Page 3 of Collide

“Dad will be over today,” Philippa mutters, barely looking up from her phone.

Great.

Think of the devil, and he shall appear.

I keep my expression neutral, eyes on the skyline. She doesn’t deserve my animosity.

He does.

Him. Father. One and the same.

Before my last visit to New York, I did a short stint in LA, chasing a dream that slipped through my fingers. A failure—one he never missed a chance to remind me of.

Best behavior, kiddo.My stepfather Jack’s voice echoes in my head.

I exhale hard, the kind of breath you let go of when you know the next one might take more effort.

“You’ll be staying with Andrew and me. Unfortunately,yourplace isn’t ready.” Philippa’s words stop me short.

“Wait? What place?” I sit up, turning my attention to her.

She looks up at me with a huge grin.

“Oh,” she says, looking amused.

A cold weight settles in my stomach, and my jaw tightens.

He didn’t.

“Whoops, I’ve ruined the surprise,” she quips mockingly, placing her manicured hand over her mouth.

“Phillipa,” I bite out, my warning tone prompting her to explain.

“Okay, you’ve twisted my arm! I’m so excited.” She beams animatedly, her smile alone would be enough to cool the burning irritation brewing inside, but this had Mortimer Montgomery written all over it.

She continues, “Dad thought it best for you to have a place of your own now that you’re home. Consider it a homecoming gift.”

“Of course, he did.” I narrow my eyes at her. My sister is lucky looks don’t kill because she’s in danger of spontaneously combusting.

No doubt an apartment in a building he owns, which is close enough to Philippa or him so that he can keep tabs on me. It’s as if he knows nothing about me. Grand gestures like this, his money and greed, make me sick. A constant reminder of his power and need to control everyone around him.

While I was technically born into wealth, my mom went to great lengths to keep me from becoming a spoiled rich kid, including mailing back any checks my father sent. Back home, I went to a local public school and drove a rundown Honda Civic until it finally gave out on the side of the road.

“The apartment is…a few blocks down from us, and I’m having it renovated,” Philippa adds, clapping her hands together, showing her giant sparkling engagement ring. And there it is. Yet another reminder of something missing in my life.

Someone.

I spent over two years drowning in grief after my mother died, and before that…I was already grieving, losing her piece by piece, the moment they diagnosed her. Dating? Love? None of it mattered. I had enough excuses to steer clear of relationships, especially the kind of guys back home who were only interested in a quick thrill before moving on.

I wasn’t jealous of Philippa, only jealous she didn’t have to carry the burden I did. The burden of knowing the truth.

“Thanks, Pip, I’m sure it’s beautiful,” I murmur, turning my head and leaning back into the seat to look out at the window, sinking into the storm cloud brewing inside me.

The walls were thin, but even if they weren’t, I would have heard every word. I was five, maybe six, sitting on the floor with my back pressed against the door, fingers curled into the hem of my dress.

“Make your decision. I will not let you take both girls, Vida. So, decide—one or none!”

Papa’s voice was sharp, unwavering, each syllable like the crack of a whip. The air was thick with tension, the kind a child doesn’t fully understand but still feels deep in their bones. Though muffled by the door, his voice hit me like a fist to the chest.