The Zillionaire's Obsession

Aria woke to the sound of glass shattering. Not from her room, no. From downstairs, from the kitchen, and from him.

It was the kind of sound that made her body react faster than her mind ever could a sharp, instinctive jolt beneath her ribs, a tightening in her lungs, and dread blooming like fresh bruises across her skin.

She shot upright, heart slamming into her throat. The thin blanket fell away instantly, pooling around her hips as the cold gnawed at her exposed arms. Winter hadn’t even reached its worst yet, but the heater had died three months ago, and Gregory Morgan never fixed anything unless it benefitted him.

Her cheek still hurt from last night.

A dull, pulsing ache. Pink and purple swelling beneath the skin. She touched it gently, winced, and looked away from her own reflection in the cracked mirror leaning against her dresser.

The floorboards creaked outside her door.

Aria held her breath.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then his voice, a growl soaked in alcohol and exhaustion.

“Aria!”

She flinched like the word was a weapon.

“Get your useless ass out of bed. Now.”

Her heartbeat skittered. She forced her feet to the floor, the wood cold against her soles, and opened the door carefully and quietly, as if noise alone might trigger another blow.

Gregory Morgan stood at the end of the hallway, shoulders slumped, beer bottle dangling from two fingers. His shirt was stained, his breath thick with the sour stench of cigarettes and last night’s liquor. His hair stuck out at odd angles, and his eyes were two pits of resentment waiting for something to strike.

He turned toward her and sneered.

“Look at you,” he said, gesturing with the bottle like she was some pathetic joke. “Barely awake, barely alive. I swear, every day with you feels like a punishment from God.”

Her throat tightened.

“I'm awake, Father.”

“You call that awake?” He scoffed loudly. “You can't even keep the damn house clean. Or make breakfast on time. All you do is sleep like a damn princess waiting for some prince.”

His lip curled.

“No wonder your mother left.”

Aria lowered her eyes, fingers twisting the hem of her oversized shirt.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry?” He barked out a humorless laugh. “Sorry, it doesn't fix a goddamn thing. Sorry, doesn't pay rent. Sorry doesn’t get me my cigarettes. Sorry, doesn’t buy my beer when I ask you to.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you get paid?”

Her stomach clenched hard enough to hurt.

“Y-yes.”

“Then where is it?”

He shoved past her, stumbling slightly. “Give it here.”

She didn’t move.

Her money, the tiny envelope hidden under her mattress, wasn't just paper. It was dreams and secret hope.

A few dollars at a time saved from double shifts at the café and the dinner service at Maggie's.

It was the only thing she owned that belonged to her future, not his.

Gregory noticed her hesitation instantly.

His face darkened. “Don't you fucking play with