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Aunt Clara has never hit me in my life.
Right now, I wish she would.
What I’d done failed to sink in for a full damning minute as Elle ran away.
Not when I was so wrapped up in my head with my anger and my betrayal.
Not when I’d just taken an entire lifetime of resentment out on the one person who deserved it the least.
By the time it caught up to me, she was gone.
Despair eats through me like acid, melting my heart into slag.
I pick up one of the pink fuzzy slippers that went flying off her foot, just staring at it before I let it fall limply to the ground.
Everything’s gone to shit faster than I can comprehend.
My PA and driver spying on me.
Aunt Clara confessing—fucking confessing—to stealing Inky the Penguin from Lester Sullivan.
The grim fact that we’re going to lose Little Key and everything she’s ever built because the Inky IP was either built on a lie, or else it was all thrown away with a lie—either way, it’s going, going, gone.
And the ugly truth is that I just ran off Elle like a total savage.
I shoved her away when all I want is her in my life, more than anything.
She’s not an intrusion.
She never was.
Hell, she opened doors I shut so long ago that I forgot there was still a living man behind them, and not the lifeless workaholic asshole I’ve mutated into.
I am a heartless fuck of the highest order.
“Way to go, Casanova,” Marissa mocks, lifting her chin with a sneer. “Y’know, I just wanted to destroy the bitch who killed my father ... but getting to watch your life come crashing down has been a fun bonus.”
Aunt Clara looks sick. Ready to faint.
Despite the anger boiling my veins, concern swamps me.
I throw Marissa a sharp look.
“Don’t,” I say. “You got what you wanted. Learn to savor your win with a little class.”
Aunt Clara shakes her head, giving Marissa a long, strange look.
“I never meant to hurt Lester,” she whispers. There’s something odd in her voice. Something distant and detached that tells me I’m missing a major piece of her puzzle. “I never meant to hurt you. I was simply trying to protect you in my own way, Marissa. I can’t explain—I can’t—but believe me, I was. Please believe that. I only hope this can help set things right.”
Marissa looks confused, silent as she cocks her head at my aunt.
Aunt Clara smiles faintly and turns to me, touching my arm.
“Please take me home, son,” she says. “You can rage at me all you like ... but I can’t handle one more sip of this day.”
No rage left.
I can’t will myself to stay furious.
