Not her Biological Father

The morning after the club was nothing short of hell. Andre woke up with a pounding headache and the taste of regret thick in his mouth. The unfamiliar ceiling above him, stained with shadows from the sun filtering through dusty blinds, offered no comfort. He turned and saw the girl from last night-still asleep, still bare beneath the sheets. He sat up slowly, head throbbing like someone had played drums inside his skull. Everything felt wrong. The music. The girl. The empty shots. The texts from Jess. Especially the silence that followed. He grabbed his phone. Four missed calls from Geoffrey. No new texts from Jess. She was done with him. Part of him hoped she'd blocked his number-maybe then the guilt would stop sending cold chills down his spine. But it hadn't. He gathered his clothes, dressed quietly, and slipped out of the apartment without saying a word. Later That Day... Back at his lodge, Andre collapsed on his bed. His room was a mess. Notes scattered. Books unopened. His untouched assignment from Professor Kent was blinking on his laptop, a blank document with the file name: "Structural Load Case Analysis - Due Today."  He had forgotten. No-he had abandoned everything. He forced himself to sit up, drink water, and stare at the screen. But the numbers danced in front of him. Equations blurred into memories. Jess's eyes. Her voice. Her face when he kissed her the second time. He buried his face in his palms and exhaled deeply. His phone buzzed. Rose. He considered ignoring it. But something told him to answer. Rose's Apology "Hey... uh, Andre?" Her voice was surprisingly soft. "Yeah?" "I just... wanted to say I'm sorry for how I behaved last time. I was out of line. I know you've got a lot going on and I took it personally. That was unfair." Andre didn't reply immediately. "You didn't deserve that," she continued. "And I know you're not okay right now. I don't know what's going on, but you've been... distant." He sighed. "Yeah, well. Life's been... messed up lately." "Can I buy you coffee or something?" she offered. "Maybe some other time." "Okay," she replied quietly. "Just... don't disappear on us, okay?" Click. The Scam As if the universe hadn't had enough fun toying with him, Andre checked his mail later that evening. One message stood out: "Your account has been compromised. Please verify your identity to recover your funds." He clicked the link without thinking. He was too tired to care. Filled out the form. Two hours later, his bank app showed $4000 gone. Just like that. He stared at the screen, hands cold. His breath caught in his throat. His chest tightened. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. But he didn't. He just stood there. Numb. Watching his future drain into nothing. His inheritance was locked until graduation. The only money he had now... was gone. And he couldn't even focus long enough to email the bank for help. .................................................... Coursemates & Isolation The next day, he dragged himself to class. He arrived late. Sitting in the back. Avoided eye contact. "Yo, Andre," his friend Lucas called from two rows ahead, turning to give him a fist bump he never returned. "You good?" asked Rae, another classmate. "You've been looking like someone who's being haunted." He forced a laugh. "Just stress." Professor Kent handed back graded assignments mid-class. Andre's paper came back with a large red "22%" written across the top. "See me after class," the professor added in a sticky note. His mind felt like static. When class ended, he walked out without saying a word to anyone. Andre was from a renowned family. At least, that was the version everyone knew.   The Blake name carried weight on campus. Professors softened around it. Administrators smiled too quickly. People assumed privilege had always been his inheritance-handed down neatly, like a trust fund wrapped in silk. But the truth was messier. Much messier. Andre's parents had not started rich. Not even close. His father, Marcus Blake, grew up in a two-bedroom flat in western Sydney, sharing a mattress with two brothers and learning early that hunger was something you swallowed quietly. His mother, Eleanor, had worked three jobs before twenty-waitressing by day, cleaning offices at night, and studying business law in between. They had clawed their way up with bloodied hands. And not all of it had been clean. Andre remembered the whispered arguments late at night. The hushed phone calls that ended abruptly when he walked into a room. Men in expensive suits who didn't smile. Cars that stayed parked outside their house longer than necessary.   When he was sixteen, he overheard his mother say the words that never left him: "We didn't come this far by being saints." His father had answered quietly, almost bitterly. "We did what we had to do." They built an empire from logistics, infrastructure, and offshore investments. By the time Andre was eighteen, the Blake Group was untouchable. Wealthy. Respected. And feared-by the right people. But money didn't erase guilt. It only buried it deeper. Andre had grown up watching his parents live like ghosts in their own mansion-never fully relaxed, never entirely at peace. His father drank too much. His mother slept too little. They loved him, yes-but love in that house came with pressure, expectations, and silence. "Don't embarrass the family." "Control your image." "Mistakes are expensive." Andre learned early that consequences weren't avoided-they were managed. Covered. Paid for. He rubbed his face now, sitting alone outside the lecture hall, that red 22% still burning in his mind. What would his father say if he knew? What would his mother do? He didn't want to find out. His phone buzzed again. A message-this time from an unknown number. You should be more careful, Andre Blake. Money doesn't erase everything. His breath hitched. He stared at the screen, heart pounding.   Who was this? How did they know him?   Another message followed before he could process the first.   Some mistakes don't stay buried.   Andre locked his phone and stood abruptly, scanning the corridor. Students passed him, laughing, complaining, living ordinary lives.   No one looked suspicious.   But the unease crept in anyway-slow, cold, deliberate.   For the first time since everything began to unravel, Andre felt something worse than guilt.   Fear. Because whatever his parents had done to protect the Blake name... Whatever lines they had crossed to get where they were... It had taught him something dangerous. That power could hide the truth. And now, with Jess waiting for an apology he hadn't yet given, money gone, grades slipping, and shadows closing in- Andre wondered if he was about to repeat the same sins that built his family's empire.   Or if this time...   There would be no one left to clean up the mess.