John shifts his stance, his fingers opening and closing, clearly fighting his instincts. It isn’t a normal thing for him to hold back. Whether he acknowledges it or not, he is a protector. “Stella.” It’s a low plea. “Let me—”

“Please,” I whisper, at the end of my strength.

He gives a short nod. “I’ll be in the other room.” He levels my dad with a hard glare. “If you’ve done your homework, you already know who my family is. From the cradle on, I’ve learned how to play dirty. I can end you as easily as snapping my fingers. Hurt her, and I will.”

Shocked, I watch John turn heel and stalk into his media room.

“I like him,” Dad says in the silence. When I shoot him a look, he quirks a brow. “He’s right, you know. His family are the worst kind of crooks—rich and powerful enough to get away with anything.”

“So maybe you should heed his warning and back off.”

Dad strolls over to the marble mantle and examines the pastoral oil painting above it. “He won’t hurt me. He’s too afraid it will hurt you if he does.”

“Unlike you.” I slam down the bottle I’ve been holding with a death grip. “Years you’ve been gone. Years I’ve searched for one word of your existence, and nothing!”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all. Just stands there, fingering the onyx obelisk that stands on the mantle, and I know he’s thinking about stealing it.

I move toward him in halting, uncoordinated steps. “Years of being alone, having no family, only to have you return, not because of me, but because of him.” I fling my arm in the direction John left. “For money.”

“I did you a favor,” Dad says without inflection. “You don’t need me. Truth is, you thrived once I left.”

“Not one ounce of remorse,” I go on, “not even now.”

He shakes his head. “Never felt remorse. Never felt much of anything, if I’m honest.”

His eyes are the exact shape and color of mine, but they’re flat. It hits me that I’ve always thought of them as mirrors, reflecting, never showing any depth.

He rubs a finger over his beard. “No, that’s not entirely true. I’ve always been proud of the way you learned so quickly to take care of yourself.”

I snort. “I had to. You certainly didn’t.”

“As I said, you were better off without me.”

“And yet here you are. For money.” My insides shake so hard, I have to wrap my arms around myself and hold on tight. It’s an uncomfortably familiar process. I’m always holding myself up.

“Just a drop. I’m in a pinch.” Dad moves his attention to a silver box on John’s antique coffee table. “It isn’t like this guy will miss it.”

“You’d risk destroying the closest thing I’ve had to true happiness for a ‘drop’ of money?” An ugly sound gurgles in my throat, and I swallow hard to keep from being sick.

“Come on, Stella girl. I taught you to read people better than this. There is no risk. That guy looks at you as if the sun rises and sets by your smile. You were never in danger of losing him. Made certain of that before I approached him.”

Sweet Jesus, he actually believes he’d been doing right by me. I stare at the man responsible for my existence. I’ve been wanting to find him for so long, I’d forgotten how it truly felt to be near him. He is an illusion, always was. Nothing of my dad feels like love or security. I’m hurt and angry, but I have no more love for this man. There is nothing between us. Only the pain of finally knowing that I have no family left. I am all alone in this world.

“I want you to leave,” I say through numb lips.

He stares at me, assessing all the outcomes and possible responses. “If that’s what you want.”

“Stay away from John and anyone connected to him, or I will call the police. Understood?”

My dad’s weathered features draw tight, but he nods. “Understood.”

We stand there in silence, neither of us moving. This is the last time I will lay eyes on him, and I find myself relieved. Hurt for what I never had, but it’s all tied up in my own feelings of abandonment. When I try to think of missing him, or wanting him back, I feel nothing.

With a small dip of his chin in acknowledgment, he sets the silver box back on the table—Jesus, when did he pick it up? Straightening, he inclines his head again. “Right. Then I’ll be off. Remember what I’ve taught you. You were alone when you were born and you’ll be alone you die.”

In other words, the only person important in this world is yourself. I’d heard that so many times from him, I’d lost count. Bitterness washes over my tongue and down my throat.

“Good-bye.” I want him gone. He has to go before I lose it.

There’s no final hug, no apology. He simply turns and walks out. As easily as he did the last time.

John

* * *

I’ve fucked up. Badly. I forgot to tell Stella about her dad. I forgot. Why do I forget so many things? Important things. Things that will be deeply hurtful to other people when I forget. Why do I do this to people?

I run a hand through my hair and pace, cursing myself. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Stella. She’s out there with that fucking piece-of-shit excuse for a father. I thought my parents were cold. This guy is arctic. A functioning sociopath if I had to guess.

It’s clear he has little to no empathy or thought for others. But he can turn on the charm like a switch—all flash, zero substance. I’ve met people like him all through my career. They chill me to the bone. The worst thing is they usually get away with destroying everything in their path, only keeping around people they can successfully use.

That Stella had him to rely on growing up and still glows with such life and light is a bloody miracle. I know all about being alone in a loveless household. But I’ve had my mates by my side. I might not have always fully appreciated that, but I do now. True, Stella had Hank and Corinne, but it’s clear she never fully leaned on them.

God, she’s out there hurting. Helplessness plucks at my gut. I glare at the door, wanting to slam it open and throw her dad out on his ass. Stella’s voice was rising and falling, indecipherable but clearly angry. From her dad, I’d heard nothing. Now it’s silent.

Why is it so silent?

I’m about to say fuck it and go find out when the door opens. Stella stands in the shadow of the hall, her face pale, her blue eyes glassy. “He’s gone.”

“Are you okay?” She has to be. She will be.

“I’m fine.” She doesn’t sound fine; she sounds hollow. All the light has been drained out of her pretty face.

“Baby …” I walk slowly. She’s holding herself so stiffly, I’m afraid I’ll break her if I move too fast. With each step closer, she gets twitchier.

Stella licks her lips and blinks rapidly. “I want to say something first.”

“Okay.” She can say or do anything she wants; I’ll take it.

“When I was eighteen, my dad came to me with a job. He said it was easy money. All I had to do is hang on the arm of a guy he was working with and make the guy look good.”

My insides flip, sick dread filling me up.

Her eyes shine and a tear slips free, but she ignores it and stares at me unblinking. “I should have known, you know? But I was so …” She sucks in a shaky breath. “I wanted his approval.”