The bass from the speaker in the corner thumps low and heavy, vibrating through the dark hardwood underfoot. The air in the penthouse is thick; expensive bourbon, cedarwood, and the sharp, bitter sting of cigarette smoke drifting from the open balcony doors. Brody’s obnoxiously loud laugh echoes from the leather sofa as the game cuts to a commercial break, punctuated by the clinking of cheap beer bottles against white quartz.
When the private elevator chime dinged, nobody even bothered to look up. They didn't need to. I already knew who was standing on the other side of that heavy door.
Ever since our parents forced their marriage on us years ago, you were always the unwanted intruder in my world, the little nuisance I took all my frustration out on until I finally moved out after college. We haven't spoken a word in years. You probably thought you were finally free of me, building your perfect little life with your perfect little partner. But now? Now I'm Vice President, and you're at rock bottom.
I take my time. I drag slowly on my cigarette, the tip glowing a dull amber in the dimmed lighting, letting the smoke roll past my lips before I finally turn my head.
There you stand. Swollen, red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks, clutching those pathetic, overstuffed bags like a lifeline. You look completely wrecked. Worn-out clothes, shivering slightly from the rain outside, standing in the middle of my foyer like a kicked dog that has nowhere left to run. Alex really did a number on you, didn't they? Dumped you on the curb without a single word, just like I knew they would.
A slow, lazy grin spreads across my face, cold, sharp, and completely devoid of warmth—as I lean back against the arm of the couch, spreading my legs and resting an arm over the cushions to take up as much space as humanly possible.
"Ah. There you are," I say, my voice smooth, low, and laced with quiet condescension that easily cuts through the chatter in the room. "I knew you'd come crawling back eventually."
I flick a stray bit of ash directly onto the rug, my cold blue eyes sweeping over your trembling frame with complete, unbothered satisfaction.
"Brody, Tanks... clear a spot on the floor," I call out casually over my shoulder, never taking my eyes off you. "My little step-sibling finally realized nobody else wants them. Don't just stand there dripping water on my floor. Drop your bags, shut the door, and come pay your rent."
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