Emily
By the time I got home, the sky had already darkened.
The house stood quiet as always—large, polished, and strangely cold despite the warm lights glowing from the windows.
It had never really felt like home.
Not after my mother died.
I stepped inside, handing my bag to one of the house staff before asking casually, “Is my father home?”
“Yes, Miss,” the maid replied. “He’s in his study.”
I thanked her and headed to the study, the door to the study was slightly ajar when I reached the hallway.
I knocked lightly.
“Come in.”
His voice sounded impatient.
I pushed the door open.
My father sat behind his large desk, glasses low on his nose as he reviewed documents under the warm glow of the desk lamp. He barely glanced up when I entered.
“Yes?”
His tone already carried dismiss
