Page 120 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire
“No one will ever disrespect my wife.” Then I narrowed my eyes on the man who had given me life but was as close to me—and my siblings—as a perfect stranger. “I don’t give a shit that you’re my father. If you ever speak to my wife like that again, I will end you,” I said calmly. “Your career will be over before you can say ‘fuck you.’” It was the only warning he’d ever get. “Now you’re going to tell me what you did.” My voice was colder than polar temperatures. “And I will find out if you’re lying,” I warned.
My words had the desired effect. Father shifted uncomfortably, then coughed, scratching his ear.
Winston didn’t bother moving, reaching instead for his glass of water. Royce gave our father a disgusted look. Alexei’s face portrayed nothing, but I knew he didn’t care about our father and that was putting it mildly.
There was a long silence as I waited. Father’s cheeks blotched and his chest heaved. That fucker was so selfish, he never even spared Ares a glance. If he had, he’d notice he had another grandson. But then, he was never really around when we were kids to remember how we looked. Even now, he barely spared Kostya a glance.
After he helped Alessio, his illegitimate son, get Autumn back, I thought he’d finally seen the error of his ways.
But now, I wondered whether he did that with an ulterior motive too. I never understood why Kian was in Afghanistan on Father’s assignment, but I knew I wouldn’t get an honest answer out of my father. And Kian wouldn’t betray a client’s trust.
“I won’t ask again, Father. What have you done?”
He ground his molars.
“I warned her off, that’s all.”
My jaw clenched. A burn radiated in my chest. “When?” I gritted.
He leaned back into the chair, in my fucking house, and flashed me a sly smile. The one that every single child of his was familiar with. The one he put on when he used us to get what he wanted. He was the reason my youngest brother had been kidnapped, and why we’d mourned him for two decades, not knowing whether he was alive or dead. I couldn’t even fathom the abuse Kingston underwent. It’d haunt him for the remainder of his days.
Did my father learn his lesson?
Fuck no!
I slammed my hand against the table, silverware and crystal rattling for the second time tonight. “I asked fuckingwhen!”
My sister just shook her head, and I let out a bitter laugh. The truth lay just beneath the surface, as I realized slowly what this meant. How could I have been so stupid? So blind?Of coursemy father was the reason for the fucking agony all those years ago.
“What did you use against her?”
“You’re thinking with your dick, son, and—”
My pulse quickened and my vision narrowed. “No,” I roared. “You are the one that has been thinking with your dick, destroying everyone in your path for decades, you power-hungry son of a bitch.”
A sinister smile lifted the corners of his lips. “And you’re just like me.”
“You’re delusional, Father,” Aurora chimed in, glaring at him. “And you don’t even deserve that title. You’re a stranger to all of us. I thought you’d started to make amends, but in truth, you’re just trying to figure out the best way to use us to your advantage. All of us.”
“Over my dead body,” I stated coldly. “There’ll be no more of that. It’s clear you have no scruples, Senator Ashford. You’re ready to destroy your family for your own benefit.”
“How could you cost Byron his own son?” Aurora hissed.
Father waved his hands in the air, like it was no big deal. “You don’t know that’s his son. That girl is French. They get around.”
My nostrils flared, and I stared at this stranger through a mist of red fury. “What the fuck do you know?” I bellowed. “You are single-handedly destroying this family.”
“I am your father. Remember that.”
I gazed into the eyes of the man who was practically a stranger to me. A sperm donor. But that was not who I would be. I’d be an important part of my son’s life. Ishouldhave been part of his life for all these years.
“I’ve heard enough,” Aurora said, shooting to her feet. “And you wonder why your youngest son wants nothing to do with you.” She gave her head a shake, her lips curled with disappointment at our father.
I agreed with the sentiment completely.
“What. Did. You. Do?” I asked, my voice oddly calm. One of my kitchen staff came around and handed me a glass of scotch. I took it and brought it to my lips. “And don’t forget, I have a way of validating your story.”
Tension pulled at my muscles. It suffocated the air. The images of Odette six years ago played in my mind—exam room number five, our first night together, the next day, the terror when I saw her bleeding in the street, those hours when I held her hand in the hospital.
