Page 45 of Secret Revenge

I had never felt uncomfortable with my space before, but watching him sweep through my sparse furnishings with his eyes, I became conscious of how humble they probably looked to him.

For all I knew, he had never stepped into such a house in his entire life, used to affluence as he had been since his birth. I blushed a little from my embarrassment, but pushed the thought away immediately. There were more serious things to worry about than Travis’ perception of my apartment.

He walked towards my couch and turned back to look at me. “May I?” he asked with a voice so even, I had no idea what sorts of thoughts were running through his head.

I realized that I had been silent the whole time and cleared my throat nervously to avoid stuttering like an idiot. “Sure, of course. Please, have a seat.”

He nodded and sat in a corner of the couch. I sat in an armchair several paces away from him, making mental calculations about how fast I could get to the door if he chose to charge at me. It was a ridiculous thought: why would he attack me when he had the power of the courts and the law on his side? And he seemed so…calm.

Maybe it was the calm that unnerved me.

I clasped my hands in my lap, trying to still the trembling, a nervous reaction that had begun the moment I saw Travis on my porch."Travis looked as cold and hard as though he had been chiseled out of a slab of rock. He sat motionless, and his dark eyes watched me coolly with a calm I had no chance of emulating.

The entire time I had known him, I had managed to keep him out of my house. I’d told myself this was a safety precaution, but in reality, I didn’t want to deal with memories of him in my personal space. Now he was here, and there was no going back.

I had betrayed him for nothing. All that work, and I hadn’t been able to find so much as a parking ticket written against him. He said he had come to give me a chance to explain myself. I didn’t know why he wanted to hear what I had to say. I knew I didn’t deserve that courtesy.

I was a criminal for all that the word meant. I intended to take all the blame for the data leak and whatever charges his lawyers chose to tack on with it. I didn’t want Michael or Jonathan in danger.

Travis watched me expectantly. I wondered if he wanted me to incriminate myself. And the truth was, I was out of will to resist. Lying now would only make my betrayal look worse in his eyes.

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, avoiding his gaze. “My real name isn’t Emily Skye. I mean, it is right now, but it was originally Emily Anderson. I assume you found that out already?”

Travis nodded, his expression unreadable

“You have no idea what it was like being around my father after he had everything taken away from him,” I continued. I kept my eyes on my shoes, and struggled to keep my emotions in check as I went down memory lane. “I watched him break into pieces before my eyes. He stopped being the wonderful man he used to be and turned horrible.

“He would sit in a corner of the house, drinking all day. There was the verbal abuse hurled at me and my mother. Having to duck out of the way of the empty whiskey bottles he would throw at us.

“He stopped helping with the family life in any way. My mom had to work extra hours just to keep us afloat. I know my father wasn’t blameless. There are no excuses for the monster he became. But…”

I paused in my narration, taking several deep breaths as I forced away the tears that had been welling up in my eyes. I’d never bared myself like this to anyone before. I could only imagine how silly I looked, telling a sob story to seemingly escape punishment for my wrongdoing.

Travis remained quiet while I composed myself, holding back whatever questions he probably had for the time being.

“Everything changed when I found my father dead. Alcohol poisoning,” I managed to force the words out. “I was just sixteen, a junior in high school preparing for school that morning. It changed my life.

“I found him sprawled lifelessly on the carpet, a half empty bottle beside his head. The living room reeked of vomit. Thatmorning, kneeling beside his body, I made a silent vow to get revenge for my father on Travis Ross Senior, your father.”

For the first time during my narration, Travis shifted in his perch. I glanced up at him, afraid of what I might see. I saw his lips move, as if he intended to say something, but he remained silent. He assumed perfect composure once again, a perfect mask.

“After my father’s funeral, I began searching the papers for anyone that had exposed Mr. Ross for his crimes. I was disappointed to find that no one had ever spoken out against him, at least not successfully. There was no mention of his evil in the countless newspapers I read.

“Instead, I found articles, which were obviously paid for, where your father was painted in a good light. Talking about the charitable foundations he gave a pittance of his profits to convince the public he was doing good things with his wealth.

“That was when I decided to become a journalist. I threw myself into my studies with a single purpose. I wanted to be the person who exposed men like your father, dragging their crimes to the light and bringing justice to the people like me, whose lives men like him had altered and destroyed endlessly over the years.

“Luckily, my mom met and married someone else… a good guy. I decided to take my stepfather’s name, Skye, in an effort to remain anonymous. In a cruel twist of fate, the day I graduated from NYU was the same day your father died.

“I felt cheated when I found out about his death. I couldn’t destroy a dead man. Taking him down had become my sole purpose and his sudden death left a gaping hole where my desire for vengeance had been.

“And then, you and your brothers took over the family business. I was so convinced that you were all little pieces of the same monster, and it infuriated me to watch you act likeyou were different from him. I felt a renewed sense of purpose. If I could not take down the father, I could take down his pretentious sons.”

I took a pause and swallowed hard. I looked up at Travis and saw that he remained unmoved, impassive like a marble statue. “Would you like me to get you anything?” I asked sheepishly. That was my guilt talking.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” His reply was as perfunctory as his countenance, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Please, go on.”

I shrugged and sighed. “I admit, I did come to Calypso that night because of you.”