Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Sir, I know I’m not what you’d choose for Amelia. My background is nothing. But I’ll work harder than anyone to deserve her. I swear it. Just... Please, give me a chance.”
John’s eyes narrow, shifting to Amelia, then back to me. “This isn’t about your background, Max. Not entirely, at least.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my tone sharp, frustration bleeding through.
He leans forward, his hands braced on the desk. “Years ago, I made a painful choice, and it has returned to haunt me. Your mother and I agreed to keep our secret buried, for everyone’s good. But now, I see no other way.” He pauses, the silence suffocating. “You can’t be together. This relationship should never have started. I should’ve seen it sooner. It’s an abomination.”
Amelia’s voice cuts through, trembling but fierce. “An abomination? What are you talking about?”
My heart is pounding as my eyes find hers for a split second, her fear mirroring mine. We both know now that whatever he’s about to say, it’s worse than my lack of status. We turn back to him, bracing for the impact.
He stands, and his voice is flat, final as he sticks the blade straight into my beating heart.
“Max, you’ve never met your father because I am your father.”
The words slam into me, stealing my breath. The room tilts. His face blurs as my mind reels.
Amelia gasps. “You’re... you're lying. It’s not true.” Her voice cracks with desperation and horror, but I’m mute, shock locking my throat. This can’t be real. It’s impossible.
John presses on, clinical and cold. “It was a mistake, years ago, with your mother. She told me about you later, so I made sure you always had what you needed. When she asked if you could stay here, I thought it’d be a chance to get to know you, quietly. I never imagined the two of you would get involved.”
Amelia is shaking. “So you’re saying Max is my half-brother?” Her voice is so small, she sounds like a child.
“Yes,” John says, unflinching. “He is your half-brother. So this thing between you ends now.”
“Why?” Amelia’s voice trembles. “Why didn’t you tell us? How could you let us—”
“Enough,” John snaps. “It got this far because you decided to conduct your… relationship in the dark. I didn’t know what you were up to until now, Amelia. You weren’t supposed to get this close. Max was here to help you with your studies, nothing more. If there’s blame to be had, it’s on both of you. But now you know, and you’ll stop this unnatural perversion immediately. Be grateful it hasn’t gone too far.”
My head’s a haze, grief and rage colliding. Amelia’s sobs are a quiet torture, and every instinct screams at me to hold her, to deny this nightmare, but my body’s frozen. Her father reaches into his desk and pulls out a check, and slides it across. I glance down—$200,000.
“What is this?” I ask, my voice low and venomous.
He replies as calm and cold as an ice lake when he has just tilted my world in a way I'll never recover from. “Take it and leave right now. Use it to build your future. This is the best I can do for you."
What? Just like that? He erases us?
Amelia’s crying, her face crumpled, and the sight rips me apart. I want to touch her, to promise we’ll fight, but the word half-sister is a chain, binding my hands. If I reach for her now, I might never let go.
My jaw clenches, and disgust curls my lips as I glare at the check, then at my father. Without a word, I turn, my boots slamming against the floor. The door crashes shut behind me, and I’m gone, my heart a shattered wreck.
Chapter
One
AMELIA
The brush trembles in my hand, hovering over the canvas where a dragon’s scales gleam under my careful strokes. Each emerald fleck takes forever, but the precision soothes me, a tether to something steady when everything else feels like it’s crumbling. My studio is full of light. The clock on the shelf has ticked well past noon, and my eyes burn from hours of work since dawn.
Sleep has become a stranger, chased away by the gnawing worry over Dad’s health. The disease is literally sucking the life out of him, day by day, stage four, no mercy. With every breath he takes, there is a little less of him left. I dip the brush into the palette of paint again, but my heart’s not in it, tangled in thoughts I can’t outrun.
A knock at the door startles me.
“Come in,” I call, my voice rough from disuse.
The door creaks open, and Mrs. Harrow, our housekeeper, steps in with a tray. Her graying bun is neat as ever, her smile warm. I stand, forcing a smile as I wipe paint from my fingers.