Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Like what triggered this? It makes no sense.
I shouldn’t be upset. I know I shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. However, my mind can pretend all it wants. My heart, though…
Is broken.
Tears escape, and I can’t stop them. Somewhere deep down inside, I thought he might forgive me. That we could go back to at least being father and daughter. So I could have someone.
Now, I have no one. Once this charade is over with Ronan, I’m alone. I mean, of course I still have Aspen. She truly is my best friend. And Chloe messaged me after the event and wants to meet. We do have our close group of friends, and I do care for them.
But family? I literally have no one.
And what does that mean for my trust? Oh my God, is he doing this because of the lawyers? If he does this, do I inherit nothing?
My heart races, and fear grips me like it did in that café.
It’s the first time in my life I feel truly desolate. The realization that this moment—this fantasy with Ronan—can’t last forever.
And then I will have no one and nothing.
I have no skills, assets, or experience. I have nothing on my résumé. I don’t even have one.
I think about so many things at once that I’m bawling now. Tears I can’t stop pour down my cheeks. At one point, I swear he loved me. Back when my mother and he were happy. Back when I was young and I didn’t get into trouble. I was lovable to him once. There has to be some part of me that he would want to love, doesn’t there?
My vision turns blurry as I stare at the screen, then push the laptop away. I grip the covers up around me and use them to wipe my eyes.
I sit on Professor Wolf’s bed, in the room I decorated from floor to ceiling with his money, not mine. He’s everywhere, even down to the bedding.
I can still smell him.
Feel him.
Mind.
Body.
Soul.
The door opens with a soft creak. It’s like my thoughts have called him or something. I can’t look him in the eyes. In a pathetic attempt to wipe my eyes and pretend I’m not crying, I cover my face. His presence is felt before his fingers press under my chin, forcing me to look up.
“What’s wrong?” he instantly asks, kneeling in front of me.
“Ronan…”
“What, kitten? What happened?”
I shove my computer in his direction and haul ass to the bathroom. I don’t want him to see me like this.
Not perfect.
After I splash water on my splotchy face, I take a moment to compose myself. A long moment of silence passes until I walk back into his bedroom a bit more composed. He’s still there. He hasn’t moved from where he was kneeling. I watch as he forwards the email to himself.
“Why did you do that?” I ask what I’m contemplating.
“Do what?”
“Forward it to yourself. What are you going to do with it?” There’s a hint of panic in my tone.
“Don’t worry. I just need it because something happened.”
My already distraught heart drops. “What happened? Something with my dad?”
“I don’t know, but …”
“What?” I press. It’s all feeling too much and too overwhelming.
“The video was leaked to the press.”
My mouth drops open, and I stand there fucking frozen, unable to move an inch. If I do, it’s almost as if I’ll erupt into a million pieces.
“Brooklyn, did you hear me?”
My eyes widened as he adds, “It's an edited video. It’s mostly focused on you, and you can’t tell it’s me.”
He’s edited out. It’s just me. This was just to hurt me. Not him. All this time, I thought it was about him.
I don’t listen to one more word. I pick up my phone from the bed and leave him there still on his knees for me. He doesn’t stop me. Not that I expect him to. With each step I take, I feel the rest of my dignity leave me. This time, my phone pings over and over again as my hands shake uncontrollably. And I ignore them all.
CHAPTER 19
Brooklyn
All I can think about on the drive over is, well, that makes sense. The world knows I’m a slut, and my father disowning me combined with a scandal is more than likely enough to disqualify me from my trust. I wasn’t planning on showing up here. I just did. My phone hasn’t stopped dinging with calls and text messages, probably a few from her. And feeling numb and with no where that feels safe of my own, I knock on Aspen’s front door.
“Brooklyn, call me ba—” She opens the door, coming face-to-face with me while she’s leaving a voicemail on my cell phone. “Oh my God! I’ve been blowing up your phone.”
Her face drops the moment she sees me, a mix of sadness but also relief.