My heart smashes further into its cavity, but I swallow the pain down. I exit my room with determination bubbling in my veins.
Today, I’ll face my fears.
Today, I’ll know everything Aunt and Uncle have been hiding for years.
It’s no longer an option. It’s a need now.
I take the steps down, breathing deep and summoning all the courage I have in my bones.
This is the first time I’ll demand to know something about my past.
I’m counting on Uncle’s understanding. Here’s to hoping he didn’t change his mind.
“She’s right upstairs,” Aunt says with a strained tone. “Let’s talk someplace else.”
I stop at the base of the stairs at the corner of the lounge area from where her voice comes through.
So she returned home last night.
“This is as good of a place as any.”
My muscles tighten at that voice.
The voice I never wanted to hear in my house.
Ever.
Could it be that I’m hearing things?
Leaning sideways, I peek slightly inside.
I wrap a hand over my mouth to smother the gasp.
It’s him.
Jonathan King.
Jonathan fucking King is sitting on the chair at the head of the lounge area. He’s wearing a black suit that seems straight out of an Armani fashion show.
Aunt and Uncle sit on the sofa opposite him.
I have a side view, but I can make out the horrified expression on Aunt’s face and the blackening of Uncle’s features.
What the hell is going on?
“Mr King,” Uncle speaks in a respectful calm tone. “Please let’s do this outside.”
“I would rather do this right here.” He appears completely relaxed like he owns the place and everyone in it.
It’s clear from whom Aiden got his infuriating confidence.
“We’re thankful for your help ten years ago,” Aunt says. “But we already paid you back.”
“Paid me back?” Jonathan deadpans. “Nothing can pay back saving a person’s life, Mrs Quinn. If I hadn’t paid for Elsa’s heart surgery, do you think she would’ve been alive?”
My heartbeat skyrockets, slamming against my ribcage and buzzing in my ears.
Jonathan paid for my surgery? Why the hell would he do that?
“You’re right,” Aunt rushes. “We didn’t have the finances and if you didn’t offer a generous hand, we wouldn’t have Elsa with us.”
“I’m no generous man, Mrs Quinn.” Jonathan plants his elbow on the armrest and leans against his hand. “I’m a businessman. I only made an investment for the future. After all, she’s the heiress to Steel’s fortune.”
“There’s no fortune!” Aunt jumps to her feet. “She’ll go nowhere near that filthy empire built by blood.”
Steel’s heiress. Empire?
I’m reeling from so much information thrown in my face. I feel like I’m going to throw up again.
Jonathan smiles. “The fact that it’s built on blood makes it even more desirable. Don’t you think?”
“My Elsa will go nowhere near that money or that name. She’s Elsa Quinn,” Aunt snaps.
Uncle sits her down and places a hand on her thigh as if to keep her from standing up again. He faces Jonathan with a much more rational expression than Aunt’s. “You said no conditions back then.”
“I said no conditions, but I said I’ll return when she’s eighteen.”
Aunt’s lower lip twists.
“And what do you want, Mr King?” Uncle’s voice hardens. “Because you won’t meet Elsa. You’ll have to get through me first.”
“With all due respect, getting through you won’t be so hard, Mr Quinn.”
“What do you want from her?” Uncle grits out, his entire demeanour radiating tension.
“I let Elsa live ten years ago and I’m letting her live now, but the moment I decide to burn Steel’s blood running in her veins, no one will stop me.” He pauses. “I’ll finish the life I saved in a heartbeat.”
My back snaps and my fingers tremble.
I’ll finish the life I saved in a heartbeat.
What the hell does he mean by that?
“She has nothing to do with her father!” Aunt yells. “She’s not him.”
“Are you certain about that?” Jonathan’s eyes darken. “After all, she’s Steel’s little princess for whom he sacrificed everything.”
“Leave Elsa alone, or I won’t stay still,” Uncle speaks low but threateningly.
“I appreciate the courage, but you can’t do fuck to me, Mr Quinn.” Jonathan stands and buttons his jacket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a board of directors meeting to attend.”
He suddenly lifts his eyes and meets mine as if he knew I was listening all along.
I freeze as a cruel smirk tilts his lips before he turns and walks out the door.
Neither Aunt nor Uncle sees him out. Aunt’s face reddens and Uncle holds her by the shoulders as if he’s keeping her from falling apart.
I stand behind the wall, my insides breaking into a million pieces.
Everything Jonathan said whirls in my head like a hurricane with no ending in sight.
I’m too shocked to process everything, but I know, I just know that whatever happened in my past isn’t something pretty.
Pretty or not, this is my only chance to know the truth.
I inhale deep, shaky breaths and stride into the lounge area.
Uncle glances up first as I stand in front of them. Alarm tightens his features.
Before they can say anything, I speak in a calm voice I don’t feel. “I heard everything. Now, I want you to tell me about my past.”
33
Elsa
Uncle stands up, forcing a smile. “Pumpkin, what you heard just now is —”
“The truth.” I cut him off. I never cut Uncle or Aunt off, but today is different. “And I want to know the rest of it.”
“H-hon,” Aunt stammers. “It was a long time ago.”
“Abandoning me and Mum was also a long time ago, Aunt?”
She gasps, her hands covering her mouth.
“I heard you the other day.” My voice is neutral, almost too detached.
I don’t know how to speak in any other tone without breaking down.
“You owe me an explanation,” I tell them.
A deep sigh rips from Uncle’s chest as he staggers backwards and falls beside Aunt. “Tell her.”
Aunt touches her temple with trembling fingers. “N-No.”
“We knew this day would come, Blair.” Uncle’s jaw clenches. “Just tell her already. She deserves to know.”
“I said no, Jaxon!”
I rip my gaze from her and focus on Uncle. “Who’s Eli?”
His eyes widen like I’ve never seen them before.
Like he’s having a heart attack.
“Oh, God,” Aunt’s voice catches on a sob.
Usually, I would do anything not to see them like this, but not today.
Today, I need answers even if I have to hurt them in the process.
“I had a dream — no, a nightmare — about clutching his hand before he disappeared into the lake.” The itch starts under my skin. “Who is he?”