CEDRIC
The force of the slap sent my head whipping to the side, a sharp sting blooming across my cheek.
“How dare you disgrace us like this?!” My father’s voice thundered, his face twisted in fury. His hand lifted again, poised to strike again, but before it could connect, my mother’s tired voice interrupted.
“Stop it,” she muttered, exhaling deeply. She set down the wine glass she had been nursing, the crystal making a soft clink against the table. “Hitting him won’t change the news.”
A low groan rumbled from my father as he pressed his fingers to his temple, sinking heavily onto the plush sofa. His anger had not waned, but exhaustion now part of it. “We spoiled him too much,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “That’s why he turned out this way.”
My mother shot him a sharp look, her lip
