Page 56 of The Billionaire's Vow

Her jaw tightened.“Where did all this stuff come from, Mom?”she asked, deliberately ignoring the demand for money.

Her mother waved a dismissive hand, still fixated on her phone.“Oh, that’s nothing, dear.Just a few things I got for the kitchen.Nothing important.”She finally glanced up, licking her lips.“Did you transfer the money yet?”

Giselle felt the familiar pull in her chest.

That reflexive urge to fix it.

To make everything easier.

To send the money and avoid the inevitable explosion.

Her pulse quickened as she forced her gaze away from the bags and met her mother’s eyes.“No, Mom.I’m not transferring more money.I don’t have anything to transfer.”

Diane’s lips parted, already preparing some scathing remark, but Giselle cut her off.

“Before you berate me for being a terrible daughter, or remind me how I ‘tore up your body in utero,’ or whatever emotional blackmail you plan to guilt me with, I literally don’t have the money.I just paid my rent.”

Her voice trembled on the last word, and she hated herself for it.

She drew in a slow breath, trying to steady the shaking inside her chest.

“If I hadn’t had to cover Dad’s bar tab earlier this month, I might’ve had a little left over.But he drank twice as much as usual.”

A thick, suffocating silence settled over the room.

Both women turned to look at her father, who sat slumped in his recliner, pretending not to hear them.The stench of stale beer clung to the air.Without missing a beat, he let out a loud burp and took another swig from his can, eyes glued to the football game on the television.

Giselle swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

Her hands were starting to shake now.

She curled her fingers into her palms, grounding herself in the small sting of her nails pressing into her skin.

“Even if I hadn’t paid his tab—which, by the way, I won’t be doing again—”

That finally got her father’s attention.His glassy, unfocused eyes shifted to her, narrowing slightly.

“Ye’re a good girl,” he slurred, lifting his beer in a lazy salute.“Ye’ll help yer pa out when he needs it.”

Giselle’s stomach twisted.

That old, familiar guilt pressed against her ribs.The same words he’d used since she was sixteen.Since her first job.Since the first time he’d needed “just a little help.”

Three to four hundred dollars every month.

Money she worked for.

Money that could’ve gone toward building a future for herself.

A nest egg for emergencies.

Even a new car.One that didn’t rattle when she hit forty miles per hour.One that started every time she turned the key.

Money she was finally done handing over.

Her throat tightened.

Her resolve wavered for one dangerous second.