Chapter 25
Sam
In a perfect world, I would have been born to your average American family.
We’d have grown up with a white picket fence—or a chain link one; I’m not picky—and a yard big enough to play catch or have a dog or spend evenings grilling hot dogs and hamburgers with the neighbors.
Our house wouldn’t have to be large. Or fancy.
Or even ours. Renting would be fine, too, not that I would have known the difference as a child.
But we would have been happy. We could have been normal.
Just me, Mom, and Dad.
In a way, it’s still the three of us in this house.
My dad hasn’t changed anything since Mom died; the decor is still hers, and the five foot tall family portrait hanging over the fireplace is frozen in time, reminiscent of the Romanovs before they fell.
Sometimes, I wonder if there’s a curse on families like ours, ones who extend their reach beyond mortal limits.
The Wright family name shouldn’t have as much power as it does, and yet, my father has enough sway to curb local elections and influence the city’s growth, helping new storefronts he deems worthwhile and ignoring all the rest.
When my mother was alive, she was the chairwoman on a lot of different committees.
They met in our dining room and drank tea from our finest chinaware.
Together, my parents were an unstoppable force capable of bypassing red tape and creating change within the city.
For a long time, I wanted to be just like them.
Influential and well-liked among both peers and professional adversaries, with a doting wife and loving family.
Until I realized that it was all a lie.
I have no doubt that my father loved my mother, and I believe that when they first met, she fell head over heels for the confident, multi-million dollar heir to the Wright legacy.
They began working together philanthropically before they ever got married, I’ve been told, and I think that seeded their interest in each other.
Everything I’ve seen or heard about my parents’ sparkling reputation has been through the rose-tinted glasses of the public eye, which misses the heart of their relationship… or lack thereof.
My mother was as much a prisoner in my father’s world as I am today. Which, suddenly, is suffocating.
I’ve spent years pretending that I have autonomy—attending a local college instead of an Ivy League, driving around a beat-up old pickup truck that a friend sold me for dirt cheap, playing football and spending hours on the practice field to avoid ever going home.
But the reality is that no matter how far I think I’ve pulled away from my father, with one snap of his fingers, he can rope me back in and tighten the knots.
Standing in his office while he stares disapprovingly at me feels a lot like being a cockroach under his shoe. He’s waiting for the moment I sense freedom lurking just out of reach—for that tiny, glimmer of hope—before he breaks me.
Despite the hour of night, my father is dressed as though he’s come directly from a board meeting.
For all I know, he may have just finished berating some poor employees who didn’t meet their monthly quota, and I’m next in line for a verbal lashing.
When he finally speaks, I brace myself for the worst.
“Do you know why I’ve allowed you to entertain this fantasy of yours for so long?”
The best response is silence, but I can’t help myself. “And what fantasy would that be?”
My father’s perfect smile turns cruel. “That you have a choice, son. In any of this.” He stands and slowly makes his way to the built-in bar beside the unlit fireplace. “There are things outside of our control. Your birthright is one of them. You cannot deny it, much like I can’t deny it from you.”
“I’m sure you could find an all-too-eager replacement.” The glassware clinks as my father pours himself a drink. “I don’t want your money or your legacy, and I sure as hell don’t want your name.”
He turns around and walks closer. With one hand gripped tightly around his glass, he slaps me with the other.
The liquid sloshes over the side and stains the rug, joining the red welt on my cheek as the only evidence of my provocation.
“Neither of us has a choice in this, Samson.” He leans on the edge of his white marble desk as he takes a sip of his drink.
“Your mother died before she could produce a more suitable heir, so as regrettable as it is, you are all I have.”
I was sixteen when mom died. They should have had plenty of time to procreate. “I bet you suck in bed, don’t you?”
My father stops breathing.
“Can’t get it up anymore? Or maybe that was the problem all along. I’m your miracle child, born from the one time you could actually finish. What, did she deny you, too? Is that why you’re so fucking frigid? Couldn’t even get it on with your own wife—”
This time, he throws his drink at my face.
I dodge, and the sound of shattering glass fills the room.
Both of us fall silent and still. I need to play nice in order to figure out what he has on Mercy’s family, and he needs to play nice-ish so that I don’t burn his entire legacy to the ground.
We’re at a stalemate, and we both know it.
He clasps his hands together and looks me in the eye.
“You know what’s at stake, don’t you? That girl you’ve been watching, her family—” His eyes flash silver in the moonlight.
“They’re inconsequential compared to the bigger picture.
I’m providing you with a future.” Glancing at my mother’s portrait hanging over the mantle, he frowns.
“All they can give you is a family that’s just as broken as ours. ”
I follow his gaze and study my mother’s face.
She looks elegant in a white gown and pearls, with a subtle smile that illuminates her vibrant eyes.
My father believes that we’re broken because my mother is missing.
I could yell myself hoarse proving him wrong, but it won’t matter.
To him, I’m the shitty consolation prize he got for loving a woman as radiant as the sun.
She burned so brightly that her body gave out long before any of us were ready.
But I’m not planning on marrying the sun.
I’m in love with the gentle pull of the moon.
Drawing a breath, I swallow my feelings and lock them away in a box inside my chest. If I’m going to play my father’s game, I have to stay sharp.
The only way I can help Mercy now is to undo whatever contracts my father holds over the Morningstars.
It will take time. Precious time that I’d rather spend with the woman I love. But…
If I have to sacrifice my desires to keep her safe, so be it.
I’ll become the son my father always wanted.
It’s a price that only I can pay.