Chapter 5: Freedom at 30,000 Feet

"Bastard! Touch my son again and I’ll call the cops. Get out!"

His voice shook with rage. He wrapped his arms around Noah, shielding him as if I were a threat. I stared at them, the absurdity finally sinking in.

Dad stroked Noah’s hair, whispering reassurances, rocking him gently on the couch.

Noah buried his face in Dad’s chest, sobbing loudly enough for the neighbors to hear. Dad kept patting his back, shooting daggers at me. I turned away, disgusted.

"Noah, don’t cry. Dad’s here for you. Whatever you want, Dad will give you."

He rocked Noah back and forth, murmuring promises. I watched, feeling like a stranger in my own house.

Noah sobbed in his arms, tears and snot running down his face.

He clung to Dad, sniffling and gasping. Dad kept rubbing his back, glaring at me over Noah’s shoulder. I turned away, sick of the whole charade.

I gritted my teeth, grabbed my coat, and left. No point sticking around for their father-son sitcom.

I slammed the door behind me, the sound echoing down the empty street. The cold air slapped me awake as I walked, trying to burn off the anger boiling in my chest.

I wandered for a while, then made my way back to the office. The building was mostly dark, but one light glowed in a corner. I walked over quietly and saw a girl with her hair in a bun, typing away, her nose red, tears streaking her cheeks, lost in her work.

The office was silent except for the tap of keys. Her screen cast soft shadows, highlighting the tear stains on her face. She was so focused, she didn’t notice me standing there.

I cleared my throat, and she jumped, startled.

She jerked upright, hands flying to her cheeks to wipe away the tears. Her face flushed, embarrassed to be caught crying.

"Mr. Reed, why are you here?"

Her voice was small, nervous. She glanced at the clock, then back at me, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.

I glanced at the clock—10:30 p.m.

The red numbers glowed in the dim light. Most people had gone home hours ago, but she was still here, working through her pain.

"Pack up, I’ll have the driver take you home."

I kept my tone gentle, softer than usual. She nodded, quickly gathering her things, still sniffling.

She sniffled, wiped her tears, and hesitated, lips trembling like she wanted to say something. In the end, she just nodded and whispered, "Okay."

She paused, lips quivering as if she wanted to ask for help. Instead, she tucked her laptop into her bag and slipped past me, head down, shoulders hunched.

I went into my office, loosened my tie, and sank onto the sofa. My phone was lit up with unread messages.

The city lights flickered through the window. I tossed my tie onto the table and collapsed onto the couch, scrolling through the endless barrage of notifications on my phone.

Dad: "Don’t go too far. Do you think bullying your honest, simple brother will get you more inheritance? As long as I’m alive, I’ll protect him!"

His words were sharp, almost cartoonishly dramatic. I could hear his voice in my head, heavy with disappointment.

Noah: "Bro, you hit me so hard. As soon as Madeline heard, she came to take care of me. She’s in my room now. Want a video call? 😉"

He sent a winking emoji, twisting the knife. I tossed my phone onto the table, disgusted by his games.