Page 103 of Hidden Memories

The fists of a thousand memories hit me, one after the other, breaking me apart before I can brace for impact.

I see my father at the head of the dining room table, his voice cold as steel, slicing through my mother’s dignity like it was paper. Her tears never bought her mercy. Her silence never earned her peace. I see her fingers tremble when she poured his whiskey, her brittle smile shattering the moment he wasn’t looking.

I see the lace of some other woman’s panties in his car. The way my mother stared at them like she was so goddamn tired but not surprised. I was the one who confronted him. I was the one who threw them in his face. And I was the one who got punished.

I see him at my wedding, shaking hands with Nicholas, smug and satisfied like he’d just closed the most lucrative deal of his life. And maybe he had. He didn’t just give me away—he sold me. He handed me over to another man who would control me, shape me and diminish me until I wasn’t even sure what parts of myself were real anymore.

But the worst memory isn’t the wedding. It’s the day I lost Santi.

My father’s voice, soft, sympathetic in the cruelest way possible.“Are you okay?”

Like he didn’t already know. Like he hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing.

My father wasn’t just a man who manipulated me—he was the architect of my heartbreak.

Being the product of abuse messes with your moral compass. It takes away your North Star. I’ve had to work harder than most not to become vengeful and hateful.

The idea of bringing him into this, of resurrecting communication with him, to tell him I now know what Nicholas did to his company, feels unbearable. But isn’t it his right to know? Isn’t that the moral thing to do?

My hand trembles as I press it to my forehead, trying to ease the tension. I think about Theo, about the life we’re trying to build here. My father is a hurricane, a force of destruction that tears through everything in his path. Letting him back in feels like inviting chaos into the fragile peace we’re barely holding on to.

But keeping this from him is wrong, too, isn’t it? Castellanos Enterprises is his life’s work. If it collapses under the weight of this scandal, it will destroy him.

The guilt settles over me like a second skin.

Ava’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Kat? Are you okay?”

I force a nod. “I’m fine. Just… processing.”

The silence in the room is oppressive. My thoughts churn, endlessly circling the same question:

Do I tell him before the FBI does? Do I want him to find out that the reason he’s under investigation is because I handed over the evidence? It will only confirm what he thought the day I left… he called me a whistleblower. He’ll think I knew about this all along.

The answer eludes me, tangled in years of pain and resentment. But for once, the choice is mine. I decide whoto let in. I decide who to shut out. The past can’t touch me unless I let it.

Just as I stand to leave, the intercom crackles to life, sharp and abrupt.

“Enzo, Rio… there’s a Mr. Castellanos here.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. Like the whole goddamn world just tipped sideways, and I wasn’t holding on to anything.

My father.Here?

The conference room blurs. My heart hammers against my ribs, panic and rage twisting together so tight I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

Enzo’s head snaps toward me, his brows furrowed. “Your father?”

Rio is already moving, already stepping toward the door, a warrior heading to battle. “I’ll handle it.”

“No.” The word rips from me.

I have to handle this.

There’s no other choice.

As I walk to meet him, I’m light-headed from anxiety and dread, not only because I have to face him again but because it sends wild questions through me. If he’s here, could he have been lying to me about being involved in the break-in? Maybe he knew Nic was partaking in fraudulent activity? After all, how could he have suggested I was a whistleblower unless he knew there was something to report?

I quicken my footsteps to get to him before anyone else does.

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