Chapter 36

From the moment Amaya left Chase's office, she called the forbidden number of her father after receiving a message from her best friend Mary. Mary insisted on saying hello, but the moment it rang, Amaya knew she’d be recalling old memories. She’d been bracing for this confrontation.

However, no matter that she told herself it was ridiculous, no amount of deep breathing, steeling her nerves, or trying to remember how far in the past it all was could calm her in any way as she called her father for the first time in years. She could feel her hands shaking.

She paused at the entrance to her own room.

Not that her father would ever admit to his seventy years. He’d had work done on his face several times, had hair plugs to arrest a threatening bald patch, and continued to wear designer clothes better suited to a man half his age.

But pots of money, cosmetic work, or fancy clothes couldn’t buy health, and that was one thing he didn’t have these days.

Five years ago, he tried to guilt her into quitting her job and returning to look after him as he grew older and more bitter. He’d nearly succeeded. However, some deep part of her had resisted his pressure, not only because she had gotten herself pregnant. Not that the old man knew.

He had been a cruel tyrant who’d controlled her life until she’d come into a small inheritance from her mom when she’d turned eighteen and fled as far from him as she could get. She simply couldn’t go back to the hell she’d left behind.

In her heart, she desperately wanted to be anywhere but in front of the man who would have ruined her life if she’d let him, but her pride wouldn’t let her pay a visit to her hometown and not see him. She was older and stronger—surely she could stand to face him now? She had called him because Mary insisted, and today she wanted to prove to herself that she’d finally set the past to rest. Working harder and longer than everyone else might keep the memory demons at bay, but she knew if she stopped and slowed down her frenetic pace, the old fears could come crowding back to fling her right back to the dim, dark place ten years earlier.

And she’d be damned if she let that happen. In a way, she should thank dear old Dad for shaping her into the woman she is today: strong, capable, and successful—everything he’d said she’d never be.

But there was more to this call, and she knew it, no matter how much she tried to argue the contrary.

She was here because of hope.

Hope that he might have changed. Hope that after all this time they might actually have a shot at some semblance of a normal father-daughter relationship.

And if not? Well, she was different now: a woman on top of her career, a woman who depended on no one, a woman a far cry from the victim she’d once been.

She’d vowed back then never to be helpless again and had instigated huge steps to eradicate the confusion and fear, yet as she stood on the threshold to this room, trepidation tripped across her skin as the anxiety she’d fought to conquer over the last decade clawed at her belly.

"How are you, Dad?"

"Much the same," his voice was deep and full of anger. "No thanks to you."

Taking several deep breaths, she perched on the edge of her bed, willing the dread to subside and hating the vulnerability hearing his voice elicited.

She needed to do this; she needed to see if there was the slightest chance for them before she returned to the city.

She took a deep breath and said, "You sound good."

He grunted in response, as if she knew, his surly expression putting a serious dent in her hopes for some kind of reconciliation.

"Why did you call, Amaya?" Another monosyllabic grunt as his frown deepened and her patience wore a little thinner.

"Dad, I really think it’s time to—"

"To what?" His snarl caught her off guard despite his churlishness, yet it wasn’t his response that saddened her as much as the contempt in his voice.

She’d been a fool to hope for anything other than what she got: more of the same from a boorish man who didn’t give a hoot about her.

"Mary told me that maybe you—you wanted to talk."

He showed no interest and seemed bored more than anything else. Faced with his silence, she could not help asking him:

"Bollocks!"

She sighed and began pacing her room. "Don’t you want to know how I am? What have I been doing? What have I achieved?"

His withering, heavy breathing on the other end of the line clued her into his response before he spoke. "I don’t give a damn any more."

Pain sliced Amaya’s heart in two, the old familiar questions reverberating through her head: What did I do wrong? Why did you stop loving me? Could I have done anything differently?

But she wasn’t the same scared teenager any more.

She had her career now; she had a son, and she’d be damned if she paced there and took any of his crap.

Resisting the urge to end the call, she finally muttered with the same pain in her voice, "Maybe you should give a damn. That way, you’d know I work hard, that I have a son, that I’m good at what I do, and that I’ve done it all on my own, no thanks to you."

She’d come here with some semblance of the idealistic girl she’d once been, but that girl vanished beneath his lack of caring, and she wanted to rub his nose in her independence, in her success, in the proof she’d survived despite what he’d put her through.

If she’d thought her outburst would provoke a reaction and gain recognition for her achievements, she should’ve known better.

He glowered and drew himself up, resembling the towering giant of a man she remembered as he rammed his cane against the floor.

"You’re a fool if you think I care about any of that, Amaya. And I don't care if you have a son."

Her heart ached as she stared at the window and thought about her biological father, but he didn’t know the meaning of the word.

She could rant and rave and fling past hurts or present triumphs in his face, but what would be the point? He listened to no one but himself.

"Sorry you feel that way. I thought…"

What? That the old despot might’ve changed, might’ve mellowed with time and illness? Not likely. If anything, his belligerence had worsened, and she’d been crazy to come here, setting the past to rest while hoping for a miracle.

His father's voice deepened. "Thought what? I’d welcome you with open arms after all this time?" he snorted.

She’d cried rivers of wasted tears when she was a teenager for all this man had put her through, and there was no way she’d allow him to reduce her to tears again.

With a shake of her head, she turned away, ready to end the call.

"That’s it, run away again. Though this time, you won’t have a penny of mine to cushion you when you fall."

Icy foreboding trickled down her spine as she slowly swung back to face him.

"What did you just say?"

In his voice, she knew his malevolent grin raised goose bumps on her skin. "You heard Amaya. That money from your mother? It was a crock. She never left you a cent. That was my money you squandered on your little trip, my money that supported your education, my money that made sure you didn’t end up in the gutter."

She staggered, leaned against the window of her room for support, her gut twisting with the painful truth.

Before she could end the call, her father’s voice added, "So, daughter dearest, it looks like you owe me after all."

With his words ringing in her ears, she stumbled to the bed. "Don't worry, father, I'll pay you every single penny," she muttered before ending the call.

She’d thought she’d escaped his stranglehold many years earlier, had fought hard for her independence, and had found safety and confidence in her career.

She’d been wrong.

Right then, she vowed to do whatever it took to pay off her debt.

You owe me...

With the hateful truth ringing in her ears, her head snapped up as she straightened, knowing what she had to do.

There was only one thing that would clear a debt of that magnitude, and, right now, gaining her promotion was a necessity. If she was married to Chase, whether it was a fake or contracted marriage, he could help her with her promotion, and promotion means more money, which means she could pay his father.

In choosing between owing her dad a huge amount of money and agreeing to Chase’s outlandish proposal, marrying him would be the lesser of two evils.