Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“You’ve always been stubborn, but thank you, Raven. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter than you,” Dad mutters gruffly.
But my mother refuses to let it lie. “It’s just … Earl is such a mystery. How did he get so wealthy so quickly? Why did he disappear for all those years?”
I laugh lightly and lean back against my chair. “You know, I asked him the very same thing. He told me it wasn’t overnight—it just looks that way. He got lucky and put everything into the right opportunities. He’s smart, Mom. And determined. I promise I’ll tell you more about it, but another time, okay?”
Mom nods, but there’s a flicker of unease in her eyes. “Well, if he’s taking good care of you, that’s all we can ask for.”
“He is,” I say brightly, forcing my voice to bubble with enthusiasm. “He’s been amazing, really. And once things settle down, he’s going to come by and visit you both. I promise.”
They don’t push further, though I can feel their worries lingering in the room like an uninvited guest. I take a deep breath, determined to shift the mood. “Anyway,” I say, standing and stacking the plates to bring to the sink, “let’s not dwell on all that. The important thing is that we can schedule Dad’s treatment starting Monday. Isn’t that amazing?”
Dad’s lips tremble slightly as he nods. “It’s more than amazing, kid. It’s a miracle.”
“We’ll get through this,” I tell him firmly. “Together.”
The conversation lightens after that, and we finish the meal with Mom’s famous cookies. We laugh and share old stories, and for a little while, it almost feels normal. I cling to that feeling.
For now, I’ll keep doing what I do best—pretending everything is fine.
CHAPTER 18
EARL
I hardly ever drink. I’ve seen what it’s done to my father, how he sought it out as refuge through every failure in his life. Failed businesses. Failed marriages.
But now, here I am, seated in the music room, staring out at the storm raging across the night sky, a tumbler of whiskey in my hand. It burns down my throat. I’ve been sipping it steadily—not drunk, but I know it’s almost time to stop. And yet, I don’t, because I’m waiting. Not consciously, but the storm holds my gaze. I know what I’m waiting for.
Raven isn’t back yet.
Irritation coils in my chest, tightening with every crack of thunder. She said she was visiting her parents, but so many hours have passed. And the thought gnaws at me: Is she really? Or is she with Charles? My stomach twists at the possibility, and I grit my teeth, hating myself for being so obsessed with someone who already betrayed me once. No matter how much I want to believe her, doubt clings to me like a second skin.
The headlights of the car I assigned for her use finally slice through the rain. She’s back. A flicker of relief settles in my chest as I straighten. I watch her figure dart through the downpour, her movements unhurried and graceful. And I remember she likes walking in the rain. I see Nora rushing out with an umbrella to meet her and shield her. I can make out the older woman’s voice, scolding her for not waiting in the car a moment longer.
I’ve left instructions for her to come see me the moment she returns and they have been dutifully passed on. I hear her footsteps on the hardwood floor and there is no urgency in them. I grip my glass tightly as I listen, my pulse quickening with every approaching step.
And then, there she is.
Her hair clings to her face, damp and wild, her blouse plastered to her skin from the rain. It clings in all the right places. A shaft of lightning lights up her face and figure. My eyes roam over her before I can stop myself, taking in the curve of her body, the delicate outline of her bra beneath the soaked fabric. My blood heats, and I hate how instantly and thoroughly she affects me.
“You wanted to see me,” she says softly, stepping into the room. Her lips are slightly parted, and I can see the faint tremor in her shoulders, whether from the coldness of the rain or nerves, I don’t know.
I lean back in the chair, forcing my expression into something impassive, detached. “You took your time.”
Her eyes flicker with defiance. She shifts her weight, her wet hair sliding over her shoulder. “The rain slowed me down,” she replies, her voice even, though I catch the hint of an edge. “And my parents wanted me to stay for dinner.”
I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, watching her closely. “Convenient.”
Her brows knit together, and she crosses her arms, though it only makes the wet fabric of her blouse pull tighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”