"Dad, this room is big, but it's not that big. You don't need to shout. My hearing is perfectly fine."
Alexander's jaw clenched. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and counted to ten. He made it to seven. "Fine. You want to play it cool? Let's play it cool." His voice dropped to a dangerous low. "You have some nerve sitting there smiling at me."
"My nerve grew alongside puberty. By now it's proportional to my age." Sophie smiled sweetly, the picture of innocence. She crossed one ankle over the other and held the teacup with both hands, the steam curling up between them.
"That's exactly the problem. Your nerve has been growing unchecked, and now you don't even pretend to listen to me anymore." Alexander slammed his palm on the desk. The teacup on his side rattled. A pen rolled off the edge and clattered to the floor.
He'd been able to manage her when she was younger. Barely, but he'd managed. These past few years, though, he'd watched with growing dread as his brilliant, beautiful daughter spiraled further and further beyond anything he could control.
"I've been very well-behaved," Sophie said. Her voice was the embodiment of sincerity. Her eyes told a different story entirely. She wondered, with genuine curiosity, whether her father would actually combust if she laughed right now.
"Behaved?" Alexander reached into his desk drawer and produced a folder thick enough to qualify as a novella. "You think putting on the good-girl act for your mother is enough? Grace falls for that routine every time, but I see right through you. Did you really think I wouldn't find out about every single thing you've been doing?"
"Dad, digging too deep into things will just make you an insufferable old man."
She said it the way someone might comment on the weather. Alexander's face went a shade of red she hadn't seen before.
The truth was, Alexander Blackwood was the furthest thing from an old man. Yes, his temples had gone silver at the edges, but that only sharpened his commanding presence. He controlled Sterling Industries' multinational operations with a mind that outpaced executives half his age, and his physical stamina was legendary in business circles. Few young men could keep up with Alexander Blackwood.
Sophie knew this perfectly well. She mentioned his age for one reason only: to make him angry. It always worked.
"You--" Alexander started, but before the tirade could launch, the study door opened and a woman walked in carrying a tray with a steaming mug.
"Mom!" Sophie's face transformed. The defiance vanished, replaced by a smile so warm and genuine it could have melted steel.
Grace Blackwood set the herbal tea on Alexander's desk and looked at Sophie with undisguised delight. "Sophie, you're home! Are finals over already?"
She was Alexander's second wife, with no blood relation to Sophie whatsoever, yet the bond between stepmother and stepdaughter ran deeper than most biological relationships. Grace was gentle, trusting, and kind. Sophie -- who could manipulate almost anyone on the planet -- genuinely adored her and actually listened to her. Sometimes.