I stood in front of the mirror, staring at a stranger. I'd changed three times before settling on a plain cream sweater and black jeans. Nothing fancy. Nothing that screamed I live in a billionaire's mansion now. It felt surreal, to acknowledge that change.
I traced my left cheek. The mark was barely visible, but I could still feel the heat of my father's hand.
I checked my phone for the tenth time. No messages. Not a where are you, not a don't come back, just...empty inbox.
My father didn't care if I was dead or alive.
My chest tightened so suddenly I had to sit on the edge of the bed. I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing a slow exhale.
Across the room, Poppy was passed out on the armchair, one paw dangling off the side. Her bowl was already topped off with fresh kibble.
I grabbed my wallet and slipped out. Phil had told me to be back by eleven "for my own peace of mind," which was annoyingly parental for a man who looked like he could snap a person in half.
