I let my gaze harden. “No. If I wanted it, I’d already be with the paparazzi, feeding them everything I know. The internet would be flooded with your dirty laundry, and the social space would become unbearable for both of you. That, my dear Caleb, is how real power works.”
“So what do you want?” Joyce finally managed.
“The manor,” I said flatly. No theatrics, no long explanations. My mother’s blood, sweat, and tears are in that house. Every brick, every corner, every piece of furniture has her shadow on it. I intend to take back every single thing she worked for. even if it’s as small as a piece of tissue paper.
Caleb threw his head back and barked out a laugh. His laughter grated on me. “You’ve clearly lost your mind,” he scoffed.
“Yes,” I admitted with a nod, my agreement catching hi
