Chapter 17

Fiona let out a ragged, ugly sound—half gasp, half sob—and slammed both palms down onto my pristine desk.
“How can you be so cold?!” Fiona shrieked, her voice pitching up into a hysterical, desperate cry. “Julian is rotting in a federal cage! He lost everything! And I live in a freezing, rat-infested room with no heat! You have billions! You sit in this golden tower while family starves!”
I stood up slowly, towering over her from across the desk. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't blink.
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“Family?” I whispered softly, stepping closer until the heavy silence between us felt suffocating. “For five years, you treated me like an animal. You watched your son lock me in a freezing kitchen and threaten to throw me into the street. You called me a peasant while living off the sweat of my labor. The only thing you and Julian ever cooked for me was absolute misery. And now, you’re simply tasting the leftovers.”
Fiona staggered backward, her knees buckling as the brutal weight of my words crushed whatever remaining delusion she had left.