Page 57 of Conflicted Lies

My stomach drops, and I hate that my body is so responsive to him. The hot flush that immediately washes over me, and my body demands to rip apart this man to show him well and truly how much I fucking hate him.

“Are you stalking me again?” I ask at the same time someone says, “Braxton, you came.”

I turn to find Kylie, her face glowing as she leans in and kisses Braxton on the cheek. He side-eyes me as she does it, and I give him no reaction.Eww.My mother, unfortunately, saw it. She moves around Kylie and Braxton to stand by my side.

The moment Kylie steps away from Braxton—you could make the argument that he somewhat pushed her away—my mother cuts in, and I’m reminded that my father isn’t the only parent to be wary of.

“Hi, I’m Lena Love, Hope’s mother. And you are?” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

I watch with growing satisfaction as the realization of who her idol really is clicks in Kylie’s mind. She must’ve been talking so much about herself that she never questioned how my mother and I are associated.

Braxton, on the other hand, knows exactly who she is. He offers her his hand, and they shake firmly as she studies him. I always wondered how someone so soft and sweet could handle someone as cruel as my father. But as she holds Braxton’s hand, I see the fire behind her eyes. It’s moments like these that I know she probably gave my father hell as he pursued her.

“Y-you’re related to Hope?” Kylie stammers and it breaks the awkward moment, reminding us that she exists.

“Yes, she is,” I confirm, smiling. “Besties.” I cross my fingers over one another, being an asshole.

My mother drops Braxton’s hand and seems completely oblivious to Kylie’s reaction. No, she’s fixated on Braxton, uncomfortably so, as if she already knows the things that have happened between us. “Braxton, how do you know my daughter?”

“You know Hope, too?” Kylie asks Braxton, and I can tell she’s really trying to keep her shit together right now. By how friendly she is with Braxton, they’ve either fucked or are fucking. Or she wants that to be a reality. Now I just feel bad.

“I do,” he answers, watching Kylie. “Although we’re only acquaintances.”

“‘Acquaintances’ is a bit of a stretch,” I bite back.

“Shall I tell them the story of how we met?” He raises a brow at me.

I pin him with a glare, and my mother reaches out and squeezes my hand. “If you’ll excuse us, I have to speak to my daughter.”

She doesn’t let me respond as she practically drags me to the bathroom. She checks every stall to make sure no one else is in here.

When she turns and faces me, her eyes wide, I can tell she knows who he is.

How the fuck does she know who he is? How much does she know?

“A detective?” she whisper-shouts.

“That’s what he is. Unfortunately, I’m not in charge of choosing people’s career paths for them.”

She pins me with her stare. Right, sarcasm is not going to get me out of this one. She’s seriously pissed.

“Is this why you’ve been coming home so late? Have you been hiding a certain detective from us? You know you can tell me anything, but you also understand the issues that would come with having someone like him in our family, right?”

I put my hands up in defense. “Whoa, you’re suddenly starting to sound like a detective yourself with this interrogation. It’s nothing.”

“I know whennothingissomethingto my own daughter, Hope Ivanov.”

Oh fuck. I’m seriously in trouble if she’s bringing out the last name.

“Do you think your father didn’t tell me about the detective who took a particular interest in you on the night Charlotte stole that wallet? You give me too little credit.”

“It’s not like that. I swear I didn’t know he was going to be here. Obviously, he came here for Kylie.”

She doesn’t look at all happy with that response, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s moments like this that I know exactly who I adopted that stance from. And when my body goes to do it in response to her, I stop myself. My hands clench into fists and then relax. What the fuck am I supposed to tell her?

“Are you telling me you haven’t had anything to do with that man since that night?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, conflicted by the lies I’ve been telling. I mean, technically, she didn’t saywhatnight. I hate lying to my mother. There’s a difference between this and my sick, twisted hobbies, though. Isn’t there?

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