The Bad Boy’s Bet

The Voss mansion never felt like home. It felt like a museum built to display wealth no one was around to enjoy. Twenty thousand square feet of marble, crystal, and silence. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window in the west wing living room, swirling a glass of my father’s twenty-year-old whiskey. The amber liquid caught the light from the chandelier, but I barely tasted it as I took a sip. I hated the bitterness, yet I kept drinking anyway.

“Sir?” Mrs. Ruiz’s gentle voice broke the quiet. She had been our housekeeper for twelve years and sometimes felt like the only real adult in my life.

I didn’t turn. “Let me guess.”

She sighed softly. “Your mother called from Milan. She’s extending her trip for another week because of the fashion shows. Your father is still in Singapore. The board meeting has been delayed. They asked me to tell you they’re very sorry.”

“Sorry,” I repeated, the word tasting worse than the whiskey. “They’re always sorry.”

“I know, Aiden.” Her voice was full of the kind of pity that made my chest tight. “They said they’ll try to make it for your birthday next month.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “My birthday was last month, Mrs. Ruiz.”

The silence that followed was heavy. I heard her shift her weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered. “If there’s anything I can do for you…”

“You’ve done more than they ever have,” I said quietly. “You can head home. I’ll be fine.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone once again in this massive, empty house.

I was nine years old the first time I truly understood I was an inconvenience to my parents. I had spent an entire weekend secretly building a giant Lego castle in the middle of the foyer as a surprise for their anniversary. I waited six hours past their scheduled arrival time. When they finally walked through the door, exhausted from traveling, my mother barely glanced at my creation. “Darling, we have people for cleaning up toys,” she said, kissing my forehead absentmindedly before heading upstairs. My father didn’t even look at it. That night I smashed every single piece until my hands bled and cried until I couldn’t breathe.

By thirteen, I had learned the lesson clearly: pain got their attention. The first time I got suspended for fighting, my father actually flew home. He yelled at me for twenty minutes straight, called me a disappointment to the Voss name, then left the same night. But at least he had seen me. So I kept giving them reasons. Bigger fights. Crashed sports cars. Parties that brought the police to our gates. Every single time, I waited by my phone, hoping it would ring. Sometimes it did. Most times it didn’t.

The front door burst open, loud laughter cutting through the silence like a knife.

“Yo, King!” Marcus strolled in first, dropping onto the massive leather sectional like he owned it. Tyler followed right behind, heading straight for the bar area.

“You look like shit, man,” Marcus said, grinning. “Parents ghost you again?”

I set the glass down harder than necessary. “Milan and Singapore. Same old story. Mom’s chasing fashion shows, Dad’s chasing more money. They sent their ‘sorry’ through the housekeeper again.”

Tyler whistled while pouring drinks. “That’s cold even for them. They’ve got a son who basically runs Westbridge Academy and they treat you like an afterthought.”

Marcus leaned forward. “Screw them. We throwing that pool party tonight or what? The whole senior class is waiting on you. Plenty of girls ready to help you forget your problems.”

I walked over and dropped into the armchair across from them. “What’s the point anymore? Every girl at school only sees the money, the cars, the last name. They don’t see me. The guy who comes home to an empty house every single night. The guy who’s been screaming for his parents to actually give a damn for eighteen years.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Marcus and Tyler exchanged glances.

Marcus tried to lighten the mood. “That’s exactly why you need a distraction, bro. There’s this new scholarship girl, Emily Kane. She’s different. Quiet. Smart. Doesn’t seem impressed by any of us. Could be fun to mess with.”

Tyler smirked. “She’s got that innocent but fiery vibe. Bet she’d be a challenge.”

I stared into my drink, thinking about the brief eye contact I’d had with her earlier that day. Something about the way she looked at me felt… different. Real.

“Pool party it is,” I said finally, forcing the reckless smirk back onto my face. “Let’s make it loud enough that maybe someone will actually hear me for once.”

Marcus clapped me on the back. “There’s the Aiden we know! Tonight we run this city.”

As they laughed and planned, I leaned back in the chair, the familiar emptiness settling heavier in my chest. On the outside, I was Aiden Voss: rich, handsome, untouchable. On the inside, I was still the lonely little boy waiting for his parents to come home.

And I was exhausted from waiting.