Page 21 of Ruthless Lord

I don’t need this place or any of these hateful people.

But the family is mine. Even if they think I’m a worthless shrew who doesn’t deserve to inherit, it’s still mine.

Grandfather saw something in me. He took me under his wing and taught me everything he knows. He turned me into what I am now. He made me clever and strong. And maybe I made a mistake with Stefano, but so what? Who doesn’t screw up? Grandfather’s not perfect. He’ll understand.

If I can get to him first.

I spring to his personal room. A maid’s outside the door, and she looks startled as I barrel toward her. “Is he in bed still?” I ask her, breathing hard.

She’s young, one of the newest members of the staff. It takes me a second to remember her name is Emily. “No, Miss Charlie, he’s having breakfast.”

I groan out loud. “I’m going in.”

“But he’s not expecting you, and you know we have orders?—”

I slam the door open. Grandfather’s morning breakfast hour is sacrosanct. No distractions, no interruptions. But to hell with that.

I storm into his suite.

Grandfather’s apartment in the mansion is sparse and simple. Where Dad’s rooms are grand and lavishly decorated, Grandfather has always preferred to keep things as spartan as possible. He likes little memorabilia from his childhood, which is why there are a few model trains decorating the basic furniture, but otherwise there’s not much else around.

He’s sitting at his table. A small black-and-white television is playing a Western. It’s the same table he ate at as a child, back before his father made the family’s fortune by inventing new forms of plastic. He grew the Westbrook Chemical Corporation into the behemoth it is today, and he’s the one who expanded family interests into illicit fighting and gambling as a way to diversify our income portfolio.

Grandfather stares at me. He’s frowning slightly as Emily comes at my back, begging his pardon at my interruption, all but prostrating herself at his feet.

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” He dismisses the staff girl with a wave of his hand. “I’ll speak with my granddaughter just this once.”

“Of course, Mr. Westbrook, again, I am so, so sorry—” Emily shuffles backward before scurrying away and closing the door behind her.

I stare at the table. Grandfather’s got his usual breakfast. A scrambled egg. Two pieces of buttered toast. Black coffee. Orange juice.

And at his elbow is a simple manila folder like the one my father gave me downstairs.

“You saw them,” I say, meeting my grandfather’s gaze. Despite being eighty, he’s sharper than ever, with piercing gray eyes and a severe face.

“I saw them,” he confirms, wrinkling his nose. “Or at least as much as I could stomach.”

Sorrow crushes me. Everything I’ve worked for is ending right here. There’s no way in hell Grandfather is going to forgive me for this. He raised me to believe in old-fashioned family values, which definitely means I shouldn’t be out having raunchy sex with mafia criminals.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling hollow.

Grandfather lets out a soft snort. “You know what disappoints me the most? It isn’t that you stooped so low as to sleep with a man like Stefano Bianchi, although that is bad enough. I’m not a fool though, Charlie. I’m aware people have physical needs. No, it’s not that you had sex with the man. It’s that you got caught.”

I stare at him, mouth hanging open. “It was my own father who took those pictures.”

“Yes, well, your father is a ruthless prick with the morals of a meth-addicted turtle. You, however, should know better. Really, Charlie, you went to his house? You slept with him in his bedroom in front of blinds? I taught you to be more careful!”

I hang my head and wring my hands together. I’m trying not to cry again. Grandfather would only get angry at my weakness if I do.

But he’s not chewing me out. He hasn’t thrown me from the family like I expected.

A glimmer of hope fills my chest.

“You’re right. I made a mistake.”

“A massive mistake, Charlie. A world-ending mistake. But have no fear, granddaughter. I know how to fix this.”

I look up in surprise. He’s staring at me, expression hard. There’s no kindness in those eyes. No forgiveness either.