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But no, I’m not—not really.
Guilt rolls through my guts. Guilt and anger. I didn’t lie to Kat the night I gave her my ring—I told her I needed her to help me take over my family—but I kept out the most important part.This whole thing is a farce created by Grandpop, and at some point it’s going to blow up in her face.
Now I’m beginning to question whether this is worth it.
She’s been through enough already. Even if she hasn’t opened up to all the shit her family’s put her through yet, I can see the evidence everywhere, in the way she’s always closing in around herself and the way she never shows up at any of her family’s important functions. It rips open my stomach thinking about how this is going to break her one last time.
But I tear my eyes away and steel myself. I can’t start to get fucking emotional and sentimental now. Yes, she’s beautiful, and yes, she’s been through a lot with her piece of shit family, but I’m not going to coddle her just because her life’s been tough.
We all have fucking problems, and I’ve been wanting this chance since I was a little kid.
I’ve fought for this. I’ve bled for this—literally bled. I’ve endured countless attacks from my own cousins, sometimes physical, sometimes psychological. They’ve been trying to tear me down for decades only so they can try to take my place as Grandpop’s favorite, and I’ve had to endure some fucked-up shit to stay above those sick bastards, like the time I woke up with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and my sheets covered in blood because Riley roofied me and staged my room like I murdered a fucking hooker, or the time Albert spread a lie about me stealing money from Grandpop’s accounts and even got the cops involved and let it all drag on for weeks and weeks and caused me a lot of fucking nightmares and headaches, or the time someone—I still don’t know who but I have my guesses—broke into my room and burned half my important documents.
It’s been attack after attack, and now I’m finally on the cusp of achieving my dream. This is what I’ve always wanted, what I’ve struggled for. I need it so badly I can feel it in my bones every time I wake up in the morning, and if I have to hurt Kat to get it then I will.
I won’t enjoy it and I’ll despise myself afterward, but I’ll fucking do it.
Because that’s what I’ve always done. Hurt and hurt and hurt and keep on going.
Pain is all I know and pain is all there ever will be, but it’ll all be worth it in the end when I sit on top of the family.
I only wish Kat didn’t have to suffer for my ambition.
“Are you ready?” I ask, still not able to look at her.
“I guess so. Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, isn’t your grandfather—”
“Grandpop.”
“Right. Isn’t he going to flip out?”
“Probably, yes.”
She clears her throat. “Explain how this is going to work again?”
“We’re going to convince him that we’re fixing the rift between our families. It won’t be easy at first, but in the end he’ll come around and that’ll clinch the succession for me. All you need to do is smile and act demure and take the old man’s abuse when it comes.”
“I’m good at that,” she says quietly.
My stomach twists. Fucking hell. I have to get it together. No more guilt, no more weakness. I let my eyes drift back to her, and I look at her simple cream blouse and her navy slacks. It’s a conservative outfit that also flatters her figure, so simple and so lovely, and I want to fist her hair and pull her neck back and kiss her throat until she makes that incredible goddamn whimper again.
But I have a job to do.
I can bury my feelings deep, deep down under years and years of suffering and trauma and desire.
“Let’s go.” I open my door, go around the car, and help her out. She straightens herself and nods to me, and the fear in her eyes almost makes me waver again.
I can do this. I can be strong.
She takes my arm, and we climb the steps and enter the house together.
I chose this morning on purpose. Most of my family is out either at work or at the golf course or at a spa or doing whatever the fuck they do to fill their time. Most of them pretend like they’re busy and their lives have meaning when they’re really sitting at the country club drinking beer at ten in the morning and posting on Instagram. Most of them, except for Grandpop.
He’s in his study. He’s always in his study. I knock softly and glance back at Kat. She’s shifting from foot to foot, looking nervous and uncomfortable, but Grandpop calls out and I push open the door.
The fire’s crackling and the room’s too hot. Grandpop likes the heat. He’s in a polo shirt and slacks, and he’s sitting behind hisdesk reading the newspaper. I go in first with Kat on my heels, and Grandpop looks up and frowns as his eyes lock on her.
“Good morning, Grandpop,” I say and pull Kat to my side. I hold her wrist tightly like I’m presenting a model for his inspection. The tension and silence feel heavy and Grandpop looks more confused than anything else. “Have you met Kat Stockton?”
