Page 121 of Mine to Ruin

Melanie stares up at me from her tablet.

“Richard is getting desperate. He has made one mistake after another. He’s using money from his private funds to keep up the facade.”

That’s good. I want him desperate. It will make him lose everything at my hands so much sweeter. Revenge, I can almost taste it. Soon.

We land, and I take the car to my grandfather’s, while Melanie heads to the hotel to check how things are.

“Kian.” He eyes me, fear passing over his features. “Sit down,” he says, pointing at an armchair with a trembling hand.

“What’s wrong, old man?” I ask as I unbutton my jacket.

“My son came and threatened me.”

“It was long overdue,” I say, not understanding his jittery behavior.

He paces around, his face contorted in a mix of anguish and misery. He drags in a lungful of air and says, “I am your father.”

I snort, but his words boom in my head.

“Are you trying to be funny?”

He eyes me in that authoritative and implacable way as he would do when I was a child, the one that leaves no room for misinterpretations. I tap the armchair and stand up and yank the door to the bar open. I pour myself a glass of whiskey and gulp it down.

With every ticking second, disbelief transforms to rage. I turn to him. “Start fucking talking.”

His voice trembles as he says, “I had an affair.”

“Yes, it runs in the family. Richard, my father, or I guess now my fucking brother, likes them young—too young.”

Walter slumps in his office chair while my heart pounds in my chest like it might crack.

“Your grandmother was a lovely woman, elegant but cold. And I was surrounded by beautiful and eager women.”

“I don’t give a shit about the reasons you couldn’t keep it in your pants. Where is my mother?” I try to make sense of this fucked up situation, my vision tunnelling.

“She died. She had a car accident.”

I throw the empty glass at the wall. It scatters, and I snarl. “When? Tell me everything because you know I will find out.” I yank at my hair, desperation shackling me.

“Your mother suffered from postpartum depression after giving birth to you and––”

“She killed herself. Am I that fucking unlovable?” A bitter sound erupts from my chest, and he moves to console me when I lift a brow and point back at his armchair. I pace around, tugging at my shirt. This can’t fucking be. I shake my head so hard, it might dislocate from my shoulders.

“Kian.”

I march toward him. He’s my fucking father, and he abandoned me, left me at the hands of his fucking degenerate son. I breathe through the fury blurring my vision, infusing my bloodstream.

“How did I end up with your son?” I spit and grip his armchair, my face inches from his ashen face, drawn in sorrow. He can stick his pain down his throat and I hope he fucking chokes on it.

His eyes plead with me. “Whenever my wife would see me holding you, she would scream the house down. Still I couldn’t abandon you, but when my son said he’d take care of you as his wife couldn’t get pregnant, I conceded. He swore he would be the best father to you.”

My entire life is a lie. I push myself up and cram a fist into my mouth, my insides screaming. I inhale and exhale, black spots dotting my vision.

“I am sorry.” His head drops and I have to fucking leave before the anger short circuits my control.

I dart through the door, and he shouts after me.

“When you calm down, I would like to tell you more.”

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