Page 114 of Tall, Royal Hater
A far away glaze cast over his eyes. “It wasn’t until I held you in my arms that I realised my arguing and fighting was childish. I could threaten to run away with you and your mother, but then what? How was I to look after you? Feed you? Clothe you? Keep a roof over your head?
“I was born into wealth, but I didn’t have a rupee to my name. Not without my family, not without the trust fund I didn’t have access to, not without any prospects of work. And as easy as it was to say I could leave it all behind…I couldn’t. It was not feasible.”
I arched a brow in question. “So, you saw your son and decided money was more important?”
He narrowed his eyes. “No. I saw you and decided that I could not take care of youwithoutmoney. I did not want a life of poverty for you or your mother, but my family was determined to do everything in their power to make sure you never had a place amongst them. They would have thrust the three of us into poverty purposely, and I was aware that without any funds I could not protect you.” He paused. “So I asked your mother totake you away and keep you safe while I tried to build something for us.”
“You lied to her,” I accused, anger heating my words. “For years.About marrying her. About loving her. You dragged her along and toyed with her feelings while you lived in the freedom and comfort of your wealth. You left her to face the judgement of everyone around her, and like every other fucking bastard of a man who abandons the mother of his child, you escaped unscathed.”
Andrew Platmon’s eyes flashed with reciprocating anger. “I didn’t escape unscathed. I may not have faced the judgement of people, but my family beat me down at every chance. I grew tired of losing every little thing I was working towards. And I was losing your mother too.” He let out a quiet breath. “Whenever I saw her, all we did was argue. I knew she was losing hope and her trust in me, and I was young and hot-headed, so I, in return, grew angry at her distrust.” He paused. “And I was losing you too. You were only little, but the further apart my visits grew, the less you approached me.”
I grunted mockingly. “And that surprised you? You made yourself a stranger who appeared once every few months, then fought with my mother and left her crying. I had no reason to like you.”
“You were still my son, and it…” He paused, visibly reeled whatever emotion had been behind his words back in, and then fortified his shoulders. “It made me bitter. Seeing my own son glare at me and hide behind his mother every time I visited. And I blamed her. I blamed Katiya.”
Furious claws racked down my neck, making my skin burn. “It was easier, wasn’t it? Blaming her rather than owning up to your own mistakes.”
Andrew Platmon swallowed slowly. “It was. Very easy. And in blaming her, I convinced myself I hated her and that I was glad my family had prevented me from marrying her.”
Stampedes of huffing animals stormed through the canyons of my nervous system that made up my muscles. I thrummed down to the marrow on my bones under the raging feeling, and the violent urge to break something consumed my thoughts. I held my breath and curled my fists in my lap, sitting perfectly still in case one wrong move sent me on a rampage.
“It was after our last fight that my grandfather found out about you—”
“And it was the perfect excuse to cut ties with us,” I bit out low and accusing.
My father’s anger rose to the forefront of his brown stare, making it darken, and it was almost sickening how alike our anger was. I supposed I’d inherited that from him as much as I had from Mother—her anger was just as fierce, if not more.
“Yes, it was,” he retorted sharply. “And if you’re expecting me to regret it, I don’t.” He edged forward, staring me in the eyes with no remorse. “My relationship with your mother was over. My sacrifices were not going to change that, nor was I willing to make any more. But I was not fool enough to want to keep my son around a man who was threatening to kill him just to spite her.”
“Bullshit,” I hissed, jerking forward. “You’re lying to hide the fact you were done with us long before that. You were just waiting for the right moment to cut us off.”
“Ask your mother, Shehryar, if you do not believe me.” He lifted his chin. “My grandfather had vowed to kill you if she stayed in contact with me. I could not allow that. I could not put you in danger, real or not. You deserved better, and I was not blind either. You were happier without me. So yes, I cut you out of my life without hesitation to ensure you were safe. And I donot regret it. I will never regret it. I would do it again and again if I had to.”
We both puffed out quick, shallow breaths as we glared at each other.
I didn’t want to believe him. I had no reason to believe him. He was lying. Trying to claim he was also the victim just to save face. But the hard reality was displayed in his eyes loud and clear.
With a slow inhale and exhale, he leaned back. “I had not expected you to show up that day.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about.
The day I turned up at his family mansion.
I had always had it in my head that once I turned eighteen, I would go to my father and demand answers. It had taken me a few months to work up the courage, but I’d eventually bought the plane ticket. I hadn’t told Mother until after I’d got the ticket confirmation; she’d been panicked, but she hadn’t discouraged me.
So, I went.
Over five hours later, I’d been led into a drawing room that was just as extravagant as Jahmal Palace.
But instead of meeting my father, I’d been accosted by his wife and father. It was only when they’d thoroughly humiliated me, accusing me of coming for the only thing rich people cared about, that Andrew Platmon had showed up. I’d thought that he would have stopped them, but instead, he turned his gaze away as his wife threw money at my face, leaving me feeling stupid and hollow.
I’d stormed out quickly after, and in a blinding fit of rage, I’d picked up a nearby potted shrub and thrown it at one of several cars parked out front. I’d thrown punches and broken the nose of the security guard too when he’d tried to drag me out. The only reason I’d stopped was because Andrew Platmon came out and dragged me off the man.
Until the day I died, I would never forget the way he looked at me with absolute cold distaste as he shoved me to the gate and said, “Leave. And don’t ever show your face here again.”
I couldn’t recall how I got myself back to the bed and breakfast Mum had helped me book, nor the airport the next morning. I only remembered that when I walked into Jahmal Palace late in the evening, Mother had been pacing the entrance, waiting for my return.
She’d taken one look at me and come rushing over.
