Winston’s eyes were cold. Furious.
But he pulled his hand back.
Stepped away.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said again. “And when it blows up in your face, don’t come crying to me.”
“I won’t.”
Winston stared at me for a long moment.
Then he turned and walked out.
The front door slammed behind him.
I stood there in the silence, my heart pounding, my hands still clenched into fists.
I’d just openly challenged my father.
Over a woman who was supposed to be temporary.
A woman I’d known for two weeks.
A woman who was being paid $250,000 to carry my child and then walk away.
I’d crossed a line.
And I knew it.
But I couldn’t take it back.
And worse?—
I didn’t want to.
I needed to fix this.
Now.
I stood in my living room for ten minutes after Winston left, staring at nothing, my pulse still hammering in my chest.
I’d defended Truth like she was mine.
Like she was more than a contract.
Like she was something I couldn’t afford to lose.
That was the problem.
I was catching feelings for a woman who was supposed to be temporary. A woman who was being paid to carry my child and then disappear from my life. A woman who lived in the Seventh Ward with her alcoholic mother and worked double shifts at a nursing home.
A woman who had no place in my world.
And I’d just told my father—Winston Landry—that she was mine.
I needed to shut this down.
I needed control back.
