Not that it was long.
I was graced with about twenty-five minutes of her time, and I wanted more. But I was called away on an emergency with my father—myadoptedfather—and had to run, hoping I could figure out who she was and plan a second meeting.
Meirna beat me to it.
But she got the wrong guy.
When I discovered six months later who Meirna was—thanks to an Instagram post that went viral because she was with Bobby—I realized how shit went awry.
I was going to leave it be.
Meirna was a grown woman; she would soon find out that Bobby and I aren’t the same.
Not by a long shot.
But she didn’t. And, what makes matters worse, my parents helped.
You see, Bobby—my younger, worthless brother—likes to fuck. But he doesn’t like to fuck just anything, he loves to fuck married women, girls barely eighteen, and he even has his regular, Jolene, who he screwed every Friday night while delivering Meirna the line of “another late night”.
Not only has he cheated on Meirna more times than I’m probably aware—doesn’t matter and don’t care to know the number—I wasn’t going to stand idly by and allow the woman I wanted to fuck marry into the Harding family under the guise of perfection.
Nothing about the Hardings is perfect.
They’re con artists.
They cheat and lie.
Meirna is the poster child of the normalcy they needed to giveBobby so that the Board to my father’s hedge fund company would take him seriously.
She’s a means to an end.
Mine.
Not his.
Not only does Bobby cheat on my now-wife, but all the money he’s helped her gather for her non-profits is mob money.
Mob money he can’t pay back.
Mob money that’s going to get Meirna either killed or thrown into a position she has no way of getting out of.
That wasn’t going to happen.
Not when I saw her first.
Not when Bobby took something that belonged to me—again.
And, moral or not, I married Meirna Stetson so that Bobby couldn’t dig his hooks into her and because I wanted to finally take something he thought was his.
Just like Harding Holdings.
I was born first, bred in expensive schools, and spoke Greek and Latin fluently before I turned ten. Bobby and I were set up, not to love each other because that’s a weakness, but to compete against each other.
Not only should my parents have never been allowed to have children, but two at the same time was a fucking game.
A game that never ended, there were no period breaks or halftimes.
It was Bobby and I at each other’s throats for as long as I can remember.
