Page 20 of Ruthless Lord

“Bullshit,” I snap, trembling. I want to get out of here right now, but I have to call his bluff first. “You have nothing.”

“Actually—” He walks over to a fancy table covered in old tube audio gear. There’s a folder lying at the end. He picks it up and brings it over with a tight smile. “Take a look.”

I flip it open and nearly scream.

It’s me and Stefano. In the photos, I’m entering Stefano’s house. Then it’s a grainy, zoomed, tight shot of me, topless, barely glimpsed through a set of blinds, clearly taken at a distance with a high-powered camera lens, my eyes are closed in pure bliss?—

I snap the folder shut. There are more photos, but I don’t want to see them.

I feel sick. I might throw up. I can’t believe this is happening.

How could I have been so stupid? His blinds were open? But knowing my father and his little minions, Stefano could’ve had the best curtains in the world, and they would’ve found a way to get the evidence they need.

“I’m your daughter,” I whisper, wanting to vomit all over my father’s expensive audio toys.

“Yes, I’m aware. Imagine how I felt when I was given those?” He clucks his tongue and sighs. “I took one look and knew they were very bad. What is your grandfather going to think, Charlotte?”

I can’t cry. I won’t give him that satisfaction. But tears flood my eyes anyway. I’m choked by them and have to take a second. I toss the folder aside, tempted to rip it to pieces, but there’s no way these are his only copies.

How could I be so stupid?

I knew my father wanted to destroy me. I’ve known it for years. It’s like the second I became Grandfather’s primary heir, suddenly I was dead to everyone else in my family. My father’s been trying to destroy me. My mother’s been treating me like a diseased freak. Aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone sneers behind my back just waiting to sink a dagger deep into my spine.

No wonder I spend all my time at the warehouse pretending to be anyone else.

My own family despises me.

“You’re sick,” I finally manage to whisper. “Even for you, this is low.”

“Perhaps, but we both know how your grandfather is. He’s very traditional, dear. If he knows you’ve been fucking some mafia thug—” Father laughs lightly. “I suspect he’ll lose his mind.”

“What do you want?” But I already know. I stare at my father, loathing pooling in my toes, feeling like I’ve fallen off a skyscraper. I’m nothing but pulp on the sidewalk now. Just a smear of human meat.

But Dad’s smile hammers me even lower.

“Nothing.”

I pause a beat and let that sink in. “Nothing? I don’t understand.”

“Oh, Charlotte, think for a second.” He checks his watch, smile getting bigger. “What time does my father wake up every day?”

Suddenly, horror hits me. I look at my phone. It’s a little past eight in the morning. “He didn’t know yet.”

“That’s right. I called you in here to keep you busy until your dear, beloved old grandfather had a chance to see those photos.” Dad selects a record and puts it on the turntable. “I have a feeling he’s getting quite the shock.”

“You sick bastard.”

“I’m the sick one?” He has the gall to look surprised. “You’re the one that slept with some disgusting criminal pig. Really, Charlotte, a fighter? A man so far beneath you? Ah, well, it’s better it ended this way, don’t you think?”

The opening lines of Queen’s “We Are the Champions” come on, Freddie Mercury’s voice like velvet, and I run the hell out of my father’s office, careening into the hallway.

It’s not too late.

Grandfather’s only been awake for ten minutes at most. He might not have seen the folder yet. If I can get to him first and explain, maybe I can salvage this. Somehow, I can make Grandfather understand.

As I run to his wing of the mansion, I wonder why I’m even doing this.

A part of me thinks it’s better this way. Give up the inheritance. Forget about the Westwood business empire. I’d be better off living on my trust fund for the rest of my life. I could do anything, go anywhere, be anyone I want.