Page 11 of Sinful Desires
“He didn’t know?”
“I told him I was going to church. Said I’d be back in an hour. Gave him the night off.”
He laughed—old, hollow, poisoned.
“Church,” he repeated. “So, while your bodyguard is on vacation, you’re out acting like some second-rate whore with a coke budget?”
My jaw clenched. But I didn’t crack. Not in front of him.
“I needed air.”
“Oh, you needed air?” He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You’re not some sad little girl with a daddy complex and a self-care routine. You’re an empire. If you want to break down, do it in Saint-Tropez.”
I stared at his mouth, wondering if I could punch it without ruining my manicure.
“Don’t do it in Harlem where every bottom-feeder with a burner phone wants to watch you crash.”
I crossed my arms, trying to ignore the lingering ache on my cheek. “I wasn’t thinking about headlines.”
“No. You weren’t thinking at all. That’s the fucking problem. A hundred grand. That’s what it took for some stranger to threaten your life. That’s what you’re worth now?”
I swallowed. “If this is aboutPage Six?—”
Snap.
His cigar cracked in half, ash hitting the floor like falling glass as he pushed to his feet and rounded the desk.
“You think I care aboutPage Six?” His voice dropped. “This isn’t about gossip. This is aboutyou. The face ofmyfucking legacy. Running around like a spoiled little girl with my name stuck to her back.”
He stepped closer. “While I spend decades turning dirt into gold, you’re out there turning gold into filth.”
A pause.
“ForgetPage Six. Try explaining to my board why my daughter’s on drugs, on her knees, or on breakdown number five this quarter.”
The silence that followed was ice cold.
“After all the shit with Luke Conrad, you still don’t know how to act?” he said, voice sharp. “Christ, Scarlett. If you want to die too, at least do it right. But leave my fucking empire out of your mess.”
“Some Tylenol and sleeping pills, please.”
The old woman pushed her glasses up, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me. I could feel the shift, despite the sunglasses and hoodie, when she realized exactly who I was.
She nodded slowly, her white blouse hugging her body just a bit too tightly, and turned to move toward the back. As she walked away, my nails clicked against the counter.
The meeting with my father had gone exactly as expected.
Miserable.
His cold, disgusted gaze had never left me, his words digging into my chest like a thousand needles.
I was the biggest pop star on the planet with stadium tours, performances for the president, millions of fans, billions in the bank. Grammys, an Oscar. I had itall, yet somehow, he still managed to make me feel like the lowest piece of shit to ever walk the earth.
No matter what I did, no matter how high I climbed, I’d never be enough?…?because I wasme. That was my curse.
Being born Scarlett Harper, and not someone else.
The second Luke’s name had left his mouth, I’d bolted from that mansion before he could say another word, the taste of his anger still sharp on my tongue.
