Page 166 of Rhet

I swallow as I placed my hand over my mouth, “Julian how much did she bid?”

Julian sighs, “Because the money is not being taken out till the end of the auction, I have no idea what your final bid looks like.”

“So, she fucked me over is what we are saying,” I lean on my window and bang my head against it.

“Well, we don’t know but,” Julian replies.

“But she fucked me over,” I pull at my tie needing to breathe.

It hurts, this shit hurts, and I have no idea what to do now. This feels like Charlotte all over again.

Everything I planned on doing for her stops. Now I have a million questions floating in my head. Why would she do this? Who is she working for?

A numbness begins to spread over my body. Does she even love me? This fucking can’t be love. This is betrayal. I need to be sure.

“Rhet.”

I need to know exactly why she did this? She loves me and I love her. Right? There must be a reason.

I need a drink a strong drink that will knock me out for a bit.

“Julian, you have nothing on her?” I feel lightheaded. I almost failed my brother again.

“Nope, nothing on Zeeta Woods,” Julian says, I can hear him moving around my desk.

“Try Zeeta Mitchell. Compile everything and get back to me. I’m giving you two days at the most.”

“Consider it done. Anything else?”

I shake my head only to remember I’m on the phone. “No. That’s it.”

“Hey, boss. I know a lot is going through your head. Give her a chance.” Julian begs.

Well, shit Zeeta has made my right-hand man soft. Julian Wang never begs in fact he can be as ruthless as I am. I end the call and allow the pain to wash over me.

“Fuck!” I scream, hitting my hand against the steering wheel. I breathe in and out to center myself.

Jumping out of the car, I trot up my stairs and open the door.

“It’s about time you got home,” my father’s voice echoes through the house,

“Where are you?” I ask out loud as I step into my foyer.

“Your front parlor,” he replies

I make my way to him “Just call it a living room.”

I see the smoke curling around him as I enter the room. He sits on my sofa with his legs crossed, in a tweed and brown suit.

“It’s called a parlor” my father states.

I take off my jacket and fling it next to him.

“What brings you here?” I ask, siting on my leather accent chair.

“Heard the bidding was closed. How much did you bid?” He puffs on his cigarette

“Enough. Why?”

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