Chapter 2: Inheritance Games and Dangerous Deals

Everyone stared. My eyelid twitched. Heat flooded my face. I shook my head. “I’m very satisfied, Nate.”

I forced a smile that didn’t even try to reach my eyes. My hands were folded tightly in my lap, knuckles white. I was holding on for dear life.

He stood, straightened his jacket, and stared at me for what felt like forever. Then, with no warning, he let out a low, humorless laugh and walked out.

The sound was soft, but it echoed in my head long after he left. I couldn’t tell if it was amusement or something darker—something just for me.

The Brooks relatives filed out of the conference room.

Aunts with pearls, uncles in golf sweaters, cousins whispering behind perfectly manicured hands. They barely glanced at me as they left, like I was wallpaper.

I sat there, cold sweat sticking my shirt to my back, still trying to figure out what the hell that laugh meant.

I tried to slow my breathing, but my heart wouldn’t chill out. The room felt too small, the walls closing in, suffocating.

Now that my adoptive father was gone, whatever fragile thread I’d had with Nathaniel snapped.

The thought left me hollow. All those years under the same roof, and we’d never really been family. Not even close.

I took a deep breath and made up my mind.

No more waiting around. No more playing by anyone else’s rules. I was going to start living for myself, no matter what it cost. I was done.

At dinner, the housekeeper told me Nathaniel wanted me to come down and eat with him.

She spoke so carefully, like she was scared I’d refuse and she’d catch hell for it. Her hands twisted the hem of her apron, eyes darting everywhere but at me.

Since I turned eighteen, I’d barely eaten with Nathaniel. Back when I was in school, he was always overseas. After he came back to run the Brooks Corporation, he was even more of a ghost. Unless it was Christmas or Thanksgiving, we hardly ever crossed paths.

Most of my memories of him are from old Christmases and Thanksgivings, everyone lined up for photos, nobody saying much. He was always just out of reach, a shadow at the edge of the table.

Worried dinner would make me sick, I took two antacids before heading downstairs.

I popped them dry, the chalky taste lingering on my tongue. I grimaced. Chalky, but I barely noticed.

Nathaniel looked up at me, slow and deliberate, slicing his steak—every move elegant, practiced.

Even the way he cut his food was precise, like he’d been coached by some etiquette drill sergeant. The silverware barely made a sound.

I ate my steak in silence, glum. Nathaniel was always ice—never letting anyone get close.

The silence was thick enough to choke on, broken only by the soft clink of forks and knives. I kept my eyes glued to my plate, counting the seconds until I could escape.

His low voice cut through my thoughts: “Are you still hanging around with that troublemaker from the Sandoval family?”

The question blindsided me, and I nearly dropped my fork. His tone was casual, but the threat underneath was loud and clear.

My hand froze. I looked up, slow.

He didn’t blink, just watched me with those cold, unreadable eyes. I felt like a bug under a microscope.

Last year, at Mia Sandoval’s birthday, we all got a little too drunk. Someone ordered a bunch of male strippers. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to touch their abs before Nathaniel stormed in, furious, and carried me out over his shoulder. Of course he did.

Most embarrassing night of my life. The guys were still dancing when he barged in, and everyone just gawked. I can still feel his grip locking around my waist, his anger like a furnace.

Seriously, talk about bad luck. We’d barely seen each other in ages, and then—bam—he’s hauling me out of a party.