17. KAISEN #2
The force of it snapped my head to the side, and I tasted blood where my teeth cut into my cheek.
“That’s for lying to me,” she said, her voice cold and steady. “Now come in and explain what the fuck is going on.”
I deserved that.
The thought came immediately, reflexively, as the sting spread across my cheek and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise my hand to my face. Didn’t protest.
I just stood there and took it.
Because she was right.
I had lied to her. By omission, by silence, by letting her believe I was just some guy who happened to cross her path at the park. By letting her think our connection was organic when it had been calculated from the start.
Not the feelings—those were real, fuck, those were the realest thing I’d felt in years—but the approach. The strategy. The manipulation.
I was complicit.
And she had every right to be furious.
“Okay,” I said quietly, my voice rougher than I intended.
Truth stepped back from the doorway, her eyes never leaving mine, and I followed her inside.
The house was small but clean. Modest. The kind of place someone chose when they were starting over. When they were building something new from the wreckage of what came before.
I thought about the house she’d lost in the divorce. The car. The credit score Phillip had destroyed. Everything she’d worked for, stripped away by a man who’d promised to love her.
And now she had this.
Her own space. Her own ground.
It wasn’t much, but it was hers.
And that mattered more than any mansion or estate ever could.
She led me into the living room and sat on the couch, her posture rigid, her hands folded in her lap. I sat next to her, leaving a respectful distance between us, and felt the anger radiating off her in waves.
It was palpable. Tangible. A living thing that filled the space between us.
I didn’t blame her.
“Talk,” she said, her voice clipped. “And don’t you dare lie to me again.”
I nodded and took a breath, trying to organize the chaos in my head into something coherent. Something that would make sense.
But how do you explain a family like mine? How do you make someone understand the dysfunction, the manipulation, the way power and control were woven into every interaction?
You can’t.
You just tell the truth and hope they see you’re trying.
“My father,” I started, my voice low, “Winston Landry—he owns the fertility clinic. New Beginnings.”
Truth’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“Every Landry man in our family has samples stored there,” I continued. “It’s part of the legacy. Part of the control. Winston’s way of ensuring the bloodline continues no matter what.”
The words tasted bitter on my tongue. Like admitting them out loud made them more real. More damning.
“Amai…” I paused, trying to find the right words. “Amai needs a surrogate to carry his child. I’m the reason for that.”
Truth’s expression shifted slightly. Not surprise. Recognition.
“I know about his condition,” she said quietly.
Of course she did. Amai would’ve told her. He’d have used it as part of his narrative—the tragic, damaged man who just wanted a family.
I nodded. “Winston didn’t believe Amai’s sperm would work. But Amai wanted an heir so badly he could taste it. So, Winston—” I stopped, the rage building in my chest, threatening to choke me. “Winston had the doctor use my sperm too. Without my consent. Without telling me.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Truth stared at me, her face unreadable, and I felt the weight of what I’d just said settle between us like a physical thing.
“I didn’t know,” I said, my voice breaking slightly. “I swear to God, Truth, I didn’t know initially. I found out after. And it was shitty—it was fucked up—not to be honest with you about it from the start.”
“The park,” Truth said, her voice sharp. “Was that planned?”
I wanted to lie. Wanted to tell her it was fate or coincidence or some bullshit romantic notion.
But I’d already lied enough.
“Yes.”
The word hung in the air between us, damning and final.
“Once I found out what my father did,” I continued, forcing myself to hold her gaze, “I had to know you. I read your file at Amai’s house—your background, your history, your divorce. But that wasn’t enough. I needed to be in your presence. I needed to see if—”
“If what?” Her voice was cold. “If I was worth the trouble?”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. “If what I was feeling was real. If the connection I felt reading about you translated to something real when I met you.”
Truth laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’re telling me you stalked me, manipulated me into a situationship, and now you want me to believe your feelings are genuine?”
“Yes.” I leaned forward, my hands clenched into fists on my knees. “Because they are. Everything I feel for you is real, Truth. You know it. I know you know it.”
She looked away, her jaw tight.
