Page 86 of The Colour of Revenge

“Payattention,”myfathersnaps, his voice sharp enough to slice through the suffocating air of the boardroom. It’s the fifth time he’s said it during this meeting, and I’m barely suppressing the urge to roll my eyes.

I’m sure whatever he’s droning on about is critical—property prices, stock portfolios, or something equally dull. Frankly, I couldn’t care less.

I don't belong here.

"I'm listening," I mutter, more out of obligation than truth.

“No,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if I’m the source of all his frustrations. “You’re not.”

I don't even try to argue. We've done this dance before.

“I don’t know why I’m even here,” I snap, crossing my arms.

"You have a responsibility." His voice is sharp and precise, like a scalpel carving into bone.

“I have my own work to do.”

“That stupid charity—"

My chair scrapes against the polished floor as I stand abruptly. "How is helping victims like Mel stupid?" The words come out in a low hiss, the mention of my sister enough to ignite my temper.

“You should be taking over the family business.” His response is as predictable as it is infuriating. There’s never any flicker of emotion to hint at how he feels about Mel’s death.

Me? My feelings are clear. I miss my little sister dearly. I didn’t get anywhere near enough time with her, but she was my best friend before everything went tits up.

Dad though? Nothing. No sadness in his tone, no break in his calm façade. He barely even acknowledges her existence.

I don’t know how mum deals with his emotionless ass sometimes. Even on the anniversary of Mel's death, he just disappears rather than joining mum and me in visiting her graveside.

“I don’t want to,” I insist, forcing my mind off Mel. That’s a rabbit hole I don’t need to spiral down. Each word is measured, deliberate. I’ve said it a million times before, but it never seems to sink in.

“It’s non-negotiable, Nathaniel. You will do this,” he demands, his voice rising in volume as if sheer force will compel me to agree.

I tune him out as he launches into another monologue about family loyalty, legacy, and how great the business is—words that bounce off me like water on stone.

I let my mind drift—to Carina.

I told her I loved her. She didn’t say it back. It stung, more than I care to admit.

But I meant what I said—she’s worth the risk, even if she can never say the words.

I see it, though. In the way her blue eyes brighten when I’m near, the way her smile is freer, warmer now than when I first met her. She feels something, even if she can’t name it yet. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s something close enough.

I sit across from Carina in her living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over her. She’s wearing those ridiculous penguin pyjamas that always bring a secret smile to my face, and she’s tearing into a slice of Pizza Hut pizza like it’s her last meal on earth.

My life has shifted so much since I met her all those months ago. Back then, I worked alone—preferred it, even. Now, the thought of not having her by my side feels impossible.

I want her with me, always.

I treasure moments like this. The quiet, domestic ones. The times when we laugh so hard tears spill down our faces. Even the dark ones, when we hunt our prey together, perfectly in sync. Every moment with her feels significant in a way nothing else ever has.

“So,” I ask, breaking the silence, “who else is on your list?”

She stiffens, just for a moment—so brief most people wouldn’t notice. But I’m not most people. I catch everything.

“Nate…” she starts cautiously, her tone softer than usual. “Don’t take this the wrong way but… I think I need to do this one alone.”

Her words hit me like a slap to the face.She doesn’t want my help?