I was a grown woman, but he knew my weakness. Anytime I talked about moving out, he threatened my mother. I couldn’t leave her alone with him. On paper, he plastered on that stupid fake smile, sweetly kissing his precious wife and omega, puffing with pride like the arrogant alpha he was.
Nobody knew the real Senator Sterling, the man who dealt in backdoor bribes and left bruises on his daughter.
I took care of myself, but my mom had faded in the last few years, her light dimming more every day. Without me around, I was afraid of what my father would do to her. And he knew that, twisted that, and manipulated me into doing whatever he wanted.
With less than eight months until election day, he was insufferable, dragging me from event to event. Protesting proved pointless. The only times I was free were at the farm with my horses or snuggling forgotten puppies at the pound.
Not mine, really. The horses were April’s. She owned them, but she gave me free rein to care for them. Maybe someday I will have one of my own. They were expensive, and my dad refused to waste money on something so frivolous.
Apparently, the Rolex on his wrist didn’t count as wasteful.
Feet pounded on the stairs leading to the kitchen, and I grimaced. I stared at my half-eaten leftovers, debating whether I could slip out the back door without him realizing I had been here, but it was too late.
The pungent scent of his cologne preceded him, stinging my nose. I don’t know why he wore that. His alpha scent was a light citrus and cedar, pleasant enough. Yet, he insisted on hiding it beneath a cloying Dolce fragrance, because it was the best.
Even though it made me and Mom gag.
“Good evening, Willow,” he said, with that saccharine tone that was sickeningly disingenuous. “I’m glad you are home.”
I didn’t respond. He only ever acted like that when he wanted something.
“I was worried you were still at that manure field.”
“It’s a farm, Dad. I have volunteered there for years. It’s not flattering and won’t win you the rural vote to pretend you don’t understand how farms work outside Boston.”
Dad had lived his entire life in and around Boston, and more than one article expressed concerns he wasn’t a viable candidate for governor because he didn’t understand the needs of all of Massachusetts.
A vein in his temple throbbed as he sucked a sound throughhis teeth. I hid my smirk, enjoying the sore spot I had successfully prodded. Fingers flexed and knuckles turned white as he straightened his tie.
“I have a private meeting I would like you to attend with me.”
A snort puffed past my lips as I rolled my eyes. The whole ruse of him framing his commands like questions got old years ago.
“When?”
“We need to leave now. Hurry and put something appropriate on,” he sneered, raising a brow at my muddy jeans and torn t-shirt. “Meet me outside in twenty minutes.”
They were my farm clothes. I didn’t bother to change when I got home, heading straight for the kitchen for some leftovers.
And of course, everyone ran on his schedule. Not like I was exhausted and wanted to crawl into bed with a book. Instead, I had to spend my night making doe-eyes at some rich prick while Dad tried to woo a big donation out of him.
Ignoring him, I pushed away my picked-over dinner and went upstairs. I closed the door behind me, doing my best not to slam it. Once I entered my nest, my body slumped as the subtle scent of honey hit my nose.
It wasn’t anything fancy. Nothing like the lavish nests I saw in magazines, but it was mine, and no one was allowed in it without my permission.
Despite how much of a jerk my father was, his alpha restrained him enough to respect an omega’s nest. Sheer silks hung over the posts of my bed, overflowing with fluffy blankets and plush pillows.
My omega longed to burrow into fluffy blankets. It had been a long day at Snowfield, and while I loved every minute, I was tired. Who knew how long this meeting was going to last?
Hopefully, it wasn’t some old, handsy alpha that I had to pretend I enjoyed having paw at me.
I wondered what would piss off Dad more—going downstairs in my muddy clothes or taking longer than twenty minutes to get ready?
At least when he was preoccupied with me, it meant he left Mom alone. All the stress of politics wore her down. Over the years, her omega retreated so far inward that her scent was almostnonexistent anymore.
Someday, she wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.
I’d get us out.
