Page 59 of Claim

I’d made it through then. I could deal with this now.

A series of texts bombarded my phone, and I couldn’t muster the energy to scan them. More beeps chimed, and then the sound of an incoming call filled the air.

I dropped my head on the kitchen counter, allowing the coolness from the stone to penetrate the heat of the skin on my forehead.

For a split second, I thought of calling Eva, wanting a big sister’s advice, but decided against it. The last thing she needed was to add my drama to her life while pregnant and planning a wedding.

Constantly alone in a crisis, without a soul to call on for support or to hold me for comfort.

I closed my eyes, remembering that Damon had been there for me as I told him about Keith. He’d held me. I’d felt safe, wrapped in his arms.

He’d helped me that night. Could I reach out to him again?

No, that was a bad idea.

I wouldn’t see him again. I’d made the decision. I’d handle this as I dealt with everything else. One day at a time.

The second the ringing stopped, it started up again. With a sigh, I reached for my cell. The display showed my father’s number.

I hesitated for a moment and then answered, “Hello.”

“Sophia, get to the house now,” Dad ordered, anger lacing his every word. “There is a car downstairs. Come straight to my office.”

He hung up before I had a chance to respond.

Would he slap me or reprimand me? One never knew. Leo took the brunt of the discipline when we were younger, but on occasion, the rest of us earned our fair share of Dad’s wrath.

And, of course, Mom stood by with her lectures of how disappointed she was in my life’s choices between preparations for the next social event.

I closed my eyes, taking in a few breaths to center myself. One day, I’d find a way out of this anger, this resentment for parents who never cared.

If only I had the resolve of my older siblings. They found their way without needing anyone’s approval.

Grabbing my purse and jacket, I squared my shoulders and headed out of my apartment.

* * *

Arriving at my parent’s place felt like I’d already endured days of battle. I sighed in relief, unbuttoned my coat, and then took the long hallway leading to Dad’s office.

The moment I’d stepped out of the elevator, a group of reporters swarmed me.

They’d bombarded me with questions about the rumors.

“Are you a call girl?”

“Did you sleep with the listed designers?”

“Are you a madam or one of the workers?”

I kept my head up, ignored everyone, and pushed through the crowd until I reached the driver Dad sent for me.

How the fuck they’d managed to sneak past the security in my building, I wouldn’t know. But one thing was for sure. It would never happen again. I’d sent a message to Lucian about the incident, and he instructed that he’d handle it.

I’d mastered the art of acting the part of the uncaring, wild child Morelli heiress. The paparazzi knew I wouldn’t answer them by now, but they had to try.

Just as I’d slid into the car, one reporter asked, “Is it true you got on your knees in more ways than one to be his muse when you were eighteen?”

It had taken all my strength not to respond. I knew it was the columnists’ job to push my buttons for the headlines, but it would have been nice to punch a motherfucker in the face. Lucky for me, the Morelli training won out over my rage.

---