Page 88 of House of Lies

“Answer the question,” I whisper fiercely.

The hands clasped behind his back tighten.

With nerves…or anger?

I swallow a lump in my throat and try to ignore the way my heart pitter-patters frantically behind my ribs.

“She was my fiancé.”

I try to keep a neutral expression, but that admission shocks me to my core. How long was Mom seeing Ethan before she eloped with him?

Again.

Not enough. I need more. “What happened to her?”

I can hear his hands creaking as he tightens his grip even more.

“She left me. I told her I wanted a family, and I guess she got cold feet. The night I proposed, she packed her things and just…disappeared.” His words are cold and wooden, but they pierce me like a glowing fire poker.

Packed her things.

Disappeared.

Oh my God, I was right. Rebecca leaves a trail of empty homes and broken hearts in her wake.

My cheeks flush, and I have to blink back sudden tears. Ethan glances at me and then turns, grabbing my shoulders before I can step back. “Cassidy? What’s wrong?”

I try to wrench out of his grip, but after keeping everything inside for so long, after tiptoeing around the truth for days, after everything this man has put me through mentally and physically and emotionally, my walls come crashing down like he put a wrecking ball through them.

“Where did she go?” I blurt out.

A deep frown puckers his brow. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “She didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address.”

Something he said filters out through the chaos in my mind. “You wanted to start a family with her?”

“Yes. She was my fiancé.” His eyes narrow. “What’s going on? Why are you so…” He trails off like he can’t put into words the anguish on my face.

I try to hold back, to keep even a sliver of the truth for myself, because the moment it’s out, there’s no clawing it back. But I’m so fucking done.

Done with pretending.

Done with the lies.

Fucking. Done.

“You wanted to start a family?” I yell hoarsely, grabbing his dark shirt in my fists. “She was my mother! Did you ever stop to think about the family she left behind, you selfish, arrogant, piece of shit?”

I slap him.

And when he just stares at me, dumbfounded, I slap him again.

But when I go in for a third shot, he catches my wrist and shoves me back against the closest bookshelf so hard that the impact sends an encyclopedia crashing to the floor.

“She was my mother!” I try to scream the words, but he’s knocked the air out of my lungs, so it comes out in a whimper.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls furiously. “Becks couldn’t possibly be your mother.”

A hot tear races down my face, and I sniff back the sob threatening to break out of me. “Her name was Rebecca Monroe. But I guess she just called herself Becks when she was around you.”

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