Our Driver Thought He Owned Us Chapter 1

Coming back from a business trip, I pointed to the limited-edition dirt bike that had just been delivered to the garage.

"Howard, have the flatbed tow this over to my apartment around noon. I'm taking it out to the outer loop this weekend."

He didn't move. He just stood there, staring at me with a cold, unblinking gaze.

"My mom and Izzy are out this afternoon. You don't need to drive them anywhere."

I nodded. "I know."

"Oh, and grab that new riding gear from my room and load it up too."

He didn't answer. He just glared at me, his eyes dark and hostile.

I paused. "Do you not know how to call a flatbed?"

"Never mind. I'll just call the towing service myself."

When the tow truck driver arrived and we started loading the bike and gear, Howard suddenly flew off the handle.

"What do you think you're doing, taking off with something this expensive? Did you even ask for my permission?"

I was stunned.

My mom and sister had always hated bikes. They had been terrified of motorcycles since they were kids. I was the only one in the family who rode. My dad had custom-ordered this off-road bike from Europe and had it shipped over specifically for me.

Howard was just our driver. Did he honestly think living on the estate made him the man of the house?

* * *

"Howard, my mom and sister have zero interest in riding. This bike was bought for me."

"If you're so interested, I can let you take it for a spin sometime."

His face fell, sneering at me with pure disdain.

"Even if they don't ride it, you have no right to just cart it away."

"You're twenty-eight years old. No wife, no real career, still living off your parents' dime. Aren't you embarrassed?"

My temper flared.

"You're the driver, Howard. Stick to your job and mind your own business."

He shut his mouth, but he kept staring at me like I owed him a million dollars.

I didn't care to indulge him. I told the tow truck driver to finish loading.

As I walked out the door, I caught him muttering under his breath:

"Twenty-eight and still acting like a spoiled brat. Your mother might coddle you, but I won't."

I swallowed my anger.

My mom suffers from severe motion sickness. We have gone through at least ten drivers in the past few years. Howard wasn't exactly a pleasant guy, but he was the smoothest driver we'd ever had. My mom and sister could actually ride in the back without getting sick. That was the only reason I let it slide.

The next morning, my mom came back from her morning run.

The moment she stepped through the door, Howard rushed over, eagerly offering to take her coat and water bottle.

When she politely declined, he turned around to pour her a glass of water.

As she drank it, a smug, self-satisfied grin crept across his wrinkled face.

Then, my sister Izzy came downstairs.

Howard immediately started fussing over her.

"Izzy, I got those fresh pastries you like from the bakery down the street."

"Izzy, the weather app says it's going to pour today. Make sure you drive carefully."

"Izzy, what do you want for dinner tonight? I can pick up whatever you need."

I travel constantly for work. Even when I am home, I'm out early and back late, so I rarely interacted with him. Whenever he looked at me, his face was a mask of irritation and cold resentment.

I had assumed he was just a miserable guy by nature. I hadn't realized he was playing a double game.

At the dinner table, Howard sat himself down right next to my mother.

"Diana, that brand-new dirt bike you got yesterday? Elliot packed the whole thing up and took it to his place."

My mom smiled at me warmly.

"Those bikes can be dangerous in the wind, sweetie. Don't ride too fast, and please wear your helmet."

I took a bite of my food. "Don't worry, Mom. I'm only riding on weekends. It's staying in my apartment garage."

My mom said affectionately, "Alright. If you want, I can order you a road cruiser for your daily commute. It'll be easier for getting to the office."

Howard slammed his fork down.

"Diana, you're going to ruin him if you keep doing this."

"A twenty-eight-year-old grown man, unmarried, no real ambition, still begging his family for toys. Aren't you worried people will laugh?"

Izzy looked up, her fork pausing. "Howard, my brother spends our family's money. Why do you care?"

My mom chimed in, "I like spoiling my son. Who has a problem with that?"

Howard's face turned a deep, angry purple, but he didn't dare snap at them. Instead, he directed a look of pure venom at me.

I stood up.

"What is your problem?"

"My mother can spoil me all she wants. Since when does our driver get to tell us how to run our lives?"

Howard's face flushed a deep red.

"Diana, look at how he talks to me!"

"I'm only speaking up for the good of this family. A grown man acting like a parasite—I can't say a word about it?"

I scoffed.

"You're overstepping, Howard. My dad bought me that bike, and my parents own this house."

"You're just the hired help. Do you actually think you own the place?"

He gasped, clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack.

"You have the nerve to bring up the house? Your sister is the one who's going to inherit this estate and carry on the family legacy. This house is her security."

"You're a man. You're supposed to build your own life. How can you be so shameless as to try and steal your sister's inheritance?"

Izzy's face darkened.

"Howard, that's enough. I've never accused my brother of trying to take anything from me. Stop trying to drive a wedge between us."

My mom pushed her chair back, her voice cold.

"Howard, you don't make the decisions in this house."

Howard choked on his words.

"Diana, Izzy... I was only trying to help."

"A boy needs discipline. Twenty-eight and still lounging around the family estate—what kind of woman would ever want to marry him?"

Seeing that he wouldn't drop it, my mother's tone grew ice-cold.

"Howard. Know your place."