His son was just found asleep on my lounger and he just plops him back into his own bed and leaves for the day. Who does that? Well, screw this, I’m going to go and check on him. He’s probably upstairs crying, scared out of his brain. Stupid men. Why don’t they have an inch of f*****g empathy for anyone but themselves? He’s eight, for Christ’s sake!
I walk up into the main house. The lamp is still on in the living room and I can smell the eggs that Mr. Masters cooked himself for breakfast. I look around, and then go up the grand staircase. Honestly, what the hell have I got myself into here? I’m in some stupid rich t**t’s house, worried about his child who he clearly doesn’t give a f**k about.
I storm up the stairs, taking two at a time. I get to the top and the change of scenery suddenl
