Page 76 of Brutal Truths

Guess now I understand why.

I fold the letter and slide it back into the envelope just as the sudden urge to use the bathroom hits. My mind spinning to piece it all together, I hop out of bed, set it on the side table, and head for the bathroom.

I can’t stop thinking about my mother’s life before I was born. All the stories she shared—wild, reckless, hard to imagine. The choices that sound more like fiction than reality.

I’m familiar with the rumors surrounding my parents’ first encounter. Everyone assumed she was just another one of King Ramon’s mistresses, a fleeting distraction in his lavish life. And maybe she was. Her letter never says it outright, but it doesn’t have to. That’s not exactly something you admit to your daughter, but I can read between the lines.

She was far from a saint. Her life was filled with romantic entanglements, choices she made freely, without apology. Her confession about falling for the father of the man she thought she loved sheds a bright light onto who she was.

She fell hard. Lost herself completely in him. And when he dismissed her, tossed her aside… she spiraled.

Landed straight into a toxic relationship she couldn’t escape. A man, she claims, became dangerously obsessed with her.

Rurik.

It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Not after meeting him the way I did. The man didn’t give me warm fuzzies—he did quite the opposite. Introducing yourself by kidnapping the woman who might be your daughter isn’t exactly a promising start.

It revealed his true colors and told me everything I needed to know about why my mother ran when she had the chance. He wasn’t interested in getting to know me. He was consumed by revenge, and my well-being meant nothing to him.

As I turn off the tap, the quiet is broken by the soft click of my bedroom door shutting. There’s only one person who would enter my room without knocking.

My heart pounds as I grab the towel and swiftly dry my hands. I want to be held by him, to let him work his magic and help me forget, to feel something—anything—other than what I’m experiencing now.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” I say, stepping back into the bedroom.

The words die in my throat when I look up. Everything inside me locks. A wave of fear hits, stopping me cold before I instinctively scramble backward.

Not Aiden.

The man in the corner chair watches me, calm and unmoving. I know who he is, even though I’ve never met him before.

“I apologize for barging in like this.” He doesn’t exactly look sorry, sitting there like he has the right to do so. “Please come join me. We have much to discuss.”

“Aiden’s not here.” My eyes shift to the door where another man stands. He’s built like a brick wall and blocking my escape. “I’d rather stand.”

“Don’t be silly. Drake is harmless.” He waves to the chair in front of him. “It would be better if you took a seat.”

“For who? You?” Another step back, my fingers brushing the familiar texture of the door that connects this room to my grandmother’s. “Why are you here? Like I said, Aiden’s not here. He left to go meet up with your son, Mr. Doyle.”

I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the unease settling in my chest. “Which I assume you know, since you’ve been calling non-stop since we arrived.”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions. I’ve spoken with him. He’s refused to do as I’ve asked, so while he’s busy, I took matters into my own hands.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small box and places it on the table beside him. “Please don’t make me ask you again, Isabel. It’s time we finally met, don’t you agree?”

His hand disappears into his jacket pocket again, returning with an envelope this time. “I’m here at the request of your mother.”

My gaze shifts before I can stop it, landing on the spot where I left the letter. It’s still there.

“My mother?” The words come out sharp. “She’s dead. Making it impossible to make such a request.”

“You look so much like her. Did she tell you about me in her letter?” He rises from the chair as if he intends to find out for himself.

Moving quickly, I reach the nightstand first and tuck the letter behind my back. “No.”

The left side of his lip curls into a knowing smirk. “Don’t lie, dear. Would you like to hear my side of the story?”

“Not really.”