Page 46 of Bitter Rival

Promises are empty. Actions speak volumes.

I learned that love is ephemeral. Not something you can rely on. Not something you should aspire to or even desire.

My mother always used to tell me she loved me. Spoke the words freely.

And yet…she didn’t love me enough to stay and fight.

But she allegedly loved my father so much that she would have done anything to win him back, despite the fact that he’d washed his hands of her, and had all but forgotten that she ever existed.

What’s the opposite of love? Contrary to popular belief, it is not hate. It’s indifference.

Indifference is the opposite of love, and my apathy knows no bounds.

I have no need for messy emotions, condolences, displays of affection, or hugs from the daughter of my sworn enemy.

But here’s what I do need. Revenge.

I’m on a mission to ensure that the people who hurt my mother pay for their actions.

And as luck would have it, the trail got hotter.

The private investigator I hired finally earned the exorbitant rates I paid him to track down Astrid’s whereabouts.

Once he found her in London living under an assumed name, and got me the information I needed, I turned to the dark web and hired a hacker.

I scan the password-protected file on my laptop one more time before closing it out and leaning back in my leather swivel chair with a smile.

Points to Astrid. She’s always had a knack for creative accounting.

Not sure the name of her shell company is accurate though. Lagom. “Just enough” in Swedish.

Is it ever enough for you, Astrid?

After I’ve drained her off-shore account, it certainly won’t be.

But for now, I’m starting small. Ten cents. She won’t even notice it’s missing.

From one shell company to another, we thank you for your contributions to charity, Astrid.

How benevolent of you to fund a not-for-profit mental health organization.

Your dirty money will be put to great use.

Nothing beats a revenge plot for turning my frown upside down.

Step one. Bankrupt Astrid Larsson.

Step two. Ruin her.

Who said technology wouldn’t make me happy?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Daisy

“You again,” Beckett says when I stroll into the kitchen determined to act natural.

Like I didn’t have an erotic dream starring him last night.

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