Ryan was startled awake when he heard a loud banging on his front door. Despite the fact that it was late morning, his room was dark because no one had opened the heavy drapes. He was trying to get out of his luxurious bed, which was designed to accommodate more than two people at once, when he noticed a naked man and woman still sleeping.

“Where the fuck did I pick those two up?” he muttered to himself as he stared at the two sleeping strangers. He couldn't remember what had happened the night before, but his throbbing headache indicated that he'd been drunk. Again.

The naked bodies groaned as he pushed and rolled out of bed. He got to his feet but the room swayed, almost throwing him off balance, and he reached for the wall. The room whirled before returning to normal, and he used the bedstead to pull himself. HHe wrapped his naked body in the silk robe he had picked up from the floor and stepped to the front door, swallowing his rage as he walked through the never-ending dim halls. His house is enormous, far too large for just him and his damn thoughts.

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang.

Each thud hit him across the face like a furious fist. His headache is getting worse, and he's feeling nauseous. For a split second, he closed his eyes, trying to shake the agony of realising he had done what he had promised himself he would never do again.

Who the hell is this? And where’s Martha?!

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang.

"What?!" Ryan exclaimed as he opened the door, yelling at the man standing at the entrance.

“Good morning, Master Ryan, I’ve come to escort you to your father’s house.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Ok, Sir.”

“Just call me Ryan,” He uttered while leaning against the door frame for support, his bare chest peeping out from beneath the poorly knotted robe.

“Why on earth does my fucking father want to see me on a Sunday morning?!”

“It's Monday, Sir.”

Ryan rolled his eyes as he slammed the door behind him, but the banging continued, giving him the sensation that his head was about to explode. He reopened the door, “Stop banging! Give me an hour, and I'll be out.”

“Your father instructed me to fetch you immediately.”

“I don't give a damn what my father said. I’ll be out in an hour.”

And the door slammed shut once more.

“Martha!” Ryan shouted. “Martha!”

Where the hell is she?

“Yes, Mr. Ryan.” A voice replied from the kitchen's back door. “I just got home from the supermarket. Should I prepare your breakfast?“

“No. Just some water, please. And get the people sleeping in my room out of the house. I have to leave soon.”

“Of course. Is there anything else you need?”

Yes.

“No.” he sighed, “Just water.” He leaned against the closed door, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Thank you.”

----

Everything in his father’s mansion screamed, ‘I'm powerful and wealthy.’ Ryan approached the front door and knocked. The smell of anguish permeated his body as the door opened, leaving him feeling overwhelmed. He shuddered. Something in this house made him sick. Sicker.

He was escorted to the study room by two men dressed in suits, as if he wasn't his father's son. As if he's a petty thief who must be watched to ensure he doesn't steal the silverware. Ryan exhaled deeply as the study door opened, attempting to relieve the tension bulding in his chest.

“Good morning, Father.” He cracked a smile.

"It's noon," his father said, looking up from the papers he was holding.

He cast a glance at Ryan. “You’re drunk.”

“Hungover.”

“Disappointing, as usual.”

“Doing my best.” Ryan forced a smile as he bowed his head.

“Sit, I have something I need you to do.”

No.

Ryan sat down, his body resisting the movement.

“I need you to purchase this property.” His father placed documents on the lavish wood table that stood between them. “Get the deal done as soon as possible.”

No. No. No. I can refuse. I'm not that little boy anymore. He can't control me.

“I'll pass,” Ryan declared with all his might. “Thank you, father. It was lovely seeing you. I hope our next meeting will be in two years. Sounds like a good amount of time, don't you think?” Ryan pushed himself out of his chair with all the strength that was left in him.

"Sit down!" his father yelled, his rage visible in his eyes. “I'm sick of your crap. Stop acting like a dog and start acting like a man.”

Ryan cocked his head to the side. “Thank you, but no.”

As he was about to stand and turn for the door, his father grabbed his arm and smacked him across the face. Ryan's entire world collapsed around him in an instant.

This can't be happening. Not again. I… I’m… I was out.

The taste of blood stinging in his mouth caused him to burst out laughing. “Already falling back into old habits, Father?”

Ryan's father grabbed his collar and drew him in closer. So close that he could smell his sour breath brushing against his cheek.

“Watch your tongue, boy, and do as I say.”