A frown settled on my lips as I entered Oroy's mansion.
There was only one reason for this change in demeanor. My dearest brother, Fernando Oroy.
He sat on one of the barstools, clearly on his fourth or fifth shot of whiskey. His eyes narrowed as I strolled in.
“Look, if you want to start a fight, I—“
“I don’t want to fight you, Em,” He began and my forehead creased almost immediately.
Fernando only called me Em, when he was about to drop news I didn’t like.
I groaned internally, I’d already seen enough drama today.
“You have thirty seconds to make this count,” I said, sitting on the stool beside him.
“You’re turning twenty-five in two weeks, happy birthday in advance, Em.”
“You made me sit here, to wish me a happy birthday? When it’s not my birthday?” What do men even want
