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“He looked like an angel. Literally, like a Raphael painting of an angel. Blond hair and dimpled cheeks, this smile everyone went crazy for. I was the dark one. The problematic one. The one with a learning disability and a temper so unpredictable they had to put me on medication when I was barely a teenager. I just . . . never . . . fit.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. His face was a grimace, full of anguish and bad memories, ruddy with alcohol, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Linc was being groomed to take over the company. It was the logical choice, him being eldest and so nice.” Jackson said the word nice like an accusation. His dark gaze flashed up to meet mine. “But the thing was, he wasn’t so nice. He was like this perfect, shiny red apple that was riddled wit
- Writer
