Page 51 of I Wish I Would’ve Warned You (Forbidden Wishes #3)

COLE

Manhattan, New York

I shouldn't have come here.

I knew the moment I saw my dad on the news—sweaty, slurring, spinning another version of the truth to a crowd of clueless fans—that this would end badly. But part of me still showed up. Not to fix things. Not to forgive.

Just to keep the whole empire from going up in flames.

His Manhattan penthouse looks smaller than I remember. More hollow. The kind of place that used to feel untouchable and now feels like a museum no one wants to visit.

He’s already drunk when I walk in.

“If you came up here to apologize,” he mutters, not looking at me, “you can fucking save it.” He sips from a crystal glass, the amber whiskey clinging to the rim. “I told you I’ll talk to you when I don’t have the urge to stomp my foot into your face.”

“I came to give you these.” I toss a manila envelope onto the table between us. My old arrest papers. “To save you from getting behind the wheel drunk again tonight.”

“Don’t act like you give a fuck about what’s best for me now, Cole.” He scoffs, bitter. “That ship sailed a long time ago.”

“Noted.” I walk to the liquor cabinet, open it, and shut it hard enough for the bottles to rattle. I twist the lock and pocket the key.

“Have a good night.”

I turn for the door—but a glass explodes against the wall, just inches from my head.

“Hate that I missed.” His laugh is low and mean. He settles back into his chair like it was nothing, lifting a decanter I hadn’t noticed and pouring another shot.

I don’t stop him this time.

If he wants to drink himself into oblivion, let him.

“I’m going to do you a favor,” I say. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just try to assault me and never bring it up again.”

“Step closer so I can succeed this time.” His eyes narrow. “We both know I hardly ever miss twice.”

“Okay.” I move into his lane. I shouldn’t. I know how this ends. But I go anyway.

“You ruined my career to get revenge for that night, didn’t you?” His voice is sharp now. “This was your grand finale.”

“You ruined your own fucking career.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not stuttering.” I glare. “You made mistake after mistake, and I’m not to blame for this one. I told you how I felt about Emily, and you decided it meant nothing.”

He laughs—harsh, slurred. “Emily? You’re still stuck on her ?”

“I loved her. And I lost her. Because of you.”

“Oh, please ?—”

“No.” My voice cuts through him. “You let me lose three years of my life. You made me sacrifice everything I had. And when I asked you for one thing —Emily, after everything you did—you still couldn’t not be selfish for once in your life.”

His second swing lands hard—right across my jaw. I stumble, then shove him back across the room. He hits the wall but finds his footing fast, breathing hard.

And suddenly we’re back in the car, outside that bar.

Him begging me to take the fall.

Telling me he’d “handle it,” that he’d make it disappear. That he couldn’t afford a scandal. Not right now. Not him.

“Please help me, son… Please…”

I release my grip on his collar and let him slide to the floor.

“I won by not having to lie for you anymore,” I say. “That’s the only prize I’ve ever needed.”

“You’re so fucking inconsiderate.” He spits the words out. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

“You only do things for yourself.” My voice is steel. “There always had to be something in it for you, or you wouldn’t lift a finger.”

He rolls his eyes and stumbles forward to grab the bottle again—but I step in front of it.

“Miss O’Hara was just a convenient spouse for you,” I say. “You might’ve really liked her?—”

“Might’ve?” His voice spikes. “I married her.”

“But you didn’t love her.” I don’t blink. “Did you?”

Silence.

I glare at him. “Tell me. Did you?”

He stares at the floor.

“You loved Laurelin Hanes,” I say, quietly. “But you couldn’t be with a twice-divorced woman with three kids because it didn’t look good for your brand.”

“Stop talking.”

“Because people would’ve asked questions. People would’ve wondered what someone like you saw in someone like her.”

“I’m not going to tell you to shut the fuck up again?—”

“You’ve spent your entire life caring what everyone else thinks,” I say. “Everyone but the people closest to you. But don’t worry. You don’t have to anymore.”

“Yes, you’ve made sure of that.”

“Goodbye.”

I head for the door again. Another glass shatters behind me—closer this time.

But I don’t turn around.

There’s no point.

It’s long past time to leave him behind for good.