CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Blair
My eyes fluttered open. The daylight poured through the windows, and I shielded my eyes with my hand, groaning against the sudden assault. My head pounded, and my mouth was too dry. I shouldn’t have drunk last night . . .
Last night. Zach.
The memory of everything I’d said and done crashed over me, and I buried my face in my hands, ashamed for losing it so easily with him.
I’d completely opened up to him. A few beers, and I was spilling it all out, as if a dam had burst, revealing everything I’d kept inside me. He could use all that against me now.
My mind took me to how different he’d felt and the way he’d looked at me, and something warmed in me. A smile I couldn’t contain erupted over my face before I suppressed it. Last night didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
But then I thought about how he’d opened up a bit too, and it made me feel like maybe he trusted me a little. That notion made my heart skip a beat.
With a sigh, I moved to get up, checking the time on the nightstand clock—
“Shit!” I had to be at the food kitchen in less than an hour.
I rushed to take a shower and get dressed before breakfast, opting for a plain white button-up shirt and jeans with no labels or other details that would stand out.
As I stuffed a sandwich into my mouth, I left a voicemail for the investigator, telling him his services weren’t needed anymore.
There was no reason for him to keep digging.
Besides, I didn’t feel like acquiring information on Zach behind his back anymore.
Within ten minutes, I was walking out of the house. Luckily, my mom was nowhere in sight. I didn’t want her to bother me about my choice of clothes.
It was a twenty-minute ride from my house to the soup kitchen, located in a poor neighborhood far from the town center, which painted a picture of an affluent town where the rich thrived and the poor didn’t exist. The place was old and in need of renovation, a project my mother had promised to raise funds for years ago, but it had never come to pass.
As a result, the faded gray paint, cracked entry canopy, and the mounted sign above the entry with missing letters welcomed the visitors.
A sorry excuse for flowering shrubs flanked the entrance, their wilted flowers nestled among the shriveled leaves.
I recognized a few people working for Mom’s organization standing close by, along with Ruby, whose expression slackened when she saw my clothes.
She wound her arm around mine and ushered me under the shade of the nearby cottonwood tree. “You’re supposed to be wearing an Armani suit.”
“There’s been a change of plans.”
Her thinly plucked eyebrows settled into a deep frown. “Your mother couldn’t have approved it.”
“She didn’t.”
“What? I’m calling her.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket.
I placed my hand over her phone. “Don’t. I won’t change my mind about this.”
She only pursed her lips in response, but I was sure there was a level seven disaster going on inside her.
She was as controlling and neurotic as my mother.
Everything had to be in perfect order and follow a plan.
It was why she and my mom had been working together for so long.
I could imagine her reaction when she realized no media was coming.
“Let me get you inside.”
The sounds of clattering and clanking greeted me as we passed the workstation on our way to the kitchen, where several staff members carried out their tasks.
Ruby ushered me inside the kitchen and introduced me to the kitchen staff and other volunteers.
She handed me an apron and gloves to wear before she told me what was expected of me, and I noted with relief that it was the same apron everyone wore and not some customized bullshit my mother could’ve organized for me to stand out.
One of the volunteers spent the next twenty minutes explaining to me how the kitchen worked, and then I was on my way to the workstation, carrying boxes of food.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ruby pacing up and down, and through the next twenty minutes, as the people started coming in, her anxiety became even more obvious.
She secluded herself by the entrance to the kitchen and put her phone to her ear.
“What do you mean they’re not coming?” she said seconds later. “They have to come, goddammit!”
Her loud curse attracted looks from a few people in the serving line, and I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress a smile.
I mustn’t have suppressed it well enough because Ruby threw one look at me and was in front of me in an instant, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You know something.”
“I called them to cancel.”
Her eyes widened. “You did what?”
My gaze bounced between the people waiting to get their fill and her. “You’re standing in their way, Ruby.”
“We need them here,” she hissed, moving to the side only by a few inches.
I leaned in to whisper to her. “No, we don’t. And if you try to make them come, I’ll make a scene so bad my mom will regret ever sending me here.”
Her nostrils flared. I could see my disobedience took her aback.
After all, she’d never witnessed me challenge anything.
But it felt good. It felt good to finally voice my thoughts and do what I wanted to do instead of what was expected of me.
These people weren’t our puppets for promotion.
They were real humans with lives, and as I watched them pass in front of me one by one, I felt something unraveling inside me.
More than their old, worn, or cheap clothes, I watched their faces. Their expressions carried lines of either despair, hopelessness, gratitude, or exhaustion, and some had bleak and empty eyes, as though they didn’t care where they ended up, and my heart clenched.
These people were dealt a bad hand in life. The people with no connections, no options. No certainty about what tomorrow would bring. It was summer now, so they didn’t have to worry about the cold at least, but what about the winter?
I’d always had choices. I never had to go through my life wondering what the point was or why time didn’t matter because all the days blended.
I never had to worry about the cold or hunger, and I never once thought about how not everyone was so lucky.
What if I were them? What if I were on the other side of the counter, depending on this place to survive?
I would want help. I would like someone to see me.
I would want to know that at the end of the day, it wasn’t all the same.
A young woman stopped in front of me a couple of hours later, and my gaze snagged on the necklace peeking out from her shirt.
It had a wooden pendant, which was carved with a picture of a couple holding hands and a date.
It seemed to have a history behind it, and it made me wonder what her story was.
“That’s a beautiful necklace.”
The woman’s eyes dropped down, her lips forming a slight smile. “Thank you.” Her voice wavered.
