Until We Met Again ( Rowan and Johnson )
Chapter 17

Chapter 17

When Landon returned, Karla had already taken refuge in Rowan’s room. She peered through a sliver of the opened window, and the first thing that caught her eye was a line of vintage cars from the last century, with a Lamborghini Miura sports car standing out in the center. That model was a fresh release from 1967, a global production, indicating clearly that Landon was, indeed, filthy rich.

A dozen men in black suits stood in formation, a scene that reminded Karla of something straight out of a mobster movie.

But as a girl of the modern era, she couldn’t help but scoff internally. This was too much,

wasn’t it?

She had later seen similar spectacles around Rowan, equally grand, but never thought them excessive. Call her biased, but when a big shot like Rowan hit the streets, only this level of entourage seemed fitting.

Of course, that was a story for another time.

Karla was spot–on in her guess. Landon bore a striking resemblance to Rowan in his adult years, with the key difference being in their demeanor and aura.

One was the picture of refined elegance, the other dark and fierce.

Landon’s entrance painted him as a villain right out of the gate, with a stoic face and piercing eyes. Calling him a tyrant wouldn’t be a stretch–he was the type to fly into a rage and become violent at the drop of a hat.

Suddenly, Landon looked up, his gaze drifting in her direction. Although they were too far apart for him to see her, Karla instinctively dodged his line of sight, pressing herself against the wall. Glancing back, she saw Rowan’s slight frame trembling, his face twisted unnaturally

with fear.

Karla knew it. Rowan was scared of Landon.

When Landon arrived, Karla had already hidden herself in the closet, holding her breath and curling into a tight ball in the corner, daring not to make a sound. Landon was alarmingly perceptive, and she was certain that the slightest noise would betray her presence and result in immediate confrontation.

Landon didn’t say much to Rowan, casually picking up a sheet of piano music and flipping through it before demanding a performance.

Karla was shocked as soon as she heard the opening bars–this monster was making a 12–year–old play Beethoven’s Pathétique. She had heard Rowan play before. His attempts were clumsy and riddled with errors, but at least he could complete the plece. Clearly, though, his proficiency fell short of satisfying Landon.

Karla had braced for a verbal lashing at worst, but Landon didn’t hesitate to resort to

violence, slapping Rowan across the face. The sound alone was enough for Karla to feel the

sting.

Her fists clenched tightly, she bit down hard on her resolve, keeping utterly silent.

“Worthless!”

With that single biting comment, Landon left without a backward glance, slamming the door behind him with a resounding “bang.”

Then Karla heard him command Rita not to bring Rowan any food for the day. Karla’s fists tightening once more at the cruelty. Was this guy a sadist or what? Starving his own son for a day? Rowan was still growing!

Only when Landon’s footsteps faded away did Karla emerge from the closet. She saw Rowan still seated, laboriously practicing the Pathétique.

Approaching him, she noticed his downcast head and silence. She wanted to tell him to stop playing, but her reaching hand paused mid–air, then retracted. Karla simply sat down beside him, saying and asking nothing, just being there for him. He would play until he was done, and she would wait until then.

True to his word, Landon had Rita withhold food for the entire day. Karla could handle going hungry, but not Rowan. So, under the cover of night, with the household asleep, Karla sneaked into the kitchen for food.

Bread and baguettes were the only available options. She grabbed some, along with a couple

of milk cartons.

Outside, the rain poured heavily, thunder booming. On her way back, a woman’s piercing scream stopped Karla in her tracks.

The cry came from Joana’s room.

As Karla headed back, the wails grew clearer, mingling with the sound of things being violently thrown, followed by Joana’s pained sobs and moans, and other muffled noises of distress.