Did I believe Odette Astor possessed enough self-awareness to genuinely regret anything she’d done?
I know the answer now.
She doesn’t.
But I still tried.
God help me,I tried.
??????
“I need you to understand what you did to me.”
She merely frowned. “What do you mean—didto you? I’vealways protected you.”
“No.” My voice stayed remarkably calm. “You isolated me. You monitored every friendship I ever had. You—”
A dismissive wave of her hand. “I kept people from taking advantage of you. I was being vigilant.”
“I was ten.”
Silence. After that, every question was given no weight or answer.
“You called parents to stop sleepovers.”
No response.
“You bribed teachers to report back to you.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You hired investigators to follow my classmates.”
A belligerent shrug. She looked genuinely confused by my frustration. Like none of it sounded unreasonable to her.
I laughed. “What about the universities?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What universities?”
“The rejection letters.”
Still nothing. Okay.
“The Canadian universities that never accepted me because you’d already called in favors before I even applied.”
That gave me a tiny flicker. But not of guilt, of recognition instead.
“I wanted you at Stanford,” she said, sounding genuinely bewildered.
My jaw tightened so hard it hurt.
Christ.
“You drove away Iris, and then created the marriage clause.”
“And? You got Celestine because of it, didn’t you?” she replied as though she’d solved a mathematical equation. “I heard you’re very happy together.”
“I almostlostCece because of it.”
