Zach
“Oh, I’m sorry darling, but this is a busy time for me. Perhaps if you came over for a couple of days on, say, the twenty-eighth?”
Her saccharine tone made my stomach turn.
The birth mother who’d signed my rights away had no time for me on Christmas. I laughed. The sound was caustic to my own ears.
“Only two days?” I asked. “So you can get back to partying for the new year?”
“It’s simply business, darling. These social events keep me relevant and my brand alive.”
“Fuck you, mother,” I said, and hung up.
What had I been thinking, calling her? I don’t know how my dad lasted so long with her.
I sighed, head slumping down. I did know. He stayed for me.
This left me with two options: drive to Isabella’s house or find a nearby hotel. I slammed my fist on the steering wheel, then took a deep breath, ignoring the pain blooming across my knuckles.
Hotel first. Then Christmas at Isabella’s.
After all, part of that house was my dad’s.
? ? ?
I parked my car on the street since there were three cars in the driveway. The luxury SUV stopped me in my tracks. The twin turbo-charged four-litre V8 engine was highly regarded in the Aston Martin DBX707.
I peered in at the interior, and it was as impressive as the dark forest green on the outside. Even with my access to my trust fund, I couldn’t afford a 200k-plus vehicle like this.
The icy wind cut across my face, cold enough that I wanted to rub my nose raw. I pushed my backpack strap back into place and strode towards the front door, wondering how Isabella had managed to land a vehicle like that.
I pressed the doorbell and waited.
The door opened and my speech withered and died on the spot.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The man was tall, and I was a little over six feet myself, but he didn’t carry the muscle mass I did.
“Luke Newbury,” he said smoothly, leaning on the wooden door frame. “And you must be Zachary Rayne.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, moving forward, but he blocked my path.
His fingers curled around my coat, and he stepped close.
“My girlfriend has worked exceedingly hard to make this a special day, Zach, so be mindful of your manners once you step inside this home.”
My eyes widened. The old man was a fucking psycho.
“Oh my god, Zach,” Isabella cried, and rushed forward.
The prick released me immediately and stepped out of the way.
Isabella wrapped her arms around me.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered. “So glad you came.”
I awkwardly patted her back, but my eyes stayed on the older man. The new man in her life. It stung even more when I thought of my dad.
I pulled back.
Then, at the back of the hallway.
A flash of red.
No—a continuous flash.
Amber stood there in a stupid green Christmas sweater, flashing lights strung around a reindeer’s head, tangled through its antlers.
And beneath that sweater was a shape I didn’t recognise.
“Hello, little sister,” I murmured, smirking, while the old bastard closed the door behind me.
The bastard slapped my back hard enough to push me forward, then planted his hand on my shoulder to pull me back.
“So this is your son. A fine young man.”
I flinched at the word.
Son.
Isabella beamed and clasped her hands together beneath her chin.
“Oooh. We are all home for Christmas,” she exclaimed, her eyes shining bright.
Tacky old decorations were strung up everywhere, and I could smell sweet cinnamon and a faint hint of turkey. Memories of Dad clawed their way back. My attitude back then. When he fell ill. What broke me beyond repair.
Just for a moment, I closed my eyes.
The floorboards creaked.
Amber moved forward.
Just like her recent posts. Gone were the buck-ugly teeth and frizzy mess. I didn’t recognize this auburn-haired witch. Height had never been in her favour, thanks to Isabella.
“Zach,” she murmured, barely a whisper.
My lip curled in disgust.
My father had taught her how to ride a bike, tackle in football, and taken her to dance classes. All time that had been stolen from me—his son.
“Is my room free?” I asked, turning to Isabella.
“Of course. Take your things upstairs. Amber, can you clear the laundry airer out of his room?”
“Sure, Mum,” she said, making a beeline for the stairs.
Luke fuckface moved forward, placing his hand on Isabella’s hip before whispering something in her ear. She laughed and slapped his shoulder. He turned and gave me a sly look.
“Come to the kitchen, and we can catch up once you’re settled,” Isabella said, but the bastard was already leading her away.
I’d stayed away for too long. I needed to look into this Newbury cunt.
I glanced upstairs as they vanished into the kitchen.
Amber.
I climbed the stairs, two at a time.