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“Hey, no. N-no, not drunk. Not reallyyy.” He wipes his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. “I had whiskey at the office. A little. Alone. No one’s there now. I didn’t—No secrets are out, Dad.”

Protecting Ophelia is my number one priority. I need him to leave.

My temples throb. Anger bubbles in my chest.

I can’t kick him out. He’s drunk.

I don’t remember seeing the firm’s driver outside, which could only mean that he drove under the influence.

For the slim chance he called a taxi or an Uber, I ask, “How did you get here?”

“Car?” He grips an invisible wheel, spinning it to the left and right.

“Jesus Christ.” I scoff, helping him out of his coat. “Did you hit anyone?”

“Nooo.” His breath hitches. I’ll have my investigator on it first thing tomorrow morning. “Dad.” He brushes his dark blond hair off his forehead. “I’m fucking crying. Why do you care about what happened to other people?”

My blood pressure skyrockets. The warmth from holding Ophelia is no more.

Why?

Why?

First and foremost, because a hit-and-run is wrong. For fuck’s sake, of course it is.

But my moral compass isn’t what gets me riled up.

Cleaning up this mess means having attention drawn to our family. It means threatening and bribing people.

These are the same people who’ll need to be threatened and bribed once I set my plan into motion.

This is one scandal I can’t have on my hands. It infuriates me to have to deal with it.

I’m in Topher’s face in two seconds flat, hand on the collar of his wet shirt. His mouth gapes when his back hits the wall.

“Crying is useless. Whatever the reason is.” He’s about to say something. I stop him. “Now think. Did you hurt anyone?”

“Only myself.” His eyes darken. “I hurt myself, Dad.”

My eyes search his face for injuries. I take a step back, giving the rest of his body a once-over. No blood.

“Ophelia.” Some of his strength is back. He shoves my chest, stares at me. His drunk glare focuses a little. “If anyone deserves to ruin her, it’s me.”

The blood in my veins runs cold for one long beat. Then it boils. Then it’s at an inferno-level hot.

“I remember specifically ordering you to forget about her.” Watching my tone is a struggle.

I move to create a barrier between him and the stairs. Between him and her.

“I was an idiot.” He sniffs. Pushes himself off the wall. Swaying as he battles to stay upright. “I thought it’d be fun. Playing with her. Throwing her away after that. Fuck, even auctioning her and her fear. So fucking ent-ente-entertaining.”

He’s drunk, I remind myself.He might not mean it. He could still be spared.

I’m itching to kill him and end this, regardless.

No one talks about what’s mine.

Then I remember his poor mother, and I try, damn it, I try to forgive him. Just this once.