Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
She already knew I planned to contest the will as soon as I had the means. Anyone with a functioning brain could guess that.
“Why?” I rushed after her, rearranging everything she tossed, pulled, and tugged. “Why do you hate me so much?”
A genuine question.
I didn’t believe in fairytales with one-dimensional villains and angelic heroes.
I believed in the gray area between bad and good. Where good people could make bad choices and still try to be better the next day.
Vera balled a shirt of mine and chucked it on the floor, pivoting to me.
“You really want to know? Even when the answer is so obvious?” Heavy pants rattled her shoulders. “You were his biological daughter, Farrow. Who looked just like him. You had the DNA advantage. And he was obsessed with you. Loved you far more than you deserved. He only pretended with Reggie and Tabby.” She drew a hand to her chest, the globe-sized engagement ring Dad had given her twinkling under the light. Tears sprung to her eyes. “Oh, my sweet girls. They tried so hard to please him.”
My jaw clamped.
I struggled not to cry.
I missed him so much, not because he was the best father, but because he was the only person in my corner.
It sucked. The aloneness I’d felt since he died clung to me like a latex dress.
Sometimes, I’d close my eyes and fight the constant tide of loneliness by recounting the earliest memories Dad and I shared.
Lately, it had gotten harder. Memories were a lousy ex. When you wanted them gone, they stayed. When you wanted them here, they left.
Vera jerked away from the clothing rack and hugged herself. “And he put all of his resources and time into your fencing. We always came second to you. He cheered you on at every single competition you’ve ever had, yet he never made it to Tabby’s ballet recitals or Reggie’s pickleball matches.”
Now wasn’t the time to point out that they’d both sucked at their crafts and lasted point-three seconds.
Tabby’s entire ballet career could be summed up in one three-minute home video of her starring as a tree in The Nutcracker. The part didn’t require her to move.
In fact, it encouraged stillness.
“You wanted him to give me away when my mother left me at his door.” I clutched one of Dad’s sweatshirts she’d discarded to my chest. “Your cruelty cannot be excused.”
“Yes, I did.” Vera’s eyes met mine. She stood tall, proud and unapologetic. “You were a healthy cherub of a baby. Not even a month old. You would’ve found a wonderful family to adopt you, somewhere you didn’t have to compete for attention. I tried to do you a favor. You weren’t foster care material.”
“Oh. Wow.” I shook my head, a bitter chuckle escaping me. “You did not just say that.”
But of course, she did.
Vera Ballantine had no limits.
I flung the door open, waving a hand at the cavity it left. “Get out of my room.”
Vera advanced to me, shoving her face in mine. “Don’t contest the will, Farrow.”
“It’s not the real will.”
Her face was so close to mine, I could see the rage swimming in her bloodshot eyes. “How do you know?”
“Because he would’ve left me the business.”
And the pendant, too.
The one I’d get from Zach, no matter what.
Dad wanted me to have everything he cherished, because he knew I’d keep it close to my heart. Keep his memory safe.
“You little idiot.” She raised her hand. I flinched, anticipating her strike. Instead, her grin widened as she pretended to wipe something off my shoulder. “You will never take me and my girls down.”
With that, she stalked off.
Brett Conner was one of the least palatable people I’d ever encountered.
A truly grotesque testament of his character, considering I found the gross majority of my peers unworthy of oxygen.
Unfortunately, Brett Junior was the COO of a company I intended to acquire. Dot Cum. An up-and-coming NSFW social media platform with a search growth above 4900% and eighteen million active users per month, a figure growing by the minute.
You could say Brett Senior’s love for pussy was both his blessing and his curse. It had earned him a company worth over three billion dollars… but also a son whose sole contribution to society was keeping niche designer boutiques afloat.
“Hey.” Brett Junior plowed into my house, wearing neon Prada sunglasses and a gold Gucci tracksuit. “Yo, O.C., my man.”
O.C.
As in: Orange Chicken.
Truly, that he managed to survive his twenties without being stabbed in the face by a steak knife could only be considered a miracle.
He raised his fist for a bump, his signature idiotic grin the only indication of cognitive function. “Brought some champagne made in Italy. The real stuff.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong.
Frankly, I did not have a heart at all.
Had I possessed such an organ, I surely wouldn’t spend one beat of it on this man.