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“And maybe you don’t remember, but he’s the one who broke up with me.”

“You didn’t do enough to keep him.”

I doubt Paloma told Mom the real reason Mark broke up with me. It’s just her catchall to explain my breakups: I didn’t do enough to keep the guy, give enough, put out enough, fawn over him enough, make him feel manly enough. It’s always been my fault, no matter how awful the guy was. Not that her way has ever won her any happily ever afters.

“It’s your blind spot,” she continues, sitting on the edge of the armchair opposite me. “You fell for the money, the nice cars, and the fancy suits. You let him do whatever he wanted to you.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ him do anything,” I snap, the fire of professional indignation flickering through my exhaustion. “My competence is not the issue here. My ability to judge character? Fine. Lay it on the line. I’m a disaster. But don’t you dare imply I wasn’t doing my job.”

“And look where it got you,” Mom says hotly. “He betrayed you and now you’re alone again. You’re going to be an old maid, ugly and alone.”

My hand goes to my stomach before I can stop it.

Alone, like me, is what she means. Alone, with a child she’ll blame for every man who walks out the door.

Something in me goes cold and very calm. I will never let this woman speak to my child the way she speaks to me. Not once. Not ever.

The words sting because I’m afraid they could be the truth. I was so sure about Sebastian, even after all my relationship failures.

I let another man breach my walls, and he shattered the entire fortress.

“Mom, I need to work.” I stand up, nearly tripping over the blanket in my haste to get away from her.

She blinks at me. “Are you kicking me out?”

“I need to figure out how to save my company now that the King Corp is a smoking crater,” I respond, heading for my home office.

She follows me.

“I can’t believe you’re kicking me out. You didn’t even ask me how I’m doing. How I’m feeling after Tony left. That’s just like you. You’re so caught up in your own life and the problems you caused, that you don’t give a damn about me.”

“You’re right. I can’t give a damn right now.”

The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them. But I’m too tired, exhausted down to the marrow of my bones. I’m hurting, and my heart is shattered. I’m numb, angry, and miserable, wishing a chasm would open up and swallow me whole so I could stop feeling anything.

Mom’s eyes widen, lighting up with a familiar indignation. I prepare for the barrage of insults she’s about to hurl my way.

But before she can say anything, something in me breaks. “Don’t you dare!” I snap. “You’re going to say the same things you’ve always said to me, and I really just don’t care anymore. Think whatever you want, blame me for whatever you want, but do it somewhere else. I’m too tired for this. I’m too tired for you.”

I march her toward the door, and from the shock on her face, she doesn’t quite grasp what’s happening. I shove her out, my hand on the door ready to slam it. “And if you stand outside and cause a scene, I will call the cops. Just try me.”

With that final warning, I slam the door in her face and lock it before turning on my heel and marching back to my office. I firmly close that door, too, and sink into my chair, the silence settling over me like a warm bath.

I finally stood up for myself after years of abuse from my mother. I should feel good, triumphant, but all I feel is empty.

My laptop screen is the only source of light in my office. It emits a harsh glow that hurts my eyes. For a few minutes, all I can do is stare at it. I’m itching beneath my skin, itching to do something. Inaction has always driven me crazy, and I’m desperate to distract myself by solving a problem instead of wallowing in self-pity.

Except how am I going to solve an unsolvable problem? How can I fix this? Should I fix this? Why would I want to after all Sebastian put me through? It would serve him right if he were to go down with the ship.

Except I still love him. I still believe there’s good in that man, even if his knee-jerk reaction was to do the wrong thing. Even if I didn’t still love him, I can’t let innocent people go to jail to cover for Julian King. He’s the one who doesn’t deserve to get away without any consequences. I know Sebastian has a conscience, even if it’s buried.

And there’s one more reason, one only I know about, tucked inside a hand towel in my work bag. I won’t let my baby’s father go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

Julian King is rotten from the inside out.

My phone lights up, and Marcus’s name flashes on the screen. I answer and put him on speaker.

“Marcus?”