Sweet, beautiful things—even when it hurt. Who am I kidding? Especially when it hurt.
“That doesn’t define you. An innocent bride is rare these days—it was rare when I was younger too. Your mother was no virgin when we got married.” He shrugged. “Nor was I.”
He seems almost human, consoling me after what he believes is the most traumatic experience of my life—but of course, he is using it to push his agenda and try to convince me that I need to marry someone of his choosing, so his kingdom can grow.
“You never talk about her.” I felt a bit of sorrow rising up when he mentioned my mother, but I stifled it with the hate I had for the man in front of me.
“No.” He shook his head back and forth. “What could I say really? She was taken too soon.”
“Did you really love her—eventually?” I tried to resist diving into a deep conversation with him, but it was so rare to hear anything about my mother and once I took him down, I’d never get another chance.
“Of course.” He nodded. “She gave m
e you—my only daughter.”
Then you must not have loved her, because all I am is an asset—maybe that’s the only thing you truly know how to love.
My father left, and I returned to my research. For the first time in my life, I decided to Google, my mother. She was Angelina Davenport before she was Angelina Prescott. That’s the woman I wanted to know—not the one in photographs smiling next to my father. I barely remembered her. She died when I was still a toddler. I knew her family was from Chicago, but I didn’t know a lot about them. My grandparents visited when I was younger, but they retired to Florida when I was thirteen and I really hadn’t heard from them much since then other than the birthday card they sent every year. I wasn’t surprised to learn that my grandfather was a real estate developer, nor was I that surprised to find pictures of him next to my paternal grandfather—just another marriage of convenience, more than likely.
It’s definitely time for me to break this pattern.
The next day
I listened to my father’s phone calls when I could during the day and heard him making arrangements for Hannah Clark to visit. A plan hatched in my head. She was wanted by the police. I might not be able to take down my father yet, but I could put a little fear in him—make him realize that he wasn’t invulnerable. I waited until she was there—even watched her walk into my father’s study before I stole a phone from one of our workers and placed a call to the anonymous hotline number on the police department website. I told them that Hannah Clark was at Prescott Manor—then I waited for the fireworks to erupt.
It didn’t take long. I watched the police car pull up to the front gate from my bedroom window and waited to see if it would open. I wasn’t sure if my father would turn them away. I assumed he had that power. It wasn’t important for Hannah Clark to actually be arrested—just that my father feel that sense of safety slip away. To my surprise, the gates opened, and the police car pulled up to the entrance. I peeked out of my bedroom and watched as my father walked downstairs to greet them. There was a brief argument, then they came upstairs. More shouting—then they walked Hannah Clark out in handcuffs.
Maybe my father doesn’t have as much power as he thinks he does.
“Daddy, what happened?” I walked out of my bedroom as he ascended the stairs. “I heard shouting…”
“Nothing, go back in your room.” He waved me off and walked towards his study with purpose.
Yeah, I think it’s better if I listen in to the call you’re about to make.
I had never heard my father so furious. He called someone, but he never said their name. He tore them apart—said that Hannah’s arrest was going to make things very complicated now that Josef Weber was dead. All I could do was smile. It was a small victory, but the start of what I hoped would be many. The bricks of his castle, being pulled out one by one. I went back to my room before he hung up the phone because I didn’t want to be discovered. I had more names to research and I hoped there was more torment that I could cause before I was able to make a real move against my father.
This guy looks interesting. Jeremy Hughes. He was an investor at Weber Acquisitions and my father mentioned him when he was talking to Hannah Clark.
I needed some kind of dirt since all of the people my father did business with weren’t wanted by the police. I couldn’t end all of them with a single phone call. I had to assume that my father had stuff on his computer—it was always on when he had people over to discuss business. I just didn’t know how to get into it. There was always a screen up requesting a password when he wasn’t there. He had shared the combination to the safe in his office, but the only thing in there was money.
I waited until he was in bed and walked down the hallway to his study. The computer was on—with the password screen up. I sat down behind his desk and stared at it. I tried my name, my mother’s name, and every person I could think of—none of them worked. Who would be important enough for my father to actually use as a password? I thought back to the conversations we had—then I remembered that he mentioned being in love once—with a woman that he knew before he married my mother. I didn’t know her name though. I used my cell phone to search, looking at some of the pictures from events that the Prescott’s held. I finally found one of my father, when he was younger—dancing with a woman at a charity ball. Isabella. I typed it into the computer and the screen flashed—I was in.
“Anabelle, what are you doing in here?” My father’s voice surprised me—so much so that I nearly jumped out of his chair.
Oh shit.
Brody
“This waiting is going to fucking kill me.” I put my head in my hands. “We’re almost out of booze—we don’t have enough food to last us much longer—and I gave Anabelle our fucking car.”
“Maybe we should call your uncle and see if he can head this way.” Rourke looks over at me and shrugged. “Or we can try to go hunt down some wild animals with your gun.”
“Wild animals don’t have booze,” I grunted under my breath. “Fuck, at this rate I might as well just start making prison wine in the bathroom. It’ll probably be fermented before we hear anything.”
“Yeah. I’m starting to get worried.” Rourke nodded. “The fact she hasn’t sent the cops is a good sign—but I didn’t expect silence.”
“She may be having second thoughts.” I sighed and shook my head. “She’s back in her castle now—maybe that put the pieces back together again.”