Page 137 of Empire of Ache & Ruin

For the first time in my life, I don’t recognize the man in front of me. He looks tired and defeated. But more than that, I don’t see love in his eyes. He’s still mad at me for being with Archer. And I can’t even stand here and tell him I haven’t been with Archer since the last time we spoke. On the contrary, Archer and I have taken our physical relationship further than I thought was possible.

“I think you should go, Paloma. Before someone sees you.” His gaze travels down my body. “And gets that wrong idea.”

“I don’t care about all those people out there.” I point toward the living room on the other side of the door. I try not to picture all those groups playing with their black swan or the group upstairs fucking that woman. The image of Hunter going upstairs with a sub cuts through my mind as I realize that Dad was in this room not five minutes ago doing the same thing to two black swans. “Is that what she was to you? A whore to share with your friends?”

“What?” He squints at me in disbelief. In all my twenty-five years, I have never talked to Dad in that tone. I’ve always been the doting daughter, even when at times I found it hard to be. “Who are you talking about?”

“Mom,” I say through gritted teeth.

The indignant look in his eyes vanishes instantly, and it’s replaced by concern. He glances back to his chair then down to his tuxedo as if only now realizing that maybe I’ve been standing here longer than he thought. It’s sheer luck that I didn’t come in ten minutes earlier. I don’t think I could ever see Dad the same way if I had seen him with a sub.

Right now, my brain feels like it’s going to implode with the many contradictions assaulting it. My devoted father organized an orgy party for his donors? Or maybe he didn’t organize it personally, but he’s at the very least, a willing participant. And that alone makes me see him under a different light, a much brighter light showcasing all his faults.

“Well? Is that what she was to you?” I point at his chair. “Did you even love her?”

“I don’t understand where all this is coming from. If the party has you at odds, you should leave. Politics have never been your forte, Paloma.” His condescending tone falls heavy on my chest and makes it hard to breathe. “Which reminds me, I think it’s time you returned to your dancing. I will discuss it with Pierre on Monday.”

What? Is he really going to stand there and pretend all of this is okay? Or worse, that me being uncomfortable with an orgy party is the problem? I wrack my brain for the words that will make him understand. But I feel myself losing this argument with him yet again. This is how he always handled my concerns. Or rather, this is how he always dismissed them. I grab my wrist and squeeze it tight.

Why am I here? Tears pool in my eyes and make the whole room blurry. No, this is all on him. He lied to me. I stick with that simple fact. Everything else is too difficult to comprehend.

“You lied to me,” I insist. “The woman in the portrait. That’s not my mother.”

He glares at me as the red from his neck fuses up into his cheeks. “What gave you that ridiculous idea?”

“I looked her up.” I didn’t have time to do any kind of research. After I got a hold of Freya’s phone, I came downstairs to rejoin the group and pretend everything was fine. I had to lie to Archer so he wouldn’t get suspicious. And now I’m glad I did because this conversation with Dad was way overdue. “The woman in the portrait doesn’t exist.”

Another lie. But I really don’t want to get Archer’s mom involved. What would Dad do if he found out the woman in the portrait is a real person? And not only that, she’s Archer’s mom.

He blows out an exasperated breath. “It’s very unbecoming when you get like this, dear. Go home. Now.”

“No.” I step closer to him. “Who’s my mother? Why are you lying about her portrait? And all those pictures of her? How did you get them? How did you get Sole to lie for you all these years? She’s been feeding me stories about Mom since I was four. Was any of that real?”

“Where are you getting this from?” His jaw clenches. “How dare you come in here and accuse me of lying. I am your father. You will show me respect.”

“Why did you lie?” I stomp my foot in frustration.

“I didn’t.” He glares at me.

Anger pools in the pit of my stomach. This is not how I expected the conversation to go. I thought he would offer a reasonable explanation, but instead, he’s doubling down on his lies. He lied. I repeat that simple fact in my head. He lied. He lied. I dig my nails into my wrist.

“Months without dancing are taking a toll on you.” He looks at me like I’m a wounded animal. “You know how your mental health isn’t the best. I will talk to Pierre on Monday. Now go home to your husband, Paloma, before you make me lose my patience. You don’t want that, do you?”

I startle at his words, and the underlying threat. The last time Dad lost his temper I was in high school. I missed school for a whole week because he didn’t want people to see the bruises on my face.

But I came here to get answers.

He lied.

He lied.

“I met Freya Archer.” I say louder than I meant to. “That’s the woman in the portrait. She’s not my mother. She told me that herself. In fact, she was offended to be associated with you. Why is that?”

Tears stream down my cheeks. I can’t hold it anymore. The barrier I had carefully constructed to keep all those random thoughts at bay comes crushing down in an instant. Dad is not the man I thought he was. I can’t lie to myself anymore. It’s all there. All the dots dance around in my head, waiting for me to put them in the right order. If Dad had Freya’s portrait, is it because he knew her? Obviously, she knew him well enough to hate him, same as Archer. So how did Dad come to be in possession of Freya’s portrait? Did he steal it? But why? Why tell me she’s my mother?

“Why did you lie about who my mother is?” I ask again.

“I didn’t lie about who your mother is. Her name is Clara de Armas. I met her at the theatre. She was a beautiful dancer. Everyone desired her. But she only wanted me.” The greed in his eyes makes me shuffle back. “She got pregnant with you a year after we met. So I married her. You know the stories as well as I do.”

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