The VIP section was roped off with thick red velvet and polished brass, a physical line dividing “important” from “watching.” Richard hovered near it like the rope could bless him. His eyes scanned for anyone powerful enough to impress, like he could win status by proximity.
He straightened Tyler’s collar with aggressive pride. “You look sharp, son,” he said. “Like a hero.” Tyler nodded without looking at me, the same old reflex in his face: don’t get involved. He’d learned what I learned, just from the other side—stay quiet and the predator eats someone else.
Then Richard turned back to me, warmth gone. His fingers snapped once, sharp as a whip. “Here,” he barked, shoving a heavy designer tote into my arms.
“And take these.” He jammed three empty metal water bottles into my hands. They clanked against my rings like little cuffs. “Go fill them up,” he ordered. “Make yourself useful, Bella. Since you’ll never sit in those VIP seats, you might as well serve the people who do.”
He smiled like it was clever. “God knows you’re used to fetching things in that trucking job,” he added, laughing loud enough to invite nearby parents into it. Something in the air changed then—like the temperature dropped twenty degrees. For the first time in my life, I didn’t see a father when I looked at him.
I saw a parasite.
It wasn’t hatred that ran him. It was consumption. He didn’t need me solvent; he needed me failed, because my failure was the foundation of his ego. He needed me small so he could feel tall.
“Move,” he snapped, stepping closer. “Don’t embarrass me.” I looked down at the bottles, then the bag, then the velvet rope he worshipped like scripture.
“No,” I said.
His face flared red. “Excuse me?” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t give him emotion to chew. “I said no,” I repeated. “I’m done carrying your baggage.”
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