I angled my head. “Did I say something wrong?”
She raised her gaze, covering the pendant with her hand. “No, not at all. It’s just that, um, the necklace is from my husband. It’s the date when we got married. He’s . . . passed away.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. You must miss him a lot.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. It’s been hard since he died. He was my everything, and now I’m all alone, and I lost my job recently, and I . . . Sorry. I don’t want to bother you with this.”
Her words struck a deep chord within me, and once more, I felt the unfairness of this world. She didn’t have anyone to help and had to live with uncertainty, her voice unheard.
But what if her voice could be heard? And not just hers.
So many people had a story to share, a memory that shaped them and changed the course of their life, for better or worse, and I had a way to tell them.
I was already telling mine, albeit secretly.
But what if, instead of using my TikTok for useless, shallow posts and promotions, I could address real problems?
The woman moved to leave.
“Wait,” I said.
She turned around.
“What’s your name?”
“Paula.”
“Paula, I’d like to talk more with you later when I finish, if that’s okay with you.”
Her eyes lit up. “Of course.”
As she moved to the side, my gaze found Zach’s from across the room, and I stopped breathing.
He was leaning against the wall by the entrance, his arms folded over his chest, observing me without moving, his hair tucked aside to reveal the scar on his face.
His expression was unreadable, but there was something about it—about his dark, captivating eyes—that sent a legion of butterflies to my belly.
What was he doing here? His shift was far from over.
Another person stopped for me to serve them, and I broke our gaze. The next time I was able to look up, he was gone, but his image stayed with me, making me feel exhilarated.
It was a challenge to keep my smile off my face for the rest of the afternoon.
Excitement swirled inside me as I headed to the back room, where Paula waited for me.
I’d had enough time to plan it all out. I could start a series of videos on TikTok dedicated to helping people in need, with a call to action.
It was so not what my content was, but maybe it was a time for change.
Perhaps it was time for me to care more about others and less about myself.
I no longer had to bother with sponsors.
I could start something of my own and help those who truly needed it.
Not like Mom and others, who just threw ostentatious parties for the rich to raise money for obscure organizations or projects that didn’t really matter.
The more I formulated this new plan, the more right it felt, and for the first time, I felt this was the real me.
I sat down opposite Paula at the table in the corner. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
“No problem. I was curious about what you wanted to talk about.”
“There’s more to your story, right? So here’s the thing—I feel like people would be interested in hearing it. Some would want to help.”
“How would you go about that?”
“I thought about filming you and sharing your story through my TikTok account. I have over half a million subscribers, and I’m confident it could reach many more. Your story would be the first of many I’d share, so that your voices could be heard. What do you think?”
“Umm . . .” She licked her lips.
“What’s the matter?”
She glanced down at the table. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . Never mind.”
“No, it’s okay. You can tell me anything you want.”
“You looked familiar to me earlier, but now I know. You’re his daughter.”
I went still. “What do you mean?”
“You’re the daughter of the man responsible for my husband’s death.”
My pulse jacked up. “What?”
She looked at her hands intertwined in front of her on the table. “I’m not sure I should talk about this to you.”
“No, I need to know. What did my dad do?”
“How can I know you won’t go and tell your father everything I tell you?”
“Because I don’t plan on him knowing we ever talked. My dad and I . . . we don’t have the best relationship.”
“I don’t know if I should believe you.”
“You should.”
I noticed her trembling hands as she tried to hide them between her thighs. She stayed quiet.
“Okay, then. I won’t push you if you don’t want to talk about it. If you change your mind, here’s my number.” I wrote my number on a Post-it note I’d pulled from my bag and slid it across the table to her. “Call me anytime you want.” I started to stand.
“Wait.” She reached for my hand, stopping me. “I-I’ll tell you.”
I sat back, waiting patiently as she looked off into the distance, her throat working.
“He illegally demolished our house to build an apartment complex. We were left homeless, and soon after, my husband got terribly sick. He died last year.”
Oh my God.
“I tried getting justice, but the case never reached trial. The prosecution dismissed it, claiming there was no evidence to support it. It’s another proof of your dad’s connections in this town.”
I pressed my hand to my mouth. This was huge. Rumors were one thing, but this was something else entirely. Here she was, a woman directly influenced by my dad’s ruthlessness, and to this day, she had not received justice. It made me feel dirty. It made me feel like I was part of it.
“I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“If you had proof, would you try suing him again?”
She frowned. “Why are you asking me this? To silence me?”
“No. I want justice. Just like you.”
“Even if it’s your own father?”
I dropped my gaze. What was I doing? Was I really suggesting that this woman go against my father? But what was the alternative?
What had Zach said? We never thought twice about ruining people’s lives, and I’d defended us. Even then, I could glimpse the truth, but I chose not to see it. I chose to do nothing about it.
She stood. “You know what? Forget about all of this. You didn’t hear anything from me.”
“Wait. Can you at least give me your number? So we can stay in touch.”
“I don’t see a reason.”
“I’d like to anyway.”
She rubbed her chin, looking to the side. With a sigh, she reached for her phone. “Okay.”
She gave me her number and then left. I remained seated at the table for a long time, feeling sick. What else have my parents done? How many more people did they trample over?
And where was the end?
I stepped outside to call an Uber. I glanced around for any sign of Zach, not that I knew why since he’d just left without a word, and I hadn’t seen him since.
Of course, the street was empty, except for a sleek, black Range Rover pulling my way, and I came to an abrupt stop with my stomach knotting.
That was William’s car.