Page 52 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

catalina

. . .

I don’t look at my father, I can’t.

My body’s too rigid, and my stomach fucking hurts. Vartan sits beside me like nothing’s wrong. He adjusts the cuffs of his overpriced suit with slow, practiced care; the air around him reeks of designer cologne and detachment.

The engine purrs to life as the driver puts the car in drive and glides forward onto the freeway.

The Los Angeles skyline blurs past in a haze. Highrises, streetlights, and neon bleed into the windows. It all feels faded and empty, a glowing city that reflects the decaying core of my damn life.

I look around the interior of the car. The leather seats still shine as if they were new. Tiny pinprick lights adorn the ceiling like fake stars, trying too hard to make luxury feel cozy.

It’s beautiful, it used to be everything I wanted.

But now all I can think about is Carter’s pasture, running barefoot across his fields with the sun on my face and dirt on my skin.

I shift in my seat, and the leather groans beneath me as I readjust. My grip tightens on the hem of my skirt, wrinkling the expensive fabric.

I focus on keeping my breathing even as I stare out the window, looking for any distraction to trick my brain.

The window reflects a version of me I barely recognize—pale skin, smeared lipstick, eyes wide and glassy, as if I’ve already left my body.

The life has been sucked out of me, and right now, death doesn’t scare me, I welcome it with open arms.

“You fucking embarrassed me,” Vartan says, cutting through the silence.

His words make me tremble, but I don’t say anything.

Fucking say something, Catalina. Fight back.

I sit there, still and small, with silence rotting on my tongue. Vartan’s voice is calm, but it’s laced with a venom that coils around my throat.

“Pulling away from Chase like that?” he says, “You looked fucking childish. You had no problem spreading your legs for Carter; you can do the same for him.”

My jaw tightens as I fight back tears that threaten to fall. I taste blood from biting the inside of my cheek too hard.

“My name is on the line here, Catalina,” he continues, his tone darkening. “I’m not going to let you fuck this up like you always do.”

I stare out the window, trying to breathe, trying to keep my composure. The city blurs into streaks of gold and gray as we speed through it, but I barely register anything beyond the noise inside my head.

“This is bigger than you,” he says, poking at his phone.

“Bigger than whatever dramatic phase you’re trying to act out.

That man is the heir to one of the most powerful private tech holdings in the country.

He doesn’t have to fucking like you. He has to marry you.

And you?” He pauses, sneering. “You just have to smile and be a good little wife. Stand beside him and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

I turn my head slowly, my voice scraping up from a place I haven’t dared speak from in years. “I’d rather stand next to a fucking corpse.”

He turns slightly, staring at me with eyes so cold they burn straight through my skull.

“You’ll do what you’re told,” he hisses, slamming his phone on the leather seat, making me flinch. “Or I’ll make sure the world remembers exactly what kind of disgrace you’ve always been.”

My head whips back toward the window. My stomach churns as bile rises in my throat. His words slice deep, but I’ve heard them before. I was raised on this brand of cruelty and fed shame with a silver spoon.

And I’m fucking done.

I’m done trying to earn his approval. I’m done pretending this is a family, and I’m sure as fuck done existing in the shell of a life that never felt like mine.

I’m done existing.

The car turns off Sunset as it winds toward the hilltop gates of the estate I used to call home. Each turn of the tires drags me deeper into the nightmare I thought I escaped.

I dig my nails into my palms until they leave half-moon indentations in my skin. It’s the only way to feel something through numbness.

“I hate you,” I whisper. It’s so soft, it barely leaves my lips.

Vartan scoffs softly, like my hatred means less than lint on his lapel.

“I don’t need your love, Catalina. You’ve been nothing but a waste of space since the day you were born.

You were a fucking mistake, if it weren’t for your mother, I would’ve made sure you never existed in this glorious life I built. ”

A tear slips down my cheek.

“And now,” he adds, as the car rolls to a stop in front of the mansion, “I’m still stuck dealing with the headache of a daughter I never wanted. The least you could do is be obedient. Go through with this deal. Then, maybe, for once, you’ll have done something fucking useful with your life.”

He opens his door and steps out without sparing me a glance, slamming the door shut behind him.

I slam the front door behind me, the echo ricocheting through the cavernous foyer. The cold marble floor clicks beneath my heels as I storm forward, each step heavy with fury. My fists are clenched at my sides as my lungs burn as I struggle to catch my breath.