“Amai said you would do this,” she said quietly. “He said you’d approach me while I was broken and put me back together in your image.”
The accusation hit like a physical blow.
“That’s not true.” My voice was rough, desperate. “Amai’s projecting. He’s the one who breaks people and rebuilds them to suit his needs. That’s how he operates. That’s how he’s always operated.”
I thought about Yahmaria. About the women before her. About the way Amai consumed people until there was nothing left but what he wanted them to be.
“I’m not him,” I said, and I meant it. “I’m not trying to control you or mold you into something you’re not. I just—” I stopped, the words catching in my throat. “I just want to be there for you. For the baby. If it’s mine.”
Truth turned back to me, her eyes searching my face.
“My family thinks I’m a fuck up,” I said, the confession spilling out before I could stop it.
“Yeah, I’m listed on boards at the company.
I hold positions. But they think I’m worthless.
Winston thinks I’m a disappointment. Amai thinks I’m a thorn in his side.
I’m not looking for pity—I’m just telling you the truth. It’s just what it is.”
The admission burned. Not because it was new—I’d lived with that reality my entire life—but because saying it out loud to her made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.
Truth was quiet for a long moment, her hands still folded in her lap, her expression unreadable.
“The entire situation is fucking with my mind,” she said finally, her voice softer now but no less intense. “I look calm. I look like I’m handling it. But I’m losing my shit internally about all this.”
Something in my chest loosened at her honesty. At the vulnerability beneath the anger.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “I’m sorry my father violated your body. Used it for his own selfish needs. I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of this family’s dysfunction.”
I paused, trying to find the right words.
“If it’s okay with you,” I continued, “I’d like to still be there for you. If it’s my child, I want to be part of their life. I want to be a real father. Not like Winston. Not like the man who raised me to believe I was worthless unless I was useful.”
Truth looked at me for a long moment, her eyes sharp and assessing.
“You’ll be part of their life regardless,” she said finally. “Because it’s a Landry. According to Amai, he has every intention of using that contract against me if I refuse to be with him.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Of course, Amai would weaponize the contract. Of course he’d use it as leverage to keep her close.
“That’s what Amai does,” I said, the bitterness seeping into my voice. “He takes. When he doesn’t get his way, he takes what he wants. He hates being told no.”
I thought about the concrete hole. About the darkness and the suffocation and the terror of not knowing if I’d ever get out.
Amai didn’t just hate being told no.
He punished it.
“Well, he better get used to it,” Truth said, her voice firm, “because I’m done letting him try to run me.”
The conviction in her voice—the steel beneath the exhaustion—made something shift in my chest.
She wasn’t backing down.
She wasn’t accepting the manipulation, the control, or the power plays.
She was standing her ground.
And that was more attractive than anything I’d ever seen.
I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw not the broken woman I’d read about in the file, not the victim of Phillip’s betrayal or Winston’s manipulation, but someone who’d been through hell and come out the other side not tolerating bullshit.
Someone who refused to be a pawn.
Someone who was done being moved around a board she didn’t choose to play on.
“I believe you,” I said quietly.
Truth’s eyes met mine, and for the first time since I’d arrived, I saw something other than anger in them.
Not forgiveness. Not trust.
But acknowledgment.
She saw me. Not as Amai’s brother or Winston’s disappointment or the Landry fuck-up.
Just as Kaisen.
A man who’d made mistakes. Who’d been complicit in a violation he didn’t orchestrate but didn’t stop. Who was trying—desperately, imperfectly—to be better than the legacy he’d been born into.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady. “I don’t know if I can trust any of you.”
“I know.”
“But I need answers. Real ones. Not the sanitized version Amai gives me. Not the manipulative bullshit your father probably feeds everyone.”
I nodded. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you the truth.”
Truth studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching my face for any sign of deception.
“Why did you really pursue me?” she asked. “And don’t give me that ‘I needed to know you’ bullshit. What did you want?”
The question cut deeper than the slap had.
Because the answer was complicated. Messy. Tangled up in jealousy and resentment and a desperate need to prove I was more than what my family believed me to be.
But she’d asked for the truth.
So, I gave it to her.