knows about me is that I'm an introverted art history student at New York University with massive social anxiety. A simple girl who thought she was an orphan and is now just *grateful* to have a family.
Adeline wants to control my every move. She's no fool, though. She knows she has nothing concrete on me. She has always played the part of a concerned mother. I have seen her actual colors. I will not be waiting for that side to come up again.
My plans will have to wait.
I packed my bag, and the next morning, we were on our way. My father and stepmother rode in the Mercedes, while I was stuck with my stepbrother, Nicolas, and half-sister, Francesca, in the BMW.
"It's been a while since we went to the beach. I'm excited!" Francesca—or Franny, as she insisted we call her—gushed.
I like her, surprisingly. She's not annoying. But I hate her hair—the glossy platinum blonde she inherited from her mother. It fell in perfect waves and looked even more angelic paired with the peach beach dress she was wearing. Her blue eyes, though, were like mine, like my father's, like my grandfather's. She is Anderson, after all. Probably the only one who didn't look at me like I was a stranger.
I opened my phone, put in my earbuds, and watched a text pop onto the screen.
**Are you coming today?**
**Later.**
**When?**
**3 d.**
**Damn.**
Yeah, yeah. You and I both.
We left the chaotic rhythm of New York City behind, merging onto the highway as the skyline faded in the rearview mirror. The air changed—cleaner, tinged with salt. A few hours later, we pulled into the Hamptons and parked in front of a grand beach house.
The car came to a halt, and I pulled my earbuds out. As I stepped out, the scent of sea salt filled my senses. If I had to find one redeeming quality about this trip, it was this view. I'd endure the monotonous gathering just for this.
"This is so beautiful!" Franny gushed again.
I glanced at the property where we'd be spending the weekend.
A wide, wraparound porch supported by white pillars overlooked the dunes, while tall, arched windows reflected the fading sunlight. Sprawling gardens surrounded the house, with perfectly manicured lawns stretching toward the sand. Vibrant flower beds lined the walkways, and mature trees cast dappled shadows over a stone fountain at the center of the property. The estate radiated timeless elegance—a true sanctuary.
Nicolai stepped out of the car, groaning dramatically as he put on his sunglasses.
"It's too hot," he whined, tugging at the collar of his bright red shirt. A red shirt on a beach trip—typical.
I shook my head, slipping my phone and earbuds into my sling bag and shutting the car door. Still, my gaze lingered on the spectacular view. What would it be like to call a place like this your own?
"Oh, well, we were waiting for you!"
An elegant woman in a white beach dress stepped onto the porch. She was lean, with an A-line figure and a height that gave her a commanding presence. Her warm smile, framed by red-painted lips, greeted my parents.
"Kate, thank you for having us," Adeline said, performing one of those air kisses high-class women exchange. Kate followed up with a light kiss on my father's cheek.
"How are you, Kate? It's been a while," my father said in what I assumed was his version of a charming tone.
"I'm great. Killian and I have been looking forward to this."
"Where is my friend—"
As if on cue, our host stepped onto the porch.
Khaki pants. A dark blue, fitted shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean, muscular arms. He ran his hands through his hair, dark and tousled, gleaming under the sunlight.
My breath hitched when his eyes locked on mine.