Unmasking the Family Lie

The mahogany walls of Father's study seemed to close in around me as I sat across from him, watching the deep lines etched into his face deepen with each passing second. The scent of old leather and bourbon hung heavy in the air—a smell that once meant comfort but now only reminded me of all the conversations we'd never had, all the truths he'd refused to hear.

"The creditors won't wait any longer, Rylie." His voice carried the weight of a man who'd aged decades in the span of ten years. "Henderson Industries is demanding collateral for the loan extension, or they'll seize everything. The business, the house, everything your mother and I built."

I kept my hands folded in my lap, fighting the urge to touch the small scar on my palm—the one I'd gotten the night everything fell apart. "And what does this have to do with me?"

His gray eyes, so much like my own, couldn't quite meet mine. They never could anymore. "There's a businessman in Manhattan. Jett Reyes. He's... unusual. Reclusive. They say he's scarred from some accident, never shows his face in public. But he has the capital we need."

The name meant nothing to me, but something about the way Father's shoulders tensed when he said it made my skin prickle. "Go on."

"He's agreed to provide the loan, but he wants... security. A family member to stay in Manhattan as collateral until the debt is settled."

The words hit me like ice water. After ten years of being treated like a pariah in my own home, now I was valuable enough to be used as currency. "You want to trade one of your daughters to a stranger."

"It's not trading, it's—" He stopped, running a hand through his thinning hair. "It's temporary. Just until we can restructure the debt."

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Let me guess. You've already decided it should be me."

The silence stretched between us like a chasm. Outside, I could hear Kaitlyn's melodic laughter drifting through the house as she played piano—the same piano our mother had taught her to play. The same piano I'd been banned from touching after that horrible night.

"Kaitlyn is... fragile," Father finally said, the familiar excuse rolling off his tongue like a prayer he'd memorized. "After what happened with your mother, she's never fully recovered. The trauma—"

"The trauma of murdering someone would be difficult to get over," I said quietly.

His face went white, then flushed red with anger. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare speak about your mother's death like that. Haven't you done enough?"

Ten years. Ten years of this same conversation, this same wall of denial. But something was different today. Maybe it was the desperation in his eyes, or the way his hands shook slightly as he reached for his bourbon. Maybe it was simply that I had nothing left to lose.

"I'll go," I said.

He blinked, clearly expecting more of