I drop onto the edge of the bed, my bag partially packed beside me, as tears finally spill over while everything crashes down at once. I press my hands over my face, trying to breathe through the weight of it. Through the grief, the anger, and the part of me that still… still wants him to come back. And fix this. Even though I don’t know if he can.
Or if I’d let him. Not after this, not after everything.
Chapter 38
Liv
After the chest shaking sobs have stopped, and the tears finished falling, for now at least, I toss my bag in the corner. I’ve lost the energy to keep packing… or vapidly threatening to leave the manor.
It takes a moment, and a painful amount of effort but I finally pull myself to standing… just as the door opens again.
My heart jumps straight into my throat. “Alex, I told you to-”
“I’m not Alex.”
I straighten slowly, turning to see Alex’s father standing in the doorway, looking composed and calm, like the emotional bomb that just went off in this room didn’t shake the foundation of his house at all.
For a second, neither of us says anything. Then, “I can come back later,” he offers politely. Like this is a scheduling conflict.
I let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand over my face. “No,” I say. “It’s… fine.” I mean, it’s not, but whatever.
He steps inside anyway, closing the door gently behind him.
I go back to my bag, shoving another handful of clothes inside like that’s something I still have control over.
“I imagine you have questions,” he remarks.
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the chair near the window.
I nod. He sits with a perfect posture and perfect composure.
I hate it a little, because I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams, and he looks like he’s never even been close to feeling like this.
“You’re angry,” he points out.
I stop moving. “Yeah,” I reply flatly.
“That’s understandable.”
I let out another breath, sharper this time. “Is it?” I ask. “Because your son didn’t seem to think so.”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” he rebuts calmly. “He understands your anger. He simply believes the outcome justifies the method.”
My hands curl into fists. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I got that part.”
“And you don’t agree,” he verifies.
“No,” I snap. “I don’t agree with someone taking my DNA without my consent like I’m some kind of… sample.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “And you shouldn’t.”
That… throws me.
I look at him. “What?”
“You shouldn’t agree with it,” he repeats. “It was a violation.”
