97 — Not my secret to tell.

PEDRO

A week had passed since I'd kicked Louisa out of my apartment, and each day I found myself staring at my phone, impatiently waiting for Mr. Santos' call. I knew he would be livid, and that he would threaten to take away his share of the company.

While I wasn't worried about the financial impact of Mr. Santos' withdrawal, I didn't want it to happen. Yes, my father had promised to invest in the project, but I wanted to succeed on my own merits, not because of his help. I wanted to prove to myself and to everyone else that I could make it on my own.

"Wait a minute," I said, halting my frantic pacing. I tugged at my damp hair in frustration, shaking my head. "Is he expecting me to call him first?" I muttered to myself.

"Screw him," I muttered, tossing my phone onto the dresser in frustration. I sat on the stool in front of the dresser, I glared at my reflection in the mirror, the anger and disappointment plain on my face.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh, and my eyes fell on the s