Page 23 of Dream On, Liar

And just like that, frustration crawled back under my skin.

Because suddenly it felt less like hesitation over the article and more like there was something else they weren’t saying.

My grip tightened slightly around the glass.

“But?” I pressed, making Oliver shoot me a glare.

I ignored it. He’d already threatened to hit me, all he could any longer was snap and do it. It was a risk I was willing to take.

It’s not like I didn’t deserve it.

“But, if it comes from you and then I take a lead on it, it might take away any questions of me being part of this.”

“And what if Hazel assigns someone else on this?”

Raina rolled her eyes. “In the past year, has she ever done that?”

“Fair point.” I nodded. “What about my press statement? Can you help me at least write it? Even if it’s on my notes app.”

Oliver finally spoke, sighing. “If he’s going to do it anyway, better it comes through someone who’ll stop him from sounding completely insane.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, raising my smoothie glass at him like to say cheers.

“Yeah, I’m saying this for her and not you,” Oliver said flatly. “I’m frankly not a big fan of yours right now.”

I placed a hand over my heart. “I still love you.”

Some of the tension eased at that, the corner of Oliver’s mouth twitching despite his anger.

“On one condition,” Raina said, cutting through the moment before it could settle too comfortably.

That got both our attention immediately.

“You tell us what happened today,” She lifted her shoulder. “Two can play this game.”

I exhaled a rough breath, shaking my head.

The disbelief of the question was buried deep with a simple fact, that at the end of the day, no matter how hard we tried to be different, there were still pieces of our father threaded through all of us.

6

Rihaan

TWO DAYS LATER, I still hadn’t told them.

The words had sat at the back of my throat ever since that conversation in the kitchen, heavy and unmoving, like if I tried to force them out, they’d tear something open on the way.

Something I was far too afraid to let come out.

Instead, I stayed sprawled across my bed while the first day of the second Test between Bangladesh and New Zealand played silently on the television, all bright stadium lights and commentators whose words never reached me. Beyond the towering windows, London shimmered in fractured gold against the dark, the city looking distant enough to belong to somebody else entirely.

The room stretched long around me, all warm lighting, cream stone, and dark velvet shadows. Past the sitting area near the fireplace, the space carried on toward the bathroom and the walk in closet. Still, my gym bag sat half unpacked near the chair by the bed, training gear hanging over the side like I’d abandoned the task midway through remembering I didn’t care enough to finish it.

Because the truth was, I still hadn’t fully wrapped my head around what had happened, and the last forty eight hours had blurred together into one long, frozen day.

Knowing our father had a secret child was one thing. Brutal, sure, but distant enough at first to almost feel theoretical. Just another ugly confession dropped onto the pile of things he’d lied about over the years.

Meeting him changed it.