Page 27 of Sebastian's Secret

“And who bought you those cars and houses?” Their father’s voice grew in volume, cautioning Oliver, but naturally, her brother’s dismissive attitude only burgeoned. He couldn’t care less who he offended. “Who facilitated your happiness?”

“Oh, fuck,” she mumbled, sinking deeper into her chair. This was supposed to be their ‘family meal’—a weekly endurance test that she and her mother, Gloria—were always summoned to attend, but Oliver and Jonas’ dialogue was unraveling the same way it always did, with shouting and threats.

“What was that?” Her father growled, his dark eyes fixing on her.

“Why can’t we just have one nice meal?” she complained, her gaze darting between her parents. “Why does everything boil down to your and Oliver’s arguments?”

“Because he’s your brother, sweetheart.” Mrs. Monroe looked as glum as Rebecca always recalled her being. For her entire life, all she could recall was her father’s sneer and her mother’s sobs.

“That’s right,” her father yelled. “And as the next man of the house, I expect him to step up.”

“Oh, change the record, Dad.” Oliver put down his knife and fork, gesturing for the staff to take his plate. A shy Latin American maid who Rebecca didn’t know scuttled over, skillfully dodging Oliver’s unwelcome hands.

“No.” Jonas’ gaze was steely. “If you want your company allowance, then you’ll damn well do as you’re told.”

“What?” Oliver demanded, banging his fist on the polished wood’s surface. “You have no right!”

“I have every right,” Jonas snarled. “As your father and the man who puts food on this table.”

Oliver’s disgusted gaze met Rebecca’s, his displeasure the only small grace of the entire ordeal. “Why should I have to work for the company?” Oliver protested. “When she does nothing.” He gestured to his sister as she slid her phone away.

“I get less allowance than you,” Rebecca reminded him, loathing how she, every bit as much as Oliver, relied on her father for income. At their ages they should be out there in the world, making names for themselves. She loved photography and was damn good at it, as well, but she’d never been permitted to use her skills to make a living. That would mean Jonas Monroe losing control and that would never be accepted. Her only choice had been to flee his clutches, and Rebecca had never found the courage, although Jonas’ toxic behavior increasingly suggested she should have done.

Even her travel plans had been ruined since an international rival had threatened to abduct Oliver. From that day, none of the family were allowed to leave the country unless Jonas expressly gave the order.

“You do nothing for it.” Oliver snorted. “Unless you count boozing and fucking.”

“Oliver!” Their mother’s face blanched. “Do not use language like that at the table.”

For God’s sake. They were both in their early thirties, yet their parents insisted on pretending she and Oliver were still children. It was infuriating.

“What do you mean, fucking?” Jonas repeated, his glare passing from his son to his daughter.

“I mean, she’s always polishing some guy’s cock.” Oliver grinned, reveling in the way he’d managed to switch the heat back to his sister.

“Rebecca?” Her father hollered. “Is this true?”

“W-what?” she stammered, heat flaming at her face. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

She couldn’t believe that Oliver would raise this subject over dinner, but worse was her father’s reaction. He expected her to be some virginal prize, like a pawn he could control, and she couldn’t stand it much longer. She should be able to talk to her parents about sex. There shouldn’t be any shame in the knowledge that she enjoyed her sexuality, but glancing at Jonas’ enraged eyes, she couldn’t envisage any reality where that would be possible. She’d be forced to deny Oliver’s allegations and lie about her perfectly healthy desires until her father dropped dead.

“She’s lying.” Oliver laughed, pointing in her direction. “Look, she’s blushing!”

“Stop it!” Rebecca snapped, glancing left and right at the hovering staff. Jonas insisted on having a houseful of redundant maids, although it seemed to her that all they did was titillate him. “This is none of your business!” Close to tears, she removed her napkin and rose from the table.

“Rebecca, sit down,” Jonas ordered, his words thundering around the immense dining room.

“No,” she told him, staring him in the eyes as she held her ground.

It was the only time she could recall doing so with her father and based on the anger flashing in his eyes, she remembered why. He was a small but formidable man who’d ruled their lives with malice and fury for too long, but Rebecca couldn’t let this go, could no longer live this way. Sebastian had shown her a chance of a better life, a hope of improved times to come, but the contrast only made the reality of her existence all the more stark.

“I’m going out.”

“Out?”

Her mother parroted, her brown eyes widening as her gaze traveled from one emotional outburst to the next. Gloria looked close to the edge—as she often did. It explained why she relied so heavily on the collection of prescription drugs her father had delivered every week. Combined with her drinking habit, the drugs ensured Gloria was out for the count most days.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Jonas vowed, already stalking around the table to grasp Rebecca’s arm. “Get your backside back in your seat, young lady. This is a mealtime.”

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