Page 8 of Distorted Obsession (The Distorted Trilogy #1)

mason

“I know, Dad. It’s just—”

“No, Mase, it’s not just anything. You’ll stop wasting your energy on this—it’s a part of business. Sometimes the win is in your column, and other times it’s not.”

I grind my teeth, trying to remain silent. It’s not often I’ll argue with my father, but it’s also not often there’s a reason to.

“Rhion Pierce did nothing any smart business person worth their pound of flesh wouldn’t do,” he continues, determined to make his point loud and clear.

Pulling my phone from my ear, I work to control my temper. I don’t know how to get him to understand that men like Rhion Pierce have never played fair. There is no such thing as an ethical billionaire.

Pierce Holdings had to have insider knowledge to steal that deal. It was a private merger. There was no announcement, yet the deal was canceled forty-eight hours before the meeting to sign the contract.

Once I’m calm enough, I bring my cell back to my ear. “Yes, sir,” I reply, knowing that’s the only acceptable answer.

“Good. Now, where’s your brother? Your mother and your sister tried to call him—both of you, last night,” he questions, effectively ending that part of our conversation.

There’s no chance I’ll tell him what I’ve been doing since arriving at Groveton.

“I was getting organized.” It’s not a lie per se. “And Liam went to a party at one of the fraternity houses.”

He grunts. “What are the frats down there like?”

Smirking, I quip, “Nothing like ours.”

“No strollin’?”

“Is there anyone who can do it better than we do?” I challenge.

Chuckling, he retorts, “No, but now you’re in the chapter at Groveton. I’m sure you and your brother can help bring that fire.”

I hum my agreement, checking the time as I approach the administration building.

“Alright, Dad, I have to go. Liam and I have a meeting about our scholarships.”

“Okay, Mase. I love you. Tell that knucklehead brother of yours to call your mom, or she’ll make us come out there.”

Priscilla Bradley would do just that.

“Love you too, Dad. I’ll make sure we video chat with her tonight after practice.”

With that promise, he ends the call.

The sound of students bustling through the halls temporarily drowns out my thoughts.

“Took you long enough,” Liam taunts as I approach.

Rolling my eyes, I open the door. “Where the hell did you disappear to last night?” I ask my brother once we sit down.

We may have shared a womb, but we aren’t identical.

We both have black hair, brown eyes, and some combination of our parents’ features.

That’s about where our similarities end.

While Liam is a few inches over six feet tall, I’m six-seven, and while I’m fighting for my melanin-deficient life, he has a rich, sepia complexion.

Arching a brow, he quips, “I could ask you the same thing. You ignored all my messages, so I had to find something or some things more titillating than your ass.”

I turn, narrowing my eyes on the cheeky fucker. “Who the fuck says titillating?”

Liam grins, his bright-ass smile showing off what a great orthodontist can do. “Let’s just say the girls at Groveton know how to make a newcomer feel welcome.

The shit got laid . And from the sound of it, there was more than one.

Sighing, I refrain from reminding him we aren’t here of our own free will—we’re here because it was our only option after everything.

While he was getting laid, I researched everything I could about the family that broke mine.

Shaking my head, I look around the room while pulling my cell from my jeans pocket. Then I lift it to my face and open it before finding the folder with everything we’ve compiled.

I study the images of Rhion and Dr. Amina Pierce—a genuine power couple.

Amina comes from a prominent Moroccan family, and Rhion’s lineage dates back centuries.

They have two children—Callum, age twenty-three, who works for his father.

He graduated top of his class with a perfect GPA, earning his Bachelor’s and Master’s in Business Administration from Wharton and a Master’s in Public Administration.

He’s fluent in five languages and oversees the London branch of Pierce Holdings.

Their daughter, Eva Rose, should be in her second year of college, but there are gaps in her history, and any image of her after the age of twelve has been scrubbed. That alone piqued my curiosity, and I spent days scouring the internet for anything.

“Do you know why we have to meet with our advisor again?” Liam probes, distracting me.

Gritting my teeth, I state, “I’m sure it has something to do with kissing the ass of our benefactor.” Then I refocus my attention, pulling up the email with our financial aid package.

Rereading the Pierce Scholarship details, I ball my hand into a fist at my side as I grip my phone so tightly the screen nearly gives way.

It’s an insult to everything our family worked for. Rhion Pierce obliterated the merger that would’ve provided the capital we needed for expansion. Instead, my father had to file for bankruptcy, laying off thousands of people before Christmas last year.

“Are you still looking at that?” Liam asks, peering down at my phone.

Is he fucking serious?

“Yes,” I hiss. “It’s fucking embarrassing to have to attend this school with money from the family that ruined us.” My nostrils flare. “Or are you too busy fucking whatever moves?”

Liam’s jaw ticks. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think almost every waking moment is spent trying to figure out a solution—a way to get revenge?”

It’s a low blow. The insinuation that he’s lackadaisical because he allowed himself to have some fun is bullshit.

“Liam and Mason Bradley,” a man shouts before I can apologize.

My brother stands and stalks off without looking back. He’s rightfully pissed.

“Please take a seat,” he instructs, pointing to the two chairs in front of his desk. Then, he begins to sort files on his desk.

Liam and I both sit and await further instructions.

“Gentleman, Groveton College is lucky to have two phenomenal athletic scholars such as yourselves.”

He’s laying it on thick.

I gaze out the corner of my eye at Liam, and he’s wearing a matching expression—this dude is full of it.

Smirking, I glance at the nameplate on his desk— Gregory Sherman .

“As Mrs. Scott mentioned to you both a few weeks ago, part of your scholarship requires that you attend the annual Pierce family charity ball and intern at a branch of Pierce Holdings during school breaks,” Mr. Sherman explains.

I’m not looking forward to dressing up like a stuffed pastry, but the internship is promising. It could provide just the opportunity we need.

Liam subtly taps my foot with his. Our matching chestnut eyes connect, saying all that needs to be said— that’s our in .

Mr. Sherman babbles on for at least thirty minutes, never once pausing to ask if we have any questions before he finally looks up.

“Classes start this week. You should’ve already received your schedules,” he states, standing.

Liam and I follow suit. This meeting wasn’t a complete waste of time, but it’s time that could have been better served.

“Wait, Mr. Sherman, I have a quick question about my schedule,” Liam announces.

He doesn’t appear too thrilled not to be rid of us. “Of course,” Mr. Sherman grumbles, confirming my initial assessment.

“I’ll wait for you out here,” I explain, twisting to peer back at them.

My head is still turned as I stride through the door, bumping into someone. There’s a soft grunt before my hand instinctively shoots out, steadying a woman.

“Sorry—”

“Sorry—”

We both blurt, fumbling our words. She expresses her sincerest apologies, and I extend my own while shaking my head to tell her it’s unnecessary. Only when I look past her do I notice she isn’t alone.

A gorgeous girl with flushed cheeks stands off to the side. “I’m so sorry, Miss Castillo. It’s my fault. I was moving too?—”

“Eva,” the woman in the cranberry-colored pencil skirt and silky cream dress shirt turns to her. “It was no one’s fault.”

Nodding, Eva skitters past, and I watch, transfixed. She’s grasping the doorknob when Miss Castillo shouts, “Please tell Dr. Pierce everything is set.”

It’s not until she’s gone from the room that I register the name.

No, it can’t be—what are the chances?

Yanking my phone from my pocket, I pull up the file. What started as a waste of time just became my jackpot. My lips curl up into a smile—the idea forming with little resistance. All of my father’s earlier warnings go up in flames.

I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t find out until it’s done because it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.