Page 61 of How to Break My Heart 1

“Still the same man I remember,” Viviana scoffs with her glass of wine in hand. “All work, no play.”

Inadvertently, my eyes wander across the table to meet Everleigh’s. “I wouldn’t say there’s no play.”

The little rise in the corner of Everleigh’s mouth before she turns away purposely is enough for me to know she wants more.

And sweetheart, this is far from over.

“Madelina suggested we be each other’s plus-one for the wedding.” Viviana places her hand on mine. “What do you think?”

It takes seconds for Everleigh to snap her attention back onto me. Jealousy looks like perfection on her, but to keep things civil, I simply respond with, “We’ll see.”

After dessert is served, Myles’s parents announce they’re leaving. I shake Roland’s hand politely, grateful the night is over. All I can think about is getting Everleigh out of here so I can own her body entirely. When Viviana lures me aside to suggest we return to her parents’ ranch tonight, I tell her I’m busy.

Look, she was a decent fuck years ago. But from memory, I was drunk the times we had sex. We barely spent time together between her schedule and mine, even though our families labeled us as dating.

My response to her invitation doesn’t sit well, especially since she glances at Everleigh and then back to me as if piecing the puzzle together. Before she can say another word, my father requests I join him inside his office.

For the first time in my life, I welcome my father’s demand for my presence. However, knowing he will test my patience,I grab a whiskey bottle from the drinks cart and pour myself a glass, downing it in one gulp.

I let out a rasp, then walk down the hall toward his office.

Once inside the dimly lit room, I close the door. As a child, I avoided coming in here at all costs. My father repeatedly warned my sister and me that this washisspace. Nothing at all has changed. There’s still the large wood-grain table with his old-school feather pen that was passed down from my great-grandfather. The smell of cigars lingers in the air and has seeped into the books lining the tall, dark brown shelves.

There are no photographs of us, just a picture of his prized possession—his Rolls-Royce.

I take a seat across the table, only for him to belittle me the moment our eyes meet. “Your lack of cooperation has jeopardized our plan.”

“Ourplan? You meanyourplan.”

“Now you listen to me…” He points his finger at me as his nostrils flare. “You play your damn cards right or else.”

“Or else what?” I stand up, yelling back. “You need me. Without me, you couldn’t pull off half your ridiculous stunts.”

My father expels an arrogant laugh. “You think I need you?”

“Well, I’m the one having to speak to the media about this damn lawsuit. Who else is going to defendyouractions and maintain the integrity ofyourcompany? As for Roland, you think he’s going to allow Myles to sell you all this land after newspapers are calling you greedy? It’s important to the Whitney family to keep things close, and yet here you are trying to buy this land to sell it off to wealthy people willing to pay stupid money just to have a town that is exclusive to billionaires. Since you’re very out of touch with what is actually going on, you needmeto bring you back to reality.”

Across from me, my father juts his chin with a stiff smile. “Everyone is replaceable.”

Fury twists inside of me. “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

“I’m demanding you pay attention to my instructions, Aston,” he answers in an arctic tone. “Once your sister is married, the land will be ours. If anyone can convince Myles and Madelina to sell, it will be you.”

“What makes you think it will be that easy? I just told you, Roland made it clear everything would be passed on to his son and kept in the family.”

My father’s dismissive glance grates on my last nerve. “And his son is marrying my daughter. You think it’s a coincidence they are getting married?”

I take a step back, fixating on his blank stare. “What did you do?”

He leans back comfortably in his leather chair. “Son, you still have much to learn about the game.”

“It’s not a game when Madelina is involved,” I bellow, clenching my hands into fists. “What did you do?”

He continues to observe me with an arrogant smirk. “Roland invited us to join them at their ranch this weekend. I expect you to be there.”

And with his phone in hand, he dials a number and requests I leave the room.

I storm out, fuming at the thought of him involving Madelina in his fucked-up game. As I walk past the dining room, I enter without thinking and grab the bottle of whiskey. This time, I don’t pour a glass, I simply bring the bottle to my lips to down the hard liquor. An unflattering rumble escapes me as my mother watches on.