All my attention zeroes on the man in front of me.
Dad.
My dad is alive.
In the nightmare I had this morning, he was drowning in a pool of his own blood, shouting at me to run.
How can he be here now?
He’s watching me with warmth glinting in his eyes especially tailored for me.
Hazy memories filter back in.
Back then, Dad used to be stern and a control freak. The staff and Daddy’s friends who wore black — whom I now recognise as bodyguards — trembled at the sight of him. He was the type of man who commanded any room he stood in.
Ethan Steel — the emperor of Steel’s fortune. A ruthless businessman and an unforgiving enemy.
Myfather.
When I was younger, I saw him from a different perspective than everyone else. To me, he wasn’t the merciless, heartless man everyone feared and cowered away from. He was Daddy.
Just Daddy.
He was the type of father who wouldn’t just read me bedtime stories, but he’d also perform them for me. He tickled me until I broke into giggles.
He took me on long runs in the rain.
He saved me from the monsters in the lake.
Daddy never frowned when he looked at me. When he was having a bad day, it’d take a glance at me and a smile would break on his face.
“Are you comfortable, princess?” he asks with a low, yet warm voice.
Princess.
Back then, I was his princess. His favourite. His legacy. His masterpiece.
A lump lodges deep in my throat. I can’t speak even if I want to, so I nod.
For long minutes, silence is the only language in the car.
I watch the lines on Dad’s face. He has a sharp jaw and high cheekbones that give him an untraditional type of masculine beauty. From afar, we look nothing alike, but up close, I share the thickness of his lashes and the shape of his eyes — mine are just a bit bigger.
He places his elbow on the edge of the car seat and leans on it as he watches me. We’re like two injured animals that don’t know how to accept offered help.
Or maybe I’m the only one who feels that way. After all, Dad knew exactly where to find me.
“I understand this can seem too much.” Dad’s posh accent fills the car.
Can seem too much?
Is he kidding? He just returned from the dead. Surely, there are some other words he could use.
“I told you she’s not ready.” Knox doesn’t avert his attention from his phone.
“That’s up to me to decide,” Ethan tells him.
Knox lifts a shoulder. “Just saying, Dad.”
Dad?
My gaze snaps to Knox. Did he just call my dad his dad?
He’s about my age, when the hell did Dad have him? Is he from another woman?
“Are you…” I clear my throat. “Are you my brother?”
Knox lifts his gaze from his phone and winks. “Foster brother, babe.”
Oh. Okay.
He does bear some resemblance to Eli. Is that why Dad took him in?
Although I doubt Dad would take in anyone just for that; he doesn’t like anyone to get into his familial bubble. Now that I think about it, Dad’s concern for privacy came before all else. That’s why he kept us away from civilisation.
However, all of this is only a speculation based on what I remember about Dad. It’s been ten years, he could’ve changed into an entirely different person.
“I’m hurt you don’t remember me.” Knox pouts like a child who’s been deprived of his favourite toy.
“Remember you?” I ask.
“Yeah. You ought to remember me after —”
“Knox.” The warning in Dad’s tone is loud and clear.
Knox shrugs and goes back to scrolling through his phone.
Okay. That’s weird.
Super weird.
I meet Dad’s brown eyes. They’re so wise and deep, you could get lost in there and never find a way out. He must use his penetrating gaze as an intimidation method during business meetings.
“You’ve been raising Knox all this time?” I try not to sound bitter, but I’m not sure I succeeded.
Dad left me for ten years. All this time, I thought he was dead and buried somewhere I would never find while he was actually alive and well. Hell, he’s been raising another child while his only daughter lived with relatives.
“Nah, not really. We raised ourselves,” Knox says.
“We?”
He smirks. “There’s another one.”
“Another one?” I meant to shout, but my vocal cords constrict so the only thing that comes out is a choked murmur.
“Shut up for a second, Knox.” Dad sounds both exasperated and resigned.
“Whatever.”
Dad focuses back on me. He removes his jacket, and before I can react, he wraps it around my shoulders.
My fingers dig into the expensive material as he settles back into his seat.
It smells like cloves and cinnamon. It smells like Dad.
“You’re shaking.” He taps the wall between us and the driver. “Turn on the heat, Joseph.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I’m not shaking because of the cold, but I don’t say that.
My mind crowds with so many questions and theories, but I struggle to form words. My head keeps flashing back to the vision of blood while Dad lay in it. This is how it feels like to be shackled by the past. It’s always there, wrapping wires around your neck, threatening to chop it off.
“How much do you remember?” Dad asks.
“Not everything.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Told you,” Knox says.
Dad shoots him a glare before he focuses back on me. “Do you remember the night of the fire?”
I shake my head once.
A mixture of disappointment and relief covers his features. “I see.”
“I dreamt about blood, though. You… You were shot and covered in blood, Dad. How… How did you… H-how…”
“Hey.” He slides to the edge of his seat and takes my hand in his bigger, warmer one. “Breathe, princess.”
“You died!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “I thought you were dead for the past ten years. Why did you show up now? Why not before? Why, Daddy? Why?”
“Do you think I would’ve left my princess alone if I had a choice?”
I stare at him through wet lashes. “W-What happened?”
“I was shot, and I’ve been in a coma since. I only regained consciousness a year ago. If it were up to me, I would’ve found you the moment I woke, but I didn’t want you to see me in that state.”
“True that.” Knox counts on his fingers. “He had to go through physical therapy and mental therapy and a whole bunch of other therapies that drove me bonkers.”
I watch Dad closely. Even though he appears fine now, that doesn’t mean he has been fine all along.
Dad was in a coma for nine years.
I read once that coma patients suffer immensely through rehabilitation and struggle to get back to normal.
Is there a rock I can hide under?
I was a little brat about the fact that he disappeared when I didn’t know the entire story.