Chapter 2
"Everything you eat, everything you use—it's all from the Blair family, isn't it?" said Kyla, her tone cold and condescending.
"The fact that you even have food on your plate is already more than you deserve."
I nodded quietly. "Got it."
I placed the plate on the floor.
I didn't look at her again.
Without another word, I turned and walked out.
Behind me, Kyla's voice came, barely above a whisper but sharp as ice.
"Jeff, if you walk out that door right now," she said, her tone icy.
"Don't bother coming back. Ever."
I didn't stop.
When I reached the door, I paused for a moment.
I turned back.
Kyla stood under the light, her expression icy and hard, like she expected me to give in.
Suddenly, I found the whole thing kind of funny.
After all these years, I've gotten so good at bowing my head, so good that Kyla thinks it's just the way things are supposed to be.
The night breeze whispered through the leaves in the yard.
I stood at the foot of the stone steps outside, the blood on my hand had dried, leaving a dark red scab.
The villa was blazing with lights, curtains half-pulled, shadows moving back and forth inside.
The lock clicked.
The door swung open.
Kyla stood in the doorway, not stepping outside—just watching me coolly from the other side of the threshold.
Her gaze slid from my face down to the dust on my clothes, then lingered on the dried blood on my hand, as if she was inspecting a dirty object, not a person.
"Are you done making a scene?"
Her words weren't loud, but they cut through the air like a razor, cold and sharp against my skin.
I stayed right where I was.
Two bodyguards stepped out from behind Kyla, taking up positions on either side of the doorway. Their eyes locked onto me, cold and unblinking.
They weren't here to lend a hand—they were here to make sure I didn't try anything funny.
Kyla tipped her chin up.
"The person you just hit? That was Addison, the house manager," she said, her voice cold as ice.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
I stared at her, refusing to answer.
Kyla's annoyance grew, her brows knitting even tighter.
"Jeff, drop that attitude.
"If you really had any guts, you wouldn't be mooching off the Blair family, living here under our roof.
"Did you even think about the consequences before you threw that punch? What will people say about me if outsiders see this?" she pressed, her tone sharp and cold.
Every word out of her mouth was about herself—never once did she ask how I was doing.
I swallowed hard, but my throat was still dry.
"He threw rotten food at my feet," I said, keeping my words short.
Kyla's eyes grew even colder, her stare cutting right through me.
"So what?
"You think that gives you the right to make a mess out of this house?" she added, her tone icy and unforgiving.
She shot a glance to the side.
Addison was being helped up, his face swollen and a towel pressed to his forehead. His eyes darted away from mine, full of resentment and barely concealed anger.
He wouldn't dare curse me out in front of Kyla, but the hatred in his eyes was impossible to miss.
Kyla didn't even bother to step down—her voice was final, like she was passing judgment. "Apologize to him."
I let out a laugh.
Not because I was happy, but because the whole thing was ridiculous.
"You want me to apologize to him?" I asked.
Kyla's gaze turned razor-sharp, cutting right through me.
She snapped, "Can't you understand what I'm saying?
"Jeff, in this house, you can't even afford to piss off someone like him."
As Kyla finished speaking, even the breeze at the doorway seemed to freeze.
I stood at the bottom of the steps, staring up at her.
There wasn't a hint of doubt in her eyes—just the certainty that she was right, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The bodyguards stepped closer, their eyes fixed on me—a silent warning: don't even think about pushing back.
Kyla's voice was icy, colder than ever.
"Get on your knees," she ordered.
I didn't.
My feet felt like they were nailed to the ground—rooted, unmovable.
Kyla stared at me for two seconds, then suddenly smiled—a smile as thin and cold as a sheet of ice.
"Fine.
"Then get lost. Don't stand there blocking the door," she snapped.
Then, she turned and started to close the door.
Before the door could fully close, a man's voice drifted out from inside—gentle and just the right amount of soothing.
"Kyla, don't get upset.
"It's not worth it to let anger get the best of you."
I lifted my gaze.
A guy stepped out from the living room, sleeves of his pale shirt casually rolled up, as he'd just come back from some fancy dinner or business meeting.
He looked neat, with a straight nose and a smile that lingered in his eyes when he glanced at you, but somehow, it just rubbed me the wrong way.
Hadley Brown.
The "Mr. Brown" Kyla kept mentioning.
The guy Addison tried to use to scare me earlier.
Hadley walked up to the doorway, moving at an easy pace. His eyes went straight to Kyla, and his voice was gentle, almost like he was talking to someone he knew well.
"It's windy out here, Kyla. You shouldn't be standing in the doorway," he said.
Kyla's face relaxed a little, like Hadley had just smoothed her feathers.
She shifted to let Hadley get closer, her voice still cold, but not nearly as sharp as before.
"He's causing trouble," Kyla said.
Only then did Hadley turn his gaze to me.
He gave me a polite smile, like he was facing an awkward family member nobody really wanted around.
"You must be Jeff Arnold.
"Kyla's mentioned you," he added, still wearing that same polite smile.
I stared at him, not saying a word.
Hadley didn't look the slightest bit awkward. He just kept speaking in that same gentle tone.
"This house has its own rules.
"You lost your temper and acted out. That really wasn't appropriate.
"Now that things have gotten out of hand, it's bad for everyone," Hadley said, still calm and reasonable.
As he spoke, his eyes stayed locked on Kyla, delivering every word just for her benefit.
He wasn't trying to calm me down; he was just giving her more ammo, making her words cut even deeper.
Kyla caught on immediately. "You don't need to waste your breath on him."
She waved her hand dismissively, like she was shooing away a stray dog.
"I told him to apologize. If he won't, then let him stand outside.
"He can stay there until he finally gets it through his head."
Hadley let out a soft sigh, sounding helpless but still gentle.
"Jeff, I know this isn't easy for you.
"But you need to understand—the only reason you're still under this roof is that Kyla's giving you some respect.
"She wants things quiet, not messy. Don't make trouble."
Hadley paused, lowering his voice a bit, like he was worried about hurting my pride.
"Look, Jeff," he said gently, "sometimes, admitting you're wrong doesn't make you any less of a man."
I looked at him.
He made admitting I was wrong sound like charity, and respect like tossing me a bone.
Kyla stood next to him, her eyes cold, like she was just waiting for me to drop my pride right in front of her.
Suddenly, I realized—Addison wasn't acting out of courage.
He had someone backing him up, giving him the confidence to pull this stunt.
And that backing was standing right there in the doorway.
"Apologize," Kyla said again, her voice low but sharp—no room for negotiation. "Now."
I didn't move.
I just raised my hand and brushed the dried blood off the back of it.
My movements were slow, almost careful.
It felt like I was slowly wiping something away, bit by bit.
Hadley's brow furrowed just a bit, but he kept his polite composure.
"Don't let this turn into something you can't fix," he said, his voice gentle and steady.
Kyla stared at me, her gaze growing colder by the second. "What else do you want?
"You planning to get physical again?"
She suddenly stepped forward, standing right at the edge of the stairs, towering over me.
"Jeff, you better remember this.
"In this house, you're nothing.
"If you want to keep living here, you do exactly as I say.
"If you don't want to stay," Kyla said, her voice sharp as ice.
She gestured out into the night. "There's the door."