Page 68 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

She clears her throat. “Benjamin Asher was a big insurance and real estate mogul. He basically had a foothold in most of Rose Hill. His insurance company was bought out by Prinze Industries, but they kept him on as a vice president of something or other after the merge.” She shrugs. “Mom always said that it was kind of like… a sympathy job. They didn’t really want him around, and I’m sure he didn’t do shit. But it was a nice paycheck.”

“How do you know all that?” Riley asks.

“Mom and Dad get chatty after a few glasses of wine,” Sav says. “Plus, dinner parties? Mom is the biggest gossip.”

“So Caleb’s dad sold the company and negotiated to keep a well-paying job, on top of a payout.”

“Well, yeah…” Sav pulls her leg up to her chest. “You didn’t know.”

“I don’t remember my parents talking about it,” I say faintly. I’m sure they must’ve discussed it. The Ashers would’ve rocketed from wealthy into billionaire status. A personal chef—ha, they could’ve hired four personal chefs.

“We were like eight or so. And then everything went kaboom,” Savannah adds.

Me. I caused the explosion. Caleb’s said as much. And my dreams have indicated that something isn’t quite right.

“What did I do?” I whisper, more to myself than them.

Riley shakes her head, and Sav just stares at me with sympathy.

“No one ever said,” Savannah tells me. “Just rumors, and no one knew what was true.” Her phone rings, startling all of us. She climbs to her feet and goes into the hall, her voice muted.

“I don’t know what to believe,” I whisper to Riley. “About the past, the present. It’s all just so confusing.”

“What about your dad?”

I jerk back. “What about him?”

“I mean, your mom left, right? She was a drug addict. It’s what people at school say.”

“That’s true,” I admit.

“And your dad’s in prison.”

“What’s your point?”

She holds up her hands, and I realize… I’m snapping at her. It’s a sensitive subject.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“What did he go for?” she asks. “And before you get defensive, I’m only asking because maybe there’s a chance he didn’t want to leave you.”

My eyes fill with tears. I rub at my face. “Um, he went to prison for something to do with drugs. My case worker said he was dealing, probably got my mom addicted.”

Riley’s silent, and when I look up, there’s pity smeared across her face.

“No,” I order. “I can’t deal with pity.”

“It isn’t—”

My glare stops her short.

She hangs her head. “I’m sorry. It’s a shitty situation, and I don’t know how you deal with it all without being a mess. I admire you for it. But it also hurts.”

I soften and reach out to grab her hand. “I’m sorry, too. I’m just used to pity… not sympathy. Or even worse, empathy.” I smile.

She laughs. “Never pity.”

“Thank you.”

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