Two

"Hey, welcome home, you guys!"

Roderick strolled over, grinning so broadly it seemed his face might split in two. Without hesitation, he scooped my mom into a hug as if they were leading characters in a cheesy rom-com. My mom laughed, her voice soft and warm, sounding like something I hadn’t heard in years, and I almost felt happy for her. Almost.

Roderick was definitely the total package: he had that handsome middle-aged vibe, still jogging every morning, with grey-brown hair that added a touch of dignity, and bright blue eyes that sparkled like he’d never worried about a bill in his life. His laughter was loud and infectious, the kind that turns heads, and he treated my mom like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was perfect for her.

But that’s what made it sting so much—this perfect guy had somehow managed to raise the most unbearable person I knew. Rowan Harrigan.

I didn’t even need to look at him to feel the heat of his glare burning a hole in my face. He was standing a little behind Roderick, arms crossed, posture stiff as a board, those emerald eyes of his locked onto me with pure hostility. He looked like every bad boy cliché rolled into one tall, annoying package: messy black hair that he usually pulled to half up half down pony tail, a sharp jawline, and that permanent scowl that made me want to roll my eyes right out of my head.

"Atlas," Roderick greeted me warmly, pulling back just enough from my mom to glance my way. "Good to see you again, kiddo. The drive wasn’t too rough, was it?"

I managed my best fake smile—the one I usually saved for teachers asking about my "college plans." "Oh, it was fine. Really smooth."

Rowan snorted under his breath, as if even my road trip updates were offensive.

Before I could properly glare at him, Roderick leaned down, still holding my mom close, and kissed her. Right there. Not just a quick peck—this was a full-on, romantic, please-get-a-goddamn-room kiss.

My face scrunched up immediately. Next to me, Rowan let out an audible groan.

"Ugh, gross," I muttered.

"Get a room," Rowan added at the exact same moment.

We both froze and locked eyes for one horrified second before jerking our heads away, as if that could erase the awkward moment.

My mom pulled back, cheeks flushed and clearly thrilled. Roderick just laughed, that booming sound echoing off the driveway like he hadn’t just traumatized two teenagers. "You’ll get used to it," he said cheerfully, patting my mom’s shoulder.

Rowan and I muttered something unintelligible in unison—probably both versions of over my dead body—and when our voices overlapped again, we glared at each other, equally disgusted.

Roderick, of course, was oblivious to the silent war happening just a couple of feet away. He clapped his hands together. "Come on in. The house is yours too now."

I glanced up at the imposing mansion—three stories of pale stone, glittering windows, and a fountain that looked fancy enough to have its own caretaker—and swallowed hard. This wasn’t just a new home; it was enemy territory.

And standing at the gates, my enemy smirked like he already knew I wouldn’t survive it.

Determined not to look like the spoiled brat letting her mom’s new millionaire husband do all the work, I headed for the trunk to grab a box. Just as my hand touched the latch, Roderick’s voice halted me.

"No need, Atlas," he said, waving a hand like I’d reached for something dangerous. His smile was polite but firm, the kind that didn’t invite discussion. "Carlby will take care of it."

He turned to the front door and called, "Carlby!"

The sound of measured footsteps echoed across the driveway. Out came an older man in a perfectly tailored black suit, standing straight despite the wrinkles on his face. His silver hair caught the sunlight, and his polished shoes didn’t make a sound on the stone path.

"Yes, sir?" he said with a slight bow, his tone calm, practiced, and distinctly British, even though we didn’t live anywhere near Britain.

Roderick gestured toward the trunk. "The luggage, if you please."

Carlby nodded once before moving to the car, lifting each box with surprising strength for someone who seemed too old to be working. I stepped aside awkwardly, watching this stranger haul my life into the mansion like it was nothing.

Meanwhile, Roderick slipped his hand into my mom’s, and she clung to him as if she’d been waiting for this moment forever. She looked up at the house, practically sparkling with excitement.

"This place is massive," she said, her voice full of awe. "I could get lost in here."

Roderick’s laughter filled the courtyard, deep and warm. "Then I’ll come find you, every time."

They both laughed like it was the most romantic thing ever, strolling hand-in-hand toward the doors like they were in some happily-ever-after commercial.

I fought the urge to gag and turned my gaze to my right.

Rowan was still there, arms crossed, those emerald eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The contempt on his face said enough.

I tried to maintain his gaze, pretending to be unaffected, even though my stomach was churning. He was taller than I remembered probably about six-foot-one or two, his broad shoulders filling out his t-shirt, muscles built from hours spent showing off on the basketball court. Standing next to him made me feel smaller than my usual five-foot-five frame.

Neither of us said a word. The silence between us was loaded, broken only by Carlby shutting the trunk and carrying the last box into the mansion.

If looks could kill, we would’ve buried each other right there in the driveway.

Rowan slowly scanned me from my sneakers to the top of my curls, as if I were something unpleasant stuck to his doorstep. A smirk curled his lips before he turned away, starting toward the door. For a moment, I thought he was done, that I’d dodged verbal bullets for the day. But then he stopped, pivoted halfway, and let his gaze rest on me once more.

"Aren’t you going to come in, dear brother?" he said, dragging out the last two words with pointed malice.

The word ’brother’ made bile rise in my throat. If I had a list of words I never wanted to hear again, that one just skyrocketed to the top.

I clenched my teeth and forced a tight smile that fooled no one. "Thanks for the warm welcome," I muttered.

Turning away from him, I glanced at Carlby, who was closing the door behind him after bringing in the last of our boxes. "Thank you," I said quietly. He gave me the faintest nod before disappearing down a hall, already busy with his duties.

