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Though last night made it clear, my girl is more than capable of standing up for herself now, even if she still lets their words get to her far too much when they’re not around. But I’m proud of how much her confidence has grown since she’s been with me. She’s no longer the timid girl who follows orders and doesn’t dare think for herself.

Don’t get me wrong, she still follows orders and submits beautifully, but she knows her own mind now, and isn’t afraid to tell me what she desires and needs. It’s hot as fuck watching her experiment, and my cock is still aching from the memories of taking her arse for the first time last night.

I spend the whole fucking car journey trying not to think about all the things I did to Harper last night, while they continue to flash in my head, making me want to turn the car around. But I can’t go into a meeting with my father with a massive hard-on, so I try to think about anything except Harper—which is much more difficult than I’d like to admit, since she’s quickly become my entire world.

When I finally reach the stupidly long driveway leading up to the house I grew up in, my stomach swirls with a sickening, impending feeling of doom that seems to flood through my veins like ice. I never enjoy being called here by my father, but something about this sets my nerves on edge, and I’m not looking forward to finding out what he wants.

My anxiety is amplified even further when I turn off the engine and climb out of the car, only to find my mother, Christine, waiting for me in the open doorway. She rarely greets me at the door when I visit. I usually have to hunt her down in whatever room she’s in with her wine, and let her know I’m here.

I push all my worries to the back of my mind and plaster on the perfect mask of indifference, making sure they can’t see anything I’m thinking or feeling, just like they taught me.

“Lawson, my boy, so lovely to see you,” Mother croons as she pulls me in for a stiff hug, and I’m so shocked by it, I freeze, unable to return the gesture.

I’m not sure when she last hugged me, but it was long enough ago that I can barely remember it, and there’s nothing about the interaction that feels natural. I breathe a sigh of relief when she takes a step back, looking up at me with glassy eyes that are either from tears or too much alcohol.

Given that I can smell the booze permeating from her pores, I’m leaning closer to alcohol being to blame, even though it’s not even ten in the morning yet.

“I’m here to see Father,” I tell her, though I’m sure she already knows that.

Her face falls as her lips tip into a frown, making her appear almost sad that I’m not here to see her. But it’s not like she invited me, or has ever expressed any interest in me coming to visit her, so I don’t know what’s triggered this reaction right now.

She reaches up and lays an icy hand on my cheek, her lips pressed into a tight smile. “I hate all the pressure and sense of duty that falls on your shoulders as our only child.”

Her words make my heart race as the sickening feeling from earlier worsens. My mother may appear disinterested in life, but she knows everything. It’s one of the great things about being almost invisible in your own home; she’s privy to conversations that are deemed private, since they don’t even realise she’s nearby enough to listen.

She’s never once mentioned hating the pressure I’m under as a Crow Pledge, or the expectations that have been thrust on me since the moment I was born the only Radley heir. Which makes me think she knows far more about why Father has called me here, and that worries me.

Before I can ask her to elaborate, my father’s booming voice echoes from down the corridor, freezing us both. “I was expecting you in my office, Lawson.”

I stiffen at the glare he throws my way, before turning to give him the attention he commands, keeping my voice and expression impassive. “I was just greeting Mother,” I tell him.

Unfortunately, all this does is draw his attention to my mother, who is making herself as small as possible at my side. The look of sheer hatred he throws her way makes my skin crawl, and I’m once again reminded that Obsidian Order members don’t marry for love, and they sure as fuck don’t get divorced, no matter how much they hate each other.

If it had been allowed, my parents would have split years ago. Instead, they live separate lives in the same house, pretending the other doesn’t exist until they’re forced to put on the act of being a happy couple for the sake of others.

What a fucking awful existence, I think to myself, nausea overtaking me as I try not to think about how this could be a glimpse at my future.

Mother cowers under the weight of his glare. “I’m sure she has a drink to get back to,” he replies sarcastically, as he drags his eyes up and down her body, like she’s nothing more than shit on the bottom of his shoe.

Mother gives me a sad smile and lingers for just a moment longer, making it seem like she wants to say something to me, but my father’s presence is enough to silence her. With a sigh, she turns on her heel and leaves, but not before I catch sight of a tear streaking down her face.

I don’t know what to make of it. Normally, Mother either ignores me, or she plasters on what we both know is an act and pretends everything is fine. Our interactions are usually superficial, so she can say she’s done the motherly thing of checking on her son, like I’m nothing more than a box to tick.

But this time feels different. It’s as if I was getting a glimpse of the real Christine, and I got the impression that whatever she wanted to say to me would be the first genuine conversation we’ve had in as long as I can remember. That in itself is more than enough to have me intrigued, and I wonder whether it’s worth finding Mother when our meeting is over, to see what she has to say.

Father clears his throat loudly, his patience with me wearing thin, and he turns sharply, stomping back to his office while I’m expected to follow.

Every part of me wants to rebel, to stand my ground, but that will just delay the inevitable and piss him off, which really isn’t worth it. I remind myself about the beautiful girl waiting for me in my bed, and that’s enough to encourage me to get this over and fucking done with as quickly as possible.

We make it into his office and I close the door behind me, but before I can even take a seat opposite where he’s sitting on the other side of his large mahogany desk, he gets straight to the point. “What the hell is going on with you and Harper Westmore?” he snaps.

I keep my expression blank as I take a seat, and he tenses when I don’t immediately reply to his question. I’ve known this conversation was coming for a while, and I’m actually quite surprised he’s not called me here sooner.

“She’s just my Prize,” I tell him, keeping my tone neutral, almost disinterested.

Father scoffs loudly, rolling his eyes at me as he balls his hands into fists where they rest on top of his desk. “I have received word that it seems like whatever is going on between the two of you is more than just her being your Prize.”

I tense, hoping my father has missed my reaction as I try to keep my voice neutral. “Since when do you listen to gossip, Father?”