Page 164 of The Rival's Obsession
“She pursued me,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “She seduced me. I told her no—again and again?—”
“Don’t you dare,” I growl, stepping closer. “Don’t you dare put this on her. She was a child, and she was broken because you broke her. You groomed her for years. You preyed on her.”
“I read her diaries.” I lean over him now, shaking. My voice a menacing whisper.
The fear in his eyes makes me want to kill him. Because now he realizes, I know his other secret. How sick he really is.
“When did it start, Dad? She spent so many nights in this house when we were little. How young was she when you first went into her room?”
His mouth opens, but no sound comes.
He slumps back into the chair, hands over his face, and begins to sob.
I kneel beside him—not in comfort, but to see his shame up close.
“You molested her,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You twisted her mind until she thought the abuse meant love. Then you discarded her—because she got too old.”
“No,” he says hoarsely. “No?—”
“Don’t lie,” I snap. “I have the evidence. Pictures. Diaries. She stopped coming over when we were thirteen. But she never let go. You has already made sure of that.”
“She thought she belonged to you,” I go on. “She believed that if she waited long enough, you’d come for her. And when you didn’t—when you tried to push her away—she spiraled.”
“She killed her parents knowing Mom would take her in. That’s how calculated she was. That’s how obsessed. And how long did it take, huh?” I stand.
“How long until you were back in her bed?”
His voice is wrecked when he shouts back, still sobbing.
“She pursued me!” He jabs a finger into his chest. “I told her no! I told her no! She kept pushing, and I gave in. Is that what you want to hear? That I’m weak? That I—gave in?”
“It was a mistake.”
I stare at him like I’ve never seen him before.
“A mistake is forgetting an anniversary,” I say. “Burning dinner.”
I look at the portrait of my mother over the fireplace, her smile soft and steady. My voice drops.
“You molested a girl for years. You warped her. Drove her to madness. And people died because of it. Mom died.Yourwife.Mymother.”
I stare up at her, eyes burning.
“And I never noticed it before… the necklace Corrine always wears. The one she fidgets with when she lies.” I laugh again, this time lower. Bitter.
“It was Mom’s. She ripped it from mom’s neck as she pushed her over the railing.”
I look back at him slowly, my voice shaking.
“And while you were pretending to weep?—”
“I did weep!” he shouts, standing. “I mourned her!”
I stare at him like the words are filth.
“You’re a monster,” I yell back. “You’re not capable of such things.”
I stare at him. At the pathetic, crumpled man hunched in the leather chair like he’s the victim here. Like the weight of his sins is something he was burdened with—not something he chose.
