Page 96 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

June still hadn’t spoken.

“What the fuck is going on?” Wendy demanded, stepping beside June and gripping her arm protectively.

“This woman,” my mother spat, “she’s the reason for everything.”

“For what?” Wendy’s voice sharpened, her hand now planted firmly on her hip.

“Son, I know you wouldn’t have gotten into trouble if it weren’t for her.” My mother’s voice cracked as she jabbed a perfectly manicured finger at June.

I stepped between them, blocking her line of fire. “Mama, your son gets into trouble with or without her.”

She knew that. She had to.

I was sure she had seen the financial statements—she must have noticed the absurd security expenses, the money I spent on my so-called entertainment—but she had never said a word.

“And Jenny,” she continued, her voice trembling. “Poor Jenny would never have done anything so reckless if she hadn’t been exposed to her American ways.”

“Jenny only met her a few days ago,” I shot back.

“Exactly! You see?” My mother’s eyes flashed, as if she’d proven some grand point.

“Auntie,” Lucy interjected timidly, stepping closer. “June did nothing but help us.”

My mother softened—only slightly—as she turned to Lucy. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I already see you as my daughter-in-law. No one can take that away from you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.

“Clearly, you need a good woman by your side. And you’re going to marry Lucy.”

“No.”

“Oh, you will.”

My mother turned away from me and flicked her wrist at June, as if dismissing her. “Oi, you—how much do you want?”

June blinked. “What?”

“How much money do you want?”

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, glaring at my mother. She’s lost her mind, that’s the only explanation I could think of.

“Son, just like all those women you dated before, she only wants your money. Our money.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice was tight, vibrating with anger. I hated her in this moment—this arrogance, this belief that she was above everyone, that everything had a price tag.

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “Those women you dated back in college—why do you think none of them stuck around?”

A sinking feeling formed in my gut. “What have you done?”

“I paid them off.”

“You did what?”

She rolled her eyes, it was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “Relax. Not all of them, of course. Only the unsuitable ones.”

She turned back to June, dismissive, calculating. “Half a million. Is that enough?”

“Fuck, you’re bleeding, June.” Wendy’s low voice cut through the chaos.