I don’t know why I’m torturing myself by reading the damned thing again. As if I haven’t read the thirty-page document a gazillion times since William handed it to me. It’s not like Knox Vale’s heinous asshole terms and conditions are going to change. They were the same yesterday, and they will be the same tomorrow—D-Day.
I have until tomorrow at midnight to sign my life away.
It’s just past eight in the morning. Tomorrow at midnight feels impossibly far away, yet I know the hours will slip through my fingers. Time passes quickly when you’re having fun, and it flies faster when your life is about to detonate.
The smell of burnt toast clings to the air, and sunlight spills through the lace curtains like it has the nerve to pretend everything’s normal. I don’t know when I’ll ever experience normal again.
After the disastrous meeting yesterday, I came back here, to the family home, with Mom.
She needed my strength, but honestly, I wanted to hole up in my little apartment in the city and shut out the world. The shitty situation I’m in is the kind where you drown your sorrows in a bottle of wine, then pass out on your living room floor.
I haven’t even eaten. Every time I thought about eating, I felt sick. My stomach churned with the truth I was facing about my father.
I stare at the contract, at the words taunting me. Just like the man they came from with that smug look on his arrogant face.
Knox Vale already knew he’d won before he walked into that office. Heck, he didn’t even need to show up, but he probably wanted to witness our defeat.
The blue folder sitting next to the contract has all the dirt on my father. Evidence of what he did. William gave that to us, too.
Mom and I read through it the moment we got home.
Everything’s there. Printouts from various banks, scanned documents, tracking records, recordings, and file upon file incriminating my father.
Mom barely made it past the first file before she broke down. She looked like she might wither away right there in front of me. I had to stop her from going any further and encouraged her to head to bed early.
Thankfully, my cousin, Mia, came over later and stayed the night, offering a shoulder to lean on and a listening ear. But that didn’t stop me from going through the file over and over again once she’d gone to bed.
God, I even extended my search to the Internet to fill in the blanks on the past. There, I learned Knox took the blame for my father’s destructive misconduct in the Vale Global scandal.
No wonder he looked like he was ready to incinerate us.
The incident may have occurred eight years ago, but it was the kind of thing that could cause a lifetime of damage. I wondered how Knox found the new evidence and what else he might do to punish us.
I don’t know what bothers me more—Knox Vale or my father’s secret life.
The kitchen door swings open, and Mia shuffles in, yawning wide as she swipes her sleep-mussed blonde curls away from her face. The worn, oversized college sweatshirt she’s wearing hangs off one shoulder, so big it swallows her petite frame, like she borrowed it from someone twice her size.
“Morning.” She looks me over, then her gaze drifts over the documents on the counter and she frowns. “Isla, please don’t tell me you stayed up all night.”
I sigh with unease and slump over the counter, resting my cheek against the cool surface. “I couldn’t help it.”
“Jesus, Isla. Go get some sleep now. I can do whatever you need me to do.” She motions toward the door.
I sit up and shake my head, taking short, shallow breaths. “I can’t sleep. I don’t even feel tired.”
With a deep-set frown, she pads over to me. She’s always taken it upon herself to look out for me. She’s my cousin on my mother’s side. The girl who stepped into the role of big sister because she thought I needed one. It worked because neither of us have siblings. Ever since we were kids, she’s been the voice of reason and the one dragging me out of the messes I somehow always managed to land myself in.
She turns my laptop around so we can both see what’s glowing on the screen. It’s the last article I read about Knox. The one that’s been burning a hole in my screen for the past hour.
It’s a recent article. Less than a month old. At the top is the headline:
Knox Vale Makes Forbes Billionaires List at age 32.
Beneath is a picture of him stepping out of his Bugatti, all sharp lines and lethal elegance in an Armani suit, and a Patek Philippe strapped to his wrist that probably costs more than my rent for the year. The shot looks professionally staged, something ripped straight from the pages ofVogue. It’s too perfect, too curated.
And that’s the thing about Knox. Even in a manufactured moment, there’s something dangerous simmering beneath the polished surface. Something that makes my pulse quicken despite every instinct screaming at me to look away.
Mia glares at me and taps on the edge of the keyboard. “Apart from the fact that the man looks like a Greek god, what exactly are you hoping to find?”
