Page 112 of Merciless Heir
Kingston is silent for a long moment and the pain on his face hurts me. The anger gives me a dark, nihilistic hope. “A grift?”
“Not exactly. More your gold digger move. I find that sort of thing more profitable and law abiding. After all, sex in exchange for money is what all relationships are based on, right? Maybe not money, but it’s always an exchange.”
“If the gentleman is willing.”
“If.” I deliberately rake my gaze over him. “And you are.”
“Sorry, Sadie, you got it wrong. I don’t do exchanges.”
“Don’t tell me you care.”
He smiles tight and icy. “Did you use me?”
My head starts to spin. If I do this, then this is done. Forever. And…
I have to.
“Yes.”
The word hangs there in the silence. And it’s a death knell. But if it means I make him hate me, then I can save him from my father’s sticky, grasping fingers.
So I push further.
“I used you. I wanted your money and a good life and nothing else.”
He nods. “I see. It makes sense. You are your father’s daughter.”
“Maybe I really am.”
“And the tiara?”
“I wanted it to start with,” I say. “But I don’t have it. See, it was a fake. Your tiara is out there somewhere. Or, you might want to talk to your mother. She might have answers.”
He nods, a slight frown on that gorgeous face. “And if I don’t believe you?”
“I’m telling you the truth, I used you—”
“Fuck you, Sadie. I really don’t give a shit about you anymore. I’m talking what matters. My inheritance. If I go to the cops and say you have it?”
I shrug. “Go do that. Search my place, it isn’t there, because I don’t have it. I sold the fake I made, and gave that money to my father for his part in this. I used you. And now that’s done, and you know, I don’t want to see you anymore.”
Silence slams down on us and I’m drowning because as I say these terrible, horrible words the truth hits me hard.
“I think,” he says softly, “you should go. I’m not going to pay you, either.”
“Goodbye, Kingston. Sorry about the loss of the company. But that’s really on your mother, isn’t it?”
I don’t wait for him to answer, I just walk out. Like it’s broken glass and I’m barefooted. Very carefully.
And inside things crack.
My throat burns hot and my eyes itch and it’s not until I’m in the cab home that I give in.
Not to tears. I’m not letting them out.
But I give in to what I’ve done.
I lied to his mother. To him. To myself.