Page 7 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

He clinks his glass, flashing that charming Sandoval smile that’s won over politicians and CEOs alike. Beside him, Lakeland gives me a steady, unreadable look, and for a split second, I feel like I’m fourteen again, watching my father dazzle a room while I linger on the sidelines, hoping to catch his eye.

But tonight’s different.

Or at least, it better be.

“Thank you all for gathering here tonight. Not that we need an excuse to celebrate, but we certainly have one. Trance Enterprise has had a record Q2, with a cool sixty-five billion added to the bottom line. Trance, we’re all gonna be eating good for a little while.”

A low rush of laughter spreads across the room, adding another layer to the consistent drum of my heartbeat between my ears.

“But many of you have been wondering about the elephant in the room…when exactly is this old man gonna retire?” He looks sheepish, patting his chest as he looks at the crowd.

He appears relaxed; I feel like I’m about to pop a blood vessel.

“Well, while I have officially announced my five-year unwinding plan, I have not announced my successor.”

The hum around the room quiets, and Bambi moves closer to me, putting her hand on my shoulder.

“As you all know, I am a family man,” he says. “And after watching and waiting, I finally feel confident and comfortable in naming who will be stepping into place.”

The room around my father goes fuzzy so all I can see is him.

But then, the marbled floor disappears beneath my feet like a trap door when he claps a hand on his younger brother’s back, beaming from ear to ear as he says the most horrendous words he’s ever uttered.

“My brother, Lakeland Sandoval, is the man who you can all trust to not only protect your investments but grow them as well.”

He lifts his champagne glass, and the others do the same. “To the future of Stratos Wealth Fund!”

My mouth goes dry as the world narrows down to my father. He did…what?

My hands begin to shake, and my palms itch with the overwhelming urge to commit patricide. My father has done a lot of fucked-up shit over my lifetime, but giving my inheritance to Lakeland?

FuckingLakeland?

The cheers and clinking glasses feel miles away, muffled by the haze of disbelief clouding my head. Lakeland? Myuncle? The man who hadn’t even shown an interest in the fund until a few years ago?

Bambi’s hand squeezes my shoulder, but it barely registers. She’s saying something—words of comfort, maybe, or a reminder not to go the fuck off in front of everyone—but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing does, except for the fact that everything I’ve worked toward has just slipped out from under me.

My fists clench so tightly my knuckles feel like they’re going to punch through my skin; the sharp sting of my fingernails digging into my palm does little to keep me grounded.

The laughter, the applause, it all rings hollow. I can’t look away from my father, who stands there, basking in the approval of his audience. He catches my gaze, and for a fleetingsecond, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Regret? Pity? Satisfaction?

Fear?

I can’t tell, and that uncertainty only fuels the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Lakeland catches my eye, offering a smirk that’s more smug than celebratory, as if he’s fully aware of the blow my father’s just dealt.

Bambi murmurs, “Storm, don’t. Not here.”

But I can’t hold it in any longer. I push past the knot of well-wishers and step right up to my father, forcing a smile onto my face as I say, “Dad, may I have a word with you in private?”

A few heads turn, curious, but my father simply nods, setting his champagne flute aside. “Of course, son.” He pats Lakeland on the back. When he grins, it looks strained. “Carry on without me, everyone.”

The whispers follow us as I lead him out of the room and down the hall to the study, each step pounding like a drumbeat against my temples. The moment the door closes, the facade drops, and I let the anger boil over.

“Lakeland?” I hiss. I want to be composed. I want to be able to present the fact rationally, calmly, as to why he’s making a big fucking mistake.

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