Aria POV 

I was shocked when Mr. Francis slapped Ethan. I had told him that Ethan left me alone at the party, but I didn't think he'd slap him.

"Did you just slap me because of that thing?" Ethan asked, referring to me as a thing.

I thought he deserved the slap to keep him in check. I walked downstairs, and our eyes met.

"So she was already home?" Ethan confronted his dad. "And you slapped me like she couldn't find her way home?"

"You should have taken care of her. She's your sister, and you're supposed to protect her. But you left her alone to find her way home," Mr. Francis insisted.

Ethan's voice rose in defiance. "Point of correction, she's never my sister. I never said I accepted them. You accepted them, but I didn't. She's your daughter, but not my sister."

Mr. Francis's face reddened with anger, and he took a step forward, his fist clenched. But my mom grabbed his hand, holding him back.

"Come on, dear, you don't have to hit him. He's just being a child," she cautioned.

Ethan's eyes blazed with anger. "Wow, so you're really going to hit me again? Unbelievable. You both caused this. You caused my father to hit me for the first time."

As Ethan stormed out, he shot me a glare, his face twisted in disgust. I took a deep breath and ignored him, using my eyes to convey that he should pass by and not stare at me like that.

I couldn't help but think that if his dad hadn't proposed to my mom, I wouldn't be in this luxurious house, and he wouldn't think I am here to bring him and his father apart.

Ethan rushed out of the living room, leaving an awkward silence behind. My stepfather, Mr. Francis, turned to me, his expression apologetic.

"I'm very sorry, Aria. I'm sure that will keep him in place," he said, trying to reassure me.

"You really shouldn't have hit him," I said, looking at Mr. Francis. "I told you to stop trying to make us get along. Everyone can just be in their own space."

My mom's eyes widened in warning. "You can't talk to your father like that," she cautioned.

But I was beyond reason. "Was he complaining, Mommy?" I snapped. "Can you just let me have some breathing space and stop acting like the mother of the universe? If you had kept your legs closed, we wouldn't be in this situation."

My anger boiled over. "I would rather go back to my normal life than live in this big house with no peace."

Before I could say another word, my mother dragged me towards my room and locked the door behind me, trapping me inside.

I took a deep breath, why should I be surprised when that's how she always lock me behind in every situation. 

I just went to the bathroom, took a shower, and go to bed. I opened my eyes to realize it was already the next morning—and the first thing I heard was loud blaring music from the speaker.

“Damn, who the hell won’t let me sleep in peace?” I murmured as I got out of bed.

I walked toward the door, turned the knob, and to my surprise, it opened. I stepped into the living room and saw Ethan.

“Gosh,” I muttered. So he was the one blasting loud music when he could’ve just used headphones.

I wondered why he was playing music so early on a Sunday morning. Then it hit me—everyone must have gone to church. My mother never missed church, even though she didn’t exactly have the best character.

I walked down the stairs, covering my ears.

He was completely lost in the music, dancing like his life depended on it. I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked back, hissed, and kept dancing. He was clearly doing it on purpose. So immature.

I walked over and paused the music, then stood there, waiting for his reaction.

“What the hell did you do?” he asked, his eyes blazing with anger.

“You were playing the music too loud. I couldn’t sleep peacefully,” I replied, and he scoffed, sarcastically. 

“Are you seriously giving orders in my house?” he snapped.

I scoffed back. Here we go again.

“I know it’s your house, and it’s not my fault your dad proposed to my mother. We never said we weren’t comfortable in our own place. He was the one who insisted we move in,” I said firmly.

He ruffled his ear in frustration and scoffed again. “You better stay in your lane. My father raised his hand at me for the first time in my life—because of you. You just moved in yesterday, and I already can’t get a moment of peace. Now this.”

“We can live peacefully if you’d just cooperate,” I said calmly. “If you don’t want us to act like family, then can’t we at least cohabit without drama?”

“Just get yourself out of here,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, but I stood there, hesitant.

“If I’m going to leave, then you have to turn down the volume of your music,” I insisted, folding my arms.

He scoffed. “If you don’t like it, you can go out there. But if you think you can give me orders, you’re seriously joking.”

He stepped closer and shoved me. I lost my balance and hit the floor hard.

“Ahh!” I cried out, wincing, but he didn’t even look at me.

He shot me one last glare—and all I saw in his eyes was pure hatred.

As he turned to play the music again, his phone rang. He paused, checked the screen, and picked up the call.

“Hello, baby,” he said with a sudden softness in his voice.

He waited, listening quietly.

I knew it was the same girl who humiliated me at the party. I’d overheard some people talking about their relationship.

“No, you can’t come here,” he said. “If you want to see me, I’ll come to you—but you’re not coming to my house.”

He grabbed his headphone and other phone, then walked up the stairs without sparing me a second glance.