I hate it here; the thought of being back inside this prison makes my stomach twist.

Nothing has changed in these past six months.

Not the sterile silence that swallows every sound, or the walls still lined with bland, overpriced art. Not the hideous black marble countertops in the kitchen, or those gaudy, oversized gold chandeliers hanging above like they’re trying to impress God himself.

It’s all still heinous, still fucking vile. So far removed from reality, its a fucking joke.

I find him exactly where I expected him to be, perched at his custom-built bar, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey like he’s earned the indulgence. The soft clink of glass against crystal breaks the stillness as he turns toward me, his expression already souring.

“Stop being fucking dramatic for once in your goddamn life,” he spits. “And be thankful for what your father is doing for you.”

I stop cold. I turn to face him, slowly at first, and then with a snap so sharp it feels like my neck might crack.

“Thankful?” I hiss, my voice low and shaking with rage.

“I’m not some pawn in your pathetic little game.

I’m not your leverage or your bargaining chip.

I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I’m at my fucking limit. ”

He brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow, indulgent sip of whiskey. An icy smile curls at the corners of his mouth like he’s savoring victory.

“You think you’re worth being a pawn?” he says, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with a casual flick. “Please.”

He leans into his glass, his voice dropping to something sharp and venomous.

“I couldn’t care less what you do with yourself. You could be rotting in a ditch somewhere, and I’d sleep better knowing I never had to deal with your bullshit again.”

He chuckles under his breath, then downs the rest of the whiskey and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“This deal makes me unstoppable. And if using you gets me what I want?” His eyes narrowed, the glass tapping once against the table. “Then I’ll use you however the fuck I please.”

My lungs burn from the sudden rush of air, and my throat tightens as the tears rise. I swipe them away quickly, refusing to let him see them fall.

“I was finally happy,” I whisper, my fingers trembling as they clutch the fabric at my chest. “I did what you asked. I learned to be independent. I fell in love with my life again. And you ripped it away—so that you could fill your fucking wallet.”

He scoffs without hesitation, brushing invisible lint off his sleeve like my pain is an inconvenience.

“You were draining my fortune,” he snaps.

“Drinking, partying, doing drugs—turning my name into a fucking joke. Everything I built, you dragged through the mud. You were, and still are, a goddamn embarrassment of a daughter.”

The rage bubbles up, and my hands slam against my chest, fists curled like I’m trying to hold myself together.

“I was and still am grieving! Drowning in pain, and you left me to fucking fend for myself! You threw money at me like it was supposed to raise me. I didn’t need your fucking credit cards—I needed a father!

I needed you, but you weren’t there. You never were! ”

He rises from the barstool in one swift motion as he grabs it and hurls it across the room. It crashes into a statue near the entryway, shattering it into jagged shards.

My heart jumps into my throat.

He scoffs, stalking toward me, his eyes blazing. “And now look at you,” he growls. “Crying. Screaming. Always making a scene. Still the same pathetic, broken little girl. A whiny little bitch. You haven’t changed a fucking thing.”

My jaw clenches as I dig my nails into my palms. I refuse to cry in front of him again. I won’t waste another tear.

He stops in front of me, towering over me like a crazed lunatic. His hand shoots out, his fingers dig into my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet his. His expression twists into something cruel.

“You know what you were made for, Catalina?” he spits, his grip tightening. “To be used. Just like your whore of a mother. To sit still, look pretty, and shut the fuck up.”

He leans closer, his breath sharp with whiskey. “You should be grateful for the life I gave you.”

“Fuck you.”

Those two words—the ones I’ve swallowed for years—finally burst free.

His smile fades. “There it is,” he mutters. “There’s that fucking bad attitude.”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” I say, my voice steady despite the quiver in my chest. “I’m done staying quiet just to keep the peace.”

“Oh?” he mocks, caging me in. “You’re not afraid? Then why are your hands shaking?”

I glance down at my trembling hands, damn him.

“You think you’re strong now because that douchebag dicked you down in his barn? he snarls. “You think he’s going to come save you?”

“His name is Carter!” I snap, bracing my hands against his chest, trying to push him away. “And he treated me better in one week than you have in my entire life!”

In a blistering second, his large palm cracks across my face. The sound is sharp, immediate. My head whips to the side as pain blooms across my cheek.

For a second, everything goes still.

Then the truth crashes down like a wave.

He hit me. He finally hit me.