Now, sitting beside me in the truck, he looked less angry than terrified.
For eighteen years I had watched him destroy furniture, punch walls, insult me, and then pretend nothing had happened the next morning. I had spent nearly two decades cleaning the emotional wreckage he left behind.
That night was different.
For the first time, people with power had witnessed the truth.
And Brandon knew it.
“You think Nathan Brooks cares about you?” he sneered. “You think some wealthy executive is going to rescue you?”
I finally pulled my wrist free.
“No,” I replied quietly. “I think I’m finally going to rescue myself.”
For a moment he looked genuinely shocked.
Then he laughed.
The sound followed me all the way into the house