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Chapter Thirty-One | The Box 

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Chapter Thirty-One | The Box 


Online classes are weird.

Firstly, who the hell in their right mind came up with the idea that someone teaching a class virtually was a good idea? Second, everything here is prerecorded meaning if I have a question about something there's no one to ask. I've never been the type to struggle when it comes to academics. I've always been able to grasp any concept within minutes, but these online classes were kicking my ass.

"I suppose you don't know how to properly solve systems of linear inequalities, do you Harry?" I turned in the spinning office chair, asking my family's personal chauffeur.

Harry didn't talk much and this time was no different as he only sent me a blank stare, before turning his attention back to whatever the hell he stares at when we're stuck in my father's office at headquarters. Harry has been working with us since I was seven and I don't think I've ever heard him mumble a word. He's a quiet man and I don't mind because when he's driving me around here and there I don't have to worry about a conversation like I do when I would ride ubers.

I'm pretty sure he's annoyed with me though because of the number of times I've had him driving back and forth from home to headquarters back home to the local grocery store so I can pick up snacks. Honestly, if there's anyone Harry needs to be upset with it's my father for even designating him as my full-time driver and calling me up every hour to come to the company to sit and do nothing.

He says it's to make sure I'm doing my school work but I know it's because he doesn't trust me and feels I'll run away from home and run off with Asher somewhere far far away.

And I would, but I hate running.

"Why won't you just let me assign one of the interns to help you out with your work Liam?" My father's voice sounded off from the other side of the office as he fixed his tie in the mirror positioned over the liquor cabinet.

The sound of his voice made me a scowl and I didn't even fight the upturn of my lips as I stared at him across the room. "I don't need any help from you or your interns," I replied.

My father chuckled to himself lowly as he fixed himself a glass of signature drink — Scotch on the rocks. He glanced up at me through the mirror and his piercing blue eyes almost cut another scratch on my face. "You don't need my help," He repeated my words like there were something from a comedy novel. "You don't need my help, you say from my office chair, my office, my company, wearing the clothes that I bought you.

I scoffed, arms folded and head turned in the opposite direction. "I don't need anything from you."

"Keep telling yourself that Liam," He whipped around taking a sip from his glass. "I don't know how long you plan on keeping this little hissyfit going on because I took away a few privileges, but you need to get over it soon. We have important business to handle."

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