Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Nothing would change for me except the occasional chance to unwind and earn karma points for performing a charitable act for someone who clearly needed it.
Andras punched the silver button, forcing the doors open. We treaded the country club’s wide corridor, passing members in tennis and basketball gear.
The golf course stretched from window to window like a green fitted sheet, pressed against artificial mounds and peppered by flags.
“I am not insinuating anything.” He softened his voice. “I am just worried your head is not in the right place.”
My shoulders slumped.
I needed to stop assuming the worst about people. I’d forgotten his one-track mind. Andras wanted me to focus on my craft. It was all we ever spoke about.
He stopped in front of the men’s lockers, turning to face me. “If you contest the will, you would put all your time, effort, and money into it, and you are already spreading yourself thin. You need to be focused.” A frown deepened the wrinkles around his cheeks. “What is so hard about moving on?”
I twisted my fingers together, ping-ponging my weight from foot to foot. “It’s not fair that she got half the company.”
Andras rolled his eyes. “It is just a cleaning company. Open another one.”
“It’s not just a cleaning company. It’s Dad’s legacy. We made that name together. We chose the logo, the products, the services. We had plans, and they’re gone.” I tossed my hands up, heat creeping into my neck the more worked up I got. “And the keepsakes. She sold them all. I want them back.”
Dad always said—Memories are a second heart. After you’re gone, they beat inside the people you’ve left behind.
That woman sold Dad’s second heart.
I wanted it back.
“They are gone.” Andras shook his head. “The jewelry. The art. They could be in Siberia for all we know. Even if you were to track them down, you would never be able to afford them.”
He was right.
And still, I couldn’t let it go.
I wanted to fight Vera with everything I had left in me, even if it wasn’t much. Out of spite. Out of justice. Out of vengeance.
Out of pain.
Twenty-two years of abuse from the moment I’d landed on their steps as a newborn. Twenty-two years of fending off schemes to kick me out of the house.
If I let those twenty-two years go unanswered, would I still be a human or a doormat?
That’s my girl. Dad’s voice came to me like a sudden storm. I wanted to weep at the sound of it. Stand up for yourself. Even against those you love. If you find yourself alone, they never truly loved you back.
“It’s not his real will,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “That’s the main reason I want to contest it. She tainted his inheritance and robbed him of his last wishes.”
He clutched his head like he thought it would explode. “What are you talking about?”
“She drafted this thing herself.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know my dad. That is not his will. I know it in my heart. In my bones.”
The will read at his will reading referred to his art collection as miscellaneous items. Items to be sold at auction with full profits handed over to Vera Ballantine.
The painting Dad swore he’d never sell, even if the President himself got on his hands and knees to beg.
The zany nose sculpture he’d insisted he’d start World War III over, since it reminded him of the one he’d passed down to me.
And the pendant he promised he’d give me at my wedding after walking me down the aisle.
I didn’t simply not believe the will. I refused to believe it, because if I did, it meant every promise Dad made me was a lie.
And my father was not a liar.
“What does it matter?” Andras flung his arms in the air. “It’s done. It’s been almost two years. Focus on what you can change.”
“I can change this.” I balled my fists at my sides. “I don’t have to lie down and take it.”
“If you spend time with this Mr. Sun, lying down and taking it will become your main position, te bolond,” he snarled, unzipping his fencing suit.
Whoa.
Hold up. Abort. Rewind. Pause the television.
Andras had basically just called me a slut.
For starters—a slut is just a woman who knows that she’s allowed to do anything a man is. And secondly—I didn’t need to take this.
I straightened, speaking as slow as possible, making sure my words absorbed into his skull. “What you just said isn’t okay. At all.”
“What I just said is the truth.”
I’d never seen him so animated before. It wasn’t jealousy. Andras never cared about anything but fencing. And even then, he prioritized me.
Since I’d returned from Seoul, ruined and disgraced, he’d stitched together the pieces for me, doing so much behind the scenes that I knew I’d never understand the full scope of his efforts.