The news hit me like a sucker punch, but it was her pause that piqued my interest. Without hesitation, I flew back, albeit with mixed emotions. My father was gone, and I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, courtesy of Vivien, who claimed he was too ill to have visitors in his final days. Her words were like a bitter echo in my mind: “He needs rest, Lucian. It’s the least you can do.”
A week later, I stood on the immaculate veranda of my childhood home. The atmosphere was tense, crackling with unspoken words and unfulfilled wishes. Today was the reading of my father’s will, and unsurprisingly, Vivien had already positioned herself as the magnanimous widow. Her children, Khloe and Elias, flanked her like guards, their expressions mirroring her smug satisfaction.
