Found Drinking Alcohol

After walking out of Alexander's office, I was so angry and the only thing I wanted was to talk to my mother.

My hands curled into fists at my sides as I yanked my phone out of my pocket and dialed. The call barely rang twice before my mother answered. "How are you my lovely daughter?, Are you gettimg well with your stepbrother." Her voice was maddeningly calm.

"You knew," I spat, my grip tightening around the phone. "You knew that he was cold, controlling and heartless and still let me stay with him", I hissed out.vThere was a pause, just long enough to make my skin crawl.

"It was necessary," she finally said.

"Necessary?" I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "How?", I asked. "He will help you change your behavior, your friends were spoiling you, partying every night, drinking too much, wasting your potential. Alexander will put you back on the right path. He’s strict, yes, but he’s fair. He’ll give you structure.”  She spoke and I snorted loudly.

"Are you fucking serious mom?"

"Yes and behave if you don’t want to see the bad side of him". She retorted and the line went dead before I could respond.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, my fingers trembling with rage. My mom had just sealed my fate without a second thought. And Alexander, he knew what he was doing. I sucked in a sharp breath. If they thought I would just accept this, they were both sorely mistaken. If I had to burn this entire arrangement to the ground, then so be it.

A soft knock came at the door, just as I was still in my own thoughts. "What?", I snapped as the door cracked open just enough for a young woman in a crisp black uniform to peek inside. She looked barely older than me, eyes wide and nervous.

“Miss Emma… I.. I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m Lila, one of the house staff. Mr. Smith asked me to check if you’d like anything for lunch. Or… dinner, perhaps? It’s getting late.” She spoke. I glared at her and she instantly flinched.

“I don’t want food,” I said, voice low and venomous. “I want something to drink. Beer. Vodka. Whiskey. Tequila. Anything strong. Now.”

Lila’s face paled after my words. She clasped her hands in front of her like she was praying.

“I .. I’m very sorry, miss, but… the master doesn’t allow alcohol to be brought to the rooms. Especially not for ... ”

“Fuck your master,” I cut her off, stepping closer. “I said bring it. I’m not asking.” I hissed out. She stared at me, eyes glassy with fear. For a second I thought she might cry. “Please, miss,” she whispered. “If I do that, I’ll lose my job. He... he’s very strict about the rules.” I laughed, cruelly after listening to her. “Then lose it. Or grow a spine. Your choice.” I snorted.

Lila swallowed hard, glanced down the hallway like she expected Alexander to appear any second, then gave the tiniest nod. “I… I’ll see what I can do,” she murmured, and slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.

Fifteen minutes later the knock came again, barely audible. I yanked the door open.

Lila stood there holding a silver tray with a single crystal tumbler, half-full of amber liquid, and a small bottle of vodka on the side. Her hands were shaking so badly the ice clinked against the glass.

“Here,” she whispered, thrusting the tray toward me like it burned her. “Please… don’t tell him it was me. I ... I only brought this because… I didn’t want you to be upset.” She stammered. I snatched the glass without a word and slammed the door in her face.

The first swallow burned all the way down, sharp and welcome. I took another, then another, letting the heat spread through my chest, dulling the sharpest edges of my rage. I sank onto the edge of the bed, bottle in one hand, glass in the other, and drank like I was trying to erase the entire day.

I drunk lost in my own world and I didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway. I didn’t hear anything until the door burst open with enough force to rattle the frame.

Within seconds, Alexander stood in the doorway, suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled to his elbows showing all the tattoos on his forearms. That was all hot but not his face.  His jaw was locked, green eyes blazing with something dangerous and barely contained.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low and lethal. “Having a drink,” I said sweetly. “Problem?”, I lifted the glass in a mocking toast, took a slow sip, and met his glare head-on.

He stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. The sound echoed like a gunshot but I didn’t care. “I told you the rules. No alcohol. No defiance. No exceptions.” He spoke coldly. I laughed genuine this time, bitter and reckless.

“And I told you to go fuck yourself.” I set the glass down hard enough to slosh vodka over the rim. “You’re not my father. You’re not my mother. You’re not even my real brother. You’re just some asshole my mom decided to shack up with who thinks he can control me.” I hissed out.

“Watch your mouth.” His eyes narrowed to slits.

“No.” I stood up, swaying only slightly from the alcohol already hitting my empty stomach. “I’m above eighteen. Legal. Adult. I can drink if I want. I can go to clubs if I want. I can dry-hump strangers in dark corners if I want and newsflash, I already did that to you. Remember? You got hard under me, Alexander. Now stop your controlling shit, I am not your little sibling”.

A muscle ticked in his jaw after listening to my words. He took one slow step and got closer to me.

“You think throwing that in my face makes you brave?” he asked, voice dangerously low. “It makes you stupid, little slut”. He hissed out and the word slut hurt but I played it cool.

“Call me whatever you want.” I lifted my chin, defiant. “But you don’t own me. You don’t get to lock me up, write me a rulebook, and expect me to thank you for it. I’m not your prisoner.” I continued. “You are exactly what I say you are while you live under my roof.” He murmured.

“Then maybe I won’t live under your roof,” I shot back. “Maybe I’ll walk out that front door tonight and never come back. See how well that sits with your perfect little merger.”

He closed the distance in two strides, towering over me, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his perfume mixed with anger. “Try it,” he said quietly. “See how far you get before I drag you back.”

“Get out of my room,” I hissed , shoving at his chest, hard but he didn’t budge. “This is my house,” he reminded me, voice like ice. “Every room is mine. Including this one. Including you.”

I laughed again, wild and furious.

“Keep telling yourself that, stepbrother. But the second I find a way out of this cage, I’m gone. And I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of controlling bastard you really are.” I hissed out.

For one long second we just stared at each other, his fury, my rebellion, the air between us crackling with everything we weren’t saying. Then he reached past me, snatched the vodka bottle off the bed, and turned toward the door.

“You want to play rebel?” he said without looking back. “Fine. Enjoy the hangover. But the next time you pull something like this, you won’t just lose the bottle. You’ll lose every last scrap of freedom you think you still have.”

He walked out before I could reply and he slammed the door behind him.

I stood there shaking, fists clenched, tasting blood where I’d bitten the inside of my cheek.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.