Chapter 3
But I knew things were way more complicated than that.
Jeremiah's revenge was just the beginning.
And the so-called "insurance policy" between my dad and Konnor was never something that could be fixed with a single phone call.
It was a shield my dad had built up for me over half his life, trading favors and keeping secrets just to keep me safe.
The car pulled into a heavily guarded estate and stopped in front of a grand, castle-like building.
The butler had been waiting at the door with a group of servants.
"Miss Roman, Mr. Roman, your rooms are ready," the butler said.
My dad and I were given two suites right next to each other on the third floor of the main building.
The rooms were so luxurious that they put everything I'd ever stayed in to shame.
After settling my dad in and making sure he got some rest, I stepped out onto the terrace.
From up here, I could see the whole estate lit up at night, the lights sparkling like the Milky Way.
But I was just a speck of dust in this sea of stars, on the verge of fading away.
No, I wasn't going to fall.
My dad had paved the way for me, and I was going to walk it better than anyone else.
I heard footsteps behind me.
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
"What did you do to pull this off?" Jeremiah's voice came from behind me, laced with barely suppressed anger.
I turned to face him.
He'd swapped his suit for simple loungewear, looking less intimidating but somehow even more brooding.
I said, "Methods? Jeremiah, do you really think I only rely on shady means?" I shot back.
"What else could it be?" he sneered. "I know my dad better than you ever will. Why would he help you? Jocelynn, did you sleep with him or something..."
A sharp slap interrupted his insult.
His face was whipped to the side, and the air went dead silent.
I'd put everything I had into that slap, and my palm was still burning.
Jeremiah slowly turned his head back, pressing his tongue against his cheek where I'd slapped him, his eyes seething with rage.
"You actually hit me?" he growled.
"Why wouldn't I?" I shot back, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I dared to do it five years ago, and I dare to do it now."
I said, "You really think just because you're the golden boy now, I'm scared of you? Jeremiah, get real. This is the Langley family, not somewhere you can do whatever you want."
"It was my dad who let you stay here, not me!" Jeremiah grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it felt like he wanted to snap my bones. "Jocelynn, don't get cocky. Let's see how long you can stay under my dad's wing!"
"Don't bother worrying about me," I shot back, yanking my wrist free. "If you've got time to waste, maybe go dig up who saved your big-shot dad from almost getting killed in that abandoned factory out west twenty years ago."
Jeremiah's eyes narrowed, shock flickering across his face.
That was one of the Langley family's oldest secrets, and one of the biggest stains on Konnor's record. Just after he took over, he was kidnapped by a rival and nearly got killed.
The Langleys buried it so deep, almost nobody knows about it.
He gaped at me, stunned. "How do you even know that?"
I just smiled and said, "Trust me, I know way more than you could ever imagine.
"Jeremiah, you thought you were so clever, but my dad pegged you for who you were the moment you set foot in our home.
"He only kept you close to see what kind of game you were playing.
"Your little revenge scheme? To my dad, it's just you playing house, pathetic and laughable."
Every word cut right where it hurt most, his pride.
His face shifted from rage to shock, then turned ghostly pale.
His elaborate revenge, the mask he thought no one could see through, had been nothing but a joke from the start.
He was the real clown in this story.
"No... it can't be..." he muttered, taking a step back like the ground had just vanished beneath him.
Seeing him so shattered, I didn't feel even a shred of triumph, just a cold, desolate emptiness inside.
Just then, a commanding voice rang out from downstairs.
"Jeremiah, what are you doing?"
Konnor was back.
He was standing at the top of the stairs.
He was in his fifties, but his posture was still ramrod straight. The years hadn't aged him. They'd just carved a deeper sense of authority and presence into his face.
He wore a black mandarin-collar jacket with frog buttons, slowly turning a string of Buddhist prayer beads in his hand. His eyes were sharp, and even without raising his voice, he commanded respect.
Jeremiah instantly wiped all emotion from his face, like a tamed leopard, all his wildness gone in an instant.
"Dad," he murmured.