"Charlotte feels terrible. She thinks she's the reason your relationship with your father is strained. She wants to apologize in person. Can you make time for a meal?"
Eighty thousand dollars sat in my account. The refusal died in my throat.
A transaction. Take the money, endure the dinner.
"Fine. Send me the time and address."
---
I rearranged my schedule and took a taxi to the restaurant.
But when I pushed open the private room door, my stomach dropped.
Dad sat at the head of the table, relaxed and authoritative. Beside him—Uncle Tyler. My second aunt.
My gaze cut to Mom.
She ducked her head, avoiding me, but her hand clamped around my wrist and dragged me to a chair.
"Sit," she whispered.
Silence descended like a wet blanket. The air thickened, suffocating.
Charlotte stood, raising her glass to break the tension.
"Isabella... the Professor helped me because he didn't want to hurt you, not because he favors me. The culprit here is me. I've let you down."
She lifted the wine to her lips.
Dad reached out and stopped her hand. Then he turned to me.
That look.
The familiar, crushing disappointment—the look one gives a piece of iron that refuses to become steel.
"Look how sensible Charlotte is," he said, his voice dripping with comparison. "Unlike you—throwing tantrums at the drop of a hat. We'll let it go this time. But in the future, you need to help Charlotte more. She's from a small town. She isn't used to city life."
Mom chimed in, echoing the sentiment. She rambled on about Charlotte's hard life, her grit, her success against all odds.
A dry, humorless laugh escaped my throat.
I reached into my bag, pulled out the official suspension notice, and slapped it onto the rotating glass table.
"I'm not doing so great either." My voice was steady. "The university forced me out. Since we're handing out pity—how about you spare some for me?"
Dad's gaze snapped to the paper. His finger, pointing at the bold **SUSPENDED** stamp, began to tremble. Rage flooded his face.
His palm slammed the table. He shot to his feet.
"It wasn't enough that you threw a fit and stopped coming home? Now you've *quit school*?!" Spittle flew. "Even if it isn't Yanda, it's still a top-tier university! How dare you waste it!"