"From heartbreak. From complications neither of us needs."
"I think you’re the complication." Vera touched the necklace I'd given her, fingers trembling. "Is that why you gave me this? To soften the blow of pushing me away?"
"Don’t twist this around," I warned, frustration spilling over. "You know damn well the necklace meant more than that."
"Do I?" She unclasped the chain and dropped it into my palm. "If you think jewelry or money can solve this, you don’t know me at all. I’m not here for a payoff. I'm not a fucking prostitute you can buy. High-end escorts, sugar baby experiences, whatever you call them. That's not me."
"Hey, that’s not what I meant," I snapped defensively, stung by the implication.
Tears shimmered in her eyes. "No? Because that's exactly how it feels. I thought we had something real. But you're too busy running from your ghosts to see it."
"Maybe it’s better this way," I growled, heart hammering painfully. "Better to end this now before either of us gets hurt even more."
She stepped back, shaking her head. "You're not ready for a meaningful relationship. You’ve already made sure of that."
“Vera, my life is…” The words tangled up in my brain, ricocheting. “It’s a fucking mess. Kids, marriage. I can’t even hold my own shit together, let alone someone else’s. I can’t.” My mouth kept moving, but nothing landed right. My hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting—tapping, flexing, gripping air. The static in my head amped up, drowning out reason, wiping away the softness of my feelings for her.
Heat crept up my neck. Anger and shame slammed through me, wildfire fast, and I couldn’t force myself back into control.“You don’t understand what I’m going through,” I blurted, clenching my fists. “Do you? No. I thought so.”
“Well then, if that’s how you feel, you and I are better apart.” Vera's face crumpled in pain, her voice hoarse. "Maybe one day you’ll realize not everyone is out to hurt you. Goodbye, Mister Scott. You'll be the one I'll never forget, for good times and bad."
I couldn’t move. My brain spun, replaying every word, every mistake, a thousand threads tangling and snapping all at once. The necklace dug into my palm. Too cold, too bright, too heavy. My fingers itched to do something, but I just stood there, watching her disappear, chaos thundering in my head. This always happened: I opened my mouth, chaos spilled out, and I wrecked everything. Was it my ADHD? Or just me screwing up the only thing that mattered?
Had I just destroyed the one good thing I had left?
6:28 a.m., Sunday, June 5
Daylight hit the city of Lester Harbor. I watched the sun’s amber hues warmed up the city skyline, painting it bright. The world seemed small when you gazed at it from the forty-second floor. I arrived alone in my apartment late last night after Vera took a separate flight back. What the hell was I doing?
I picked up the phone to check for messages from Vera. Instead, I saw Oliver’s message.
Congratulations, brother. You knocked up my wife.
Shit. It couldn’t be true. Could it?
MOTHER OF SURPRISES
Alistair
The Scott Residence, Ten a.m.
Let me tell you a little about my family… a glimpse of a real billionaire’s life. Elizabeth and John Scott lived at the Scott Residence on a hill about thirty minutes out of town at Orchard Boulevard, Lester Harbor. It’s a magnificent rural property with acreage that epitomized luxury ranch living.
Every room showed off the spectacular Montville hinterland landscape, away from the coastal city. The Scott Residence was where I grew up. Oliver and I spent our childhood being ‘explorers’ of the great outdoors surrounding our family home. The birch tree near the garage was where I fell and broke my arm at eleven.
Contrary to the stereotypical billionaires you see on television shows or read in books, my folks were down-to-earth people who talked with friends and strangers after a church service or at a gas station. The Scotts were neither ostentatious nor pretentious. My mother, Elizabeth, sported shoulder-length silver-blonde hair, wore comfortable clothes, and enjoyedgardening on sunny days. John was a gray hawk who played golf and led the local Toastmasters public speaking club.
Coming from old oil money, my parents invested in various businesses, including the property sector, years ago. They were on the way to a happy retirement until the news about Erin broke this morning. While it didn’t change their retirement plans, it added stress to their golden years.
“Alistair, take a seat,” my mother instructed when I entered the living room.
“Sure.” I sauntered toward a comfortable lounge chair and sat down.
“Where’s Damian?” she asked. Her heavy frown and pursed lips conveyed her concern.
“He’s at a friend’s house,” I replied.
My mother accepted my response with a nod of approval.
