Dad’s staring at me like I just told him Cassie came back from the dead. Like the words don’t make sense in his head.
I can see it happening—the slow, grueling process of him fitting the puzzle pieces together.
I shouldn’t have said it.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.
But at the same time… I don’t regret it.
Dad has spent his entire life clinging to this saint-like version of Cassie, this pure, tragic angel who could do no wrong. But a man doesn’t just up and leave his entire fücking fortune to his mistress if it was nothing more than a fleeting affair.
He needs to wake up.
“Let’s just focus on making this right,” I say, trying to change the topic. “I don’t want to fight anymore. Not about Claire, or Cassie, or Harold, or whoever.”
Dad ignores that completely.
His face is oddly so
