His smirk curves into something cold as he brings the glass of scotch to his lips. “Exactly.”
God, I hate him.
He wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, he was a real fucking dad—the kind of dad who let me sit on his lap during meetings, who brought my mom flowers for no reason, wholookedat me like I mattered.
But that version of him vanished the moment his business took off. When he reached billionaire status, he didn’t just change—he became consumed by it. Money turned into his religion. Power became his obsession. And my mother? She was the only thing that kept him even slightly human, until he started treating her like shit too.
When she died, whatever emotion he had left died with her. Now, all he cares about is his net worth, his image, and the carousel of bleached-blonde bottle girls he cycles through like he’s collecting broken Barbies.
I straighten my shoulders, trying not to shake as I spit the words out. “So tell me, why’d you even bother having me fly back here? Was this just a chance to throw bank statements at me and call me a disappointment to my face?”
He sips his scotch like I’m an inconvenience interrupting his curated life.
“Catalina, you’ve been a disappointment.”
That single word hits me like a tidal wave.
“All you do is spendmymoney like it’s Monopoly cash, with zero accountability,” he continues. “I’m done cleaning up after your fucking mess. I’ve made arrangements for you to stay with my friend, Carter. He owns a cattle ranch in Tennessee, and you, my dear, are going to fucking help him.”
I blink. Carter who?
He takes a slow step forward, adjusting the cufflinks onhis suit. “You think life’s some endless vacation I’m footing the bill for?” he sneers, shaking his head. “That shit ends now!”
He jabs a finger in the air, voice rising. “I’ll pay for this fucking flight to Tennessee, and you’ll haul your ass there, work on that ranch, and finally learn what it’s like to earn a dollar instead of bleed me dry.”
He turns his back on me for a beat, pacing, before spinning around with venom in his eyes. “No more cards, no more staff, no more playing heiress while you spiral.” His voice drops low, measured, and cold. “You want food? Figure it out. You want gas? Earn it.” He steps closer, lowering his voice to a vicious whisper. “You’re cut off, Catalina.”
His lip curls. “You’ll be stuck there for six months, dealing with whatever shit you’ve got going on. And if you don’t come back with some fucking maturity?” He leans in, gaze sharp as a blade. “Don’t fucking come back at all.”
My mouth opens to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. For a second, I stare at him as I toy with the sleeves of my sweatshirt, swallowing the tears that are threatening to escape. There’s no point in arguing about this arrangement.
The further away I am from him, the better.
catalina
. . .
“Catalina, you’ve been a disappointment.”
That singular word won’t stop playing in my head, over and over, like some sick playlist on repeat that I never asked to hear. My brain picks it apart, turning it inside out, trying to understand how the fuck he could say that so easily. Like I haven’t been bending over backwards for years, playing the part of the perfect daughter.
I went to the galas. I smiled on command. I wore the designer dresses and posed like some shiny prop on his arm. I even let him parade me around to potential business partners and their creepy, over-gelled sons, setting me up on fake dates like I was just another one of his strategic assets.
Barf.
The leather seat beneath me is soft and stupidly expensive, buttery smooth under my sweats. My leg bounces, tapping out a frantic rhythm against the floor of the jet like I’m trying to shake the panic out of my system. The cabin’s quiet, except for the low hum of the engines and the occasional bump of turbulence I barelyregister.
My heart on the other hand, it’s losing its damn mind—every beat slams against my chest, trying to claw its way out. My pulse is wild, erratic, and no matter how hard I try to keep it together, I feel like I’m one breath away from a full-on meltdown.
Breathe, Catalina.
I suck in a shaky breath through my nose, blowing it out hard through my mouth, like that’ll make the tightening sensation go away. It fucking doesn’t.
But, I do it again anyway.
My anxiety’s been a shitshow after my mom passed. I tried telling him once that something was wrong, that I wasn’t okay. All he told me that I was being fucking dramatic and said to go lay down.
Classic.