With no other choice, I squared my shoulders and stepped inside.

The moment I crossed the threshold, I stopped in my tracks, breath caught.

The mansion’s interior looked like something out of a design magazine. The foyer stretched up two full stories, with a chandelier dripping crystals from the ceiling like frozen rain. Sunlight flooded in through tall arched windows, scattering across the polished marble floor until it gleamed. A sweeping staircase curved upward with a gold-trimmed banister, so wide it looked like a graduating class could march up it all at once.

I turned in a slow circle, my sneakers squeaking softly against the floor, taking in every detail. Ornate paintings hung in gilded frames along the walls, each one more intimidating than the last. A vase taller than me stood in the corner, filled with flowers so fresh they had to have been delivered that morning.

"This is... insane," I muttered under my breath, half-expecting someone to tell me I couldn’t touch anything.

From deeper inside, I heard my mom’s laughter echoing as she called out, "Atlas, isn’t this incredible? You should see the dining room!"

I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced at the staircase again. "Yeah. Incredible." My voice was flat—not from lack of awe. The house was stunning, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking into enemy territory.

Rowan walked by me on his way further inside, his shoulder bumping mine just enough to feel intentional. His smirk lingered as he muttered low enough for only me to hear, "Welcome home, bro."

I watched him walk away, my fists clenching at my sides. This was going to be hell.

Roderick clapped a hand on Rowan’s shoulder, his usual cheerful tone light yet holding a hint of authority. "Why don’t you show Atlas to his room? I asked the decorator to set it up in a way he’d feel comfortable, something to remind him of home. I didn’t want him to feel out of place here."

My heart softened a little at that, the tightness in my chest loosening just a bit. For all the awkwardness of this whole situation, I could tell Roderick had put real thought into making me and Mom feel welcome. She was lucky, I had to admit. Roderick wasn’t only charming, he was thoughtful too.

Rowan’s head snapped toward his father, his face darkening. "Do I really have to?" he muttered, his voice heavy with annoyance.

Roderick shot him a sharp look, the kind that didn’t need words. Rowan clenched his jaw, his shoulders stiff and tense as he let out a long exhale like he was being forced into torture. Finally, he gave in, but not without making sure everyone knew how much he hated it.

"Fine," he drawled, dragging his glare toward me. His eyes cut through me as he added, "Come on then... bro." The way he said again it made my stomach turn. That word wasn’t brotherly in the slightest. It was laced with sarcasm and disgust.

I tightened my grip on my purse strap, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. I lifted my chin, forcing my steps to stay calm and steady as I moved toward him.

Roderick, either missing the tension or pretending not to notice, smiled warmly at me. "I really hope you like it, Atlas. I wanted you to feel at home here."

That melted me a little, enough for me to smile back, faint but genuine. "Thank you, Roderick. That means a lot."

From the corner of my ear, I caught Rowan’s quiet snort, low enough that only I heard it. "Don’t get too comfortable. This isn’t your kingdom," he muttered without turning his head.

My pulse quickened, but I masked it with a cold stare at his back. ’Who the fuck said it was?’

Was what would say, if I had to balls to say it.

He started up the grand staircase, his long strides forcing me to pick up my pace just to keep up.

I trailed behind Rowan through the endless hallways, trying not to look like a wide-eyed tourist in a palace. Each corner of this house seemed to leer at me with its chandeliers, gold-framed paintings, and spotless marble floors that clicked beneath our feet. Rowan didn’t bother to check if I was keeping pace. He walked ahead with the casual confidence of someone who belonged here, while I felt like an intruder in a place I had no business being.

We stopped at the end of a long corridor, where he opened a door and stepped aside, his face flat and unreadable. "Welcome to your kingdom, princess," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Yes, he called me princess. Along with other multitude of names like faggot, elf, loser and what not.

I didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, I walked past him, bracing myself for whatever lay ahead.

The sight that greeted me stopped me in my tracks. A gasp escaped before I could hold it back. The room was stunning. The walls were painted a soft baby blue, calm and soothing like a clear spring sky. White crown molding edged the room, adding an elegant touch. A thick, white rug sprawled across the wooden floor, looking irresistibly soft.

The bed stood against the far wall, queen-sized with a glossy white frame and delicate carvings on the headboard. The bedding matched perfectly with blues and whites, pillows stacked neatly as if someone had gone out of their way to make it magazine-worthy. A small nightstand sat beside the bed, topped with a lamp in pale blue florals that cast a gentle, homey glow.

By the window, there was a desk adorned with a vase of fresh flowers, their scent light yet sweet. The sheer white curtains with faint blue trim let sunlight flood the room, making it feel bright and airy. For the first time since this move became real, I felt a small wave of relief.

"Oh wow," I whispered to myself, unable to hide my awe. "It’s... perfect."

Rowan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, rolling his eyes at me. "Glad you’re impressed," he muttered before turning on his heel and disappearing down the hall without another word.

Left alone, I moved deeper into the room, running my fingers along the furniture, pressing my hand against the soft comforter, and soaking in every detail that made this space feel more than just a room—it felt like someone had genuinely thought of me. Roderick had mentioned he wanted me to feel at home, and for once, I believed him. My mom was so lucky to be with a guy like him.

I placed my bagpack on the desk and sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the sprawling gardens outside the window. Maybe my mom was right—if I could just ignore Rowan and act like he didn’t exist, perhaps I could actually enjoy my life here. This place could be the fresh start I’d been hoping for, a chance to pull my reputation out of the trash where it had been left to rot.

For the first time in a long while, I let myself hope that maybe things might actually turn out differently if things go according to plan.

What I failed to remember was, things hardly ever go according to plan in my life.