Page 27 of Playboy’s Purgatory

Opal snickers, “You really left too early the other day Lola.” She shakes her head, clearly enjoying this moment a little too much. Not that I can blame her for it. “Lara told everyone the truth of who Vanessa is and what happened. Vanessa confirmed it, not like anyone needed it. Her version of events wasn’t just plausible,” she pauses, her eyes raking over Lola like she’s looking at something stuck to her shoe, “it was obvious.”

Lola’s mouth drops open and for a moment I’m stuck between rage and uncontrollable laughter. Because she really thought Lara would protect her lie. Or at least not out her completely. Maybe just refuse to comment?

I don’t know, but her reaction has my eyes sliding closed.

Against everything I was too fucking stupid to see before.

And there was so much.

Any lingering doubt I had about Lola and Lara and the truth of it all…evaporates.

There wasn’t much left to begin with. But after being so thoroughly manipulated, I had to recognize that truth usually exists somewhere in between. In the gray area.

But that small willingness to examine the gray is gone now. It has burned away.

In the ashes only determination is left. A determination to replace all the memories of what I said and the way I treated Lara with something better. Something more.

I’m not even sure I understand why I need to do it.

Lola’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “I don’t know what she said, but you can’t believe her,” she tries.

Her words land flat. We both hear it. She doesn’t back down. Stubbornness colors her features; she’s worked hard to get this far. I’m sure she doesn’t want to let it all go to waste.

“She was always good at playing the victim,” Lola’s voice wobbles and tears fill her eyes.

I watch with fascination as one tear wells up perfectly. It rolls gently over her lash line and then down her cheek. Another one follows closely after.

Timed.

Executed.

Just an act.

“Your biological daughter called you a grifter. She said she looked up the word, so she’d have one,” my words are flat.

Lola freezes, whatever excuse she was trying to summon up dies on her tongue. Good. I’m done listening to her.

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” there’s no warmth in my voice. No understanding. No sympathy.

Lola gasps softly and she looks devastated. Just an act. “Y-y-you can’t really mean that,” she stammers out as if she’s experiencing the height of heartbreak and loss.

“Of course, I really mean it,” I sneer the words. “Who, exactly, do you think you are?”

That shuts her up for exactly three seconds. She motions between us, the movement jerky as if she’s barely holding it together, “But what about us?”

Opal makes a sound like a dying animal and when I glance at her she’s almost turning purple with how hard she’s holding back her laughter. I give her a flat look, and she fans her face like it’s going to do a bit of good.

When she can’t hold it together a second longer, her laughter rings out long, and loud in the room. Lola looks stunned and then pissed. I snap my fingers to bring her attention back to me and watch as her expression shifts again. On a fucking dime.

She goes for sweet this time.

It’s disgusting.

“Phew,” Opal breathes out. Amusement fills every word, “She really asked, ‘what about us’.”

“There is nothing between us,” I say the words slowly. She looks legitimately baffled and my jaw clenches. “If you don’t back off,” I grit the words out through my teeth, “I will make it my mission to get you out of this club.”

“No,” she has the gall to look affronted and betrayed as she presses a hand to her chest.