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Fuck.
* * *
The first stop after dropping Iris off at the office is my father’s townhouse. His assistant let me know he took the rest of the day off due to an “unforeseen illness,” so it’s not hard to pin him down.
I almost expect him to ignore me waiting at his front door, but I should have guessed that he is too prideful to look weak in front of me.
He opens the door, and I blink at the damage of his face. His nose is a mess of cartilage and bruising, and it feels like I’m looking in a mirror. I don’t need to reach out to touch the slight bump on my nose to remember it’s there. A bump he caused after a heavy punch and too much alcohol. My stomach rolls from the realization that I’m no better than him, lashing out with fists when provoked.
You won’t make the same mistake again. You can learn to be better.
Despite my reassuring words, I find it hard to battle the chilling realization.
“I doubt you came here to stare at your handiwork, so get on with it or get off my damn porch.”
“I came by to drop something off.” I slap a thick file against his chest.
I have one for every person in my life. Secrets are as good as any currency, and I happen to be filthy fucking rich, all thanks to the private investigator I have on retainer.
He opens the file before shutting it not a minute later. “I see.”
“Take your time and have a good look. I’m particularly fond of the reports from previous teachers going into detail about your abuse, although the hidden hospital visits for broken bones are particularly compelling. There’s a USB attached to the back that includes some videos of our more public altercations as well, just in case you want some visual context of what’s coming if you mess with Iris ever again.”
“Why are you showing me this? Why not go out and share it with everyone so you can take over my position?”
I release a bitter laugh. “Because I don’t need to resort to your level to steal your position, but I’m willing to do so if you ever pull a stunt like today ever again.”
“You would ruin our family’s reputation for her?”
“We aren’t family. You made sure of that the moment you told my wife to get her tubes tied, you fucking monster.” My hands clench by my side, but I hold back from throwing another punch. I’d rather use words as a weapon than my fists.
“I’m trying to save you the mistake of having a child with someone purely for an inheritance. You should be thanking me.”
Deep breaths, Declan. Deep fucking breaths.
“If I catch you talking to Iris again, whether about business or not, I’ll release this to the public. No questions asked. No second chances. I don’t care if you need to use a damn smoke signal to get in contact with me, so long as you leave my wife out of it.”
“You’d publish this even if it makes you look weak?”
“That’s the thing,Father. I spent plenty of years thinking I was pathetic because I couldn’t fight you back, but I eventually realized the only weak man here is the one staring right at me. In one way, I guess I’m glad Mom is dead because at least she doesn’t have to face the disgusting excuse of a human you’ve become.” I turn, feeling his burning gaze following me all the way back to my car.
24
IRIS
Declan has been abnormally quiet ever since our trip to the hospital yesterday. I try to pry him away from his foul mood with a few comments, but it only seems to make him frown like I’m some nuisance.
If possible, the next day back only gets progressively worse. I can’t type with my right hand, so I’m limited to pecking individual keys with my left index finger. I’m tempted to throw my keyboard at the wall after only half an hour of working on a spreadsheet. Instead of resorting to violence, because we all know how that went last time, I text my knight in shining Armani.
Cal strolls into the office thirty minutes later. “I always thought it would be Declan who showed Dad what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his parenting style, but it turns out you did the favor for him.”
My chest aches for the children who grew up with such a cruel father. If only I could go back in time and throw a real punch.
Cal’s gaze narrows. “Don’t look at me that way. I don’t have nearly as many daddy issues as the other two.”
“That’s because you have a whole host of other problems.”
“It makes me layered.”
