I hated this house before I even stepped through the front door. It’s one of those glass-and-steel mansions that feels more like a museum than a home. Cold. Empty. Expensive. Just like the man who bought it.
My mom thinks I’m here because I want to "bond." That’s the word she kept using in her emails. Bonding. In reality, I’m only here because if I skipped this trip, I’d be the "difficult daughter" for the rest of the year. My mom has been singing about this camping trip for months. A one-day road trip, two days in the woods. Sounds like a dream if you like nature; sounds like a nightmare when you have to do it with Draco and his son.
Draco. Even his name sounds like a villain from a movie. He’s the guy who stole my mom’s attention, moved her into this fortress, and made me feel like an
