He shakes his head, glaring at his brother, a heavy scoff leaving him. “Weak little fucker. Always were. Let me lay this out for you now. Ransom, I will give you the house and the inheritance—”

“Fuck the house, fuck money, and fuck you!” he bellows, swiping a hand across the table and sending everything on top of it crashing to the floor. “She is mine. Try and take her, I fucking dare you.”

I wait for Anthony to shout back, sure that he will, but a foul chuckle is what follows, and somehow, I know it’s worse.

My ribs cave, my stomach hollowing.

“I wasn’t finished.” Anthony cocks his head, and the gambit fucking falls. “But maybe I’ll start backward so you get the full picture.” He grins wickedly. “Jameson will be my wife—”

Ransom scoffs, shaking his head. “Fuck you, she will.”

“And once she is,” he continues as if Ransom never spoke, “I no longer need the rest. The house will be yours, the trust, but most importantly, or so you seem to believe, I will sign complete conservatorship over to you.”

Ransom’s face falls, he turns white, stumbles over his own two feet, and drops against the wall, his back sliding down it until his ass hits the ground.

“There we go, you’re getting it now, though, I admit, I’m a bit surprised by the dramatic reaction.”

“Fuck you,” Ransom breathes. It’s hardly audible, but it’s there.

“It works in my favor though, because now you know. There’s no reason to fight me anymore. You’ll soon have everything you ever wanted.”

It dawns on me, and I don’t realize I’ve whispered her name until Anthony’s scoff reaches me.

“Yet another surprise, you do know about our dear sister, so you must know how much Ransom cares for the girl.” Anthony’s disregard for her, as if she’s a thing rather than a person, is sickening.

“On the off chance that it needs to be said aloud...” He trails off as his phone rings and he bends, grabbing it from where it must have fallen from his pocket, his eyes slicing to mine. “Every decision surrounding her, will be his, the moment you... are completely mine.”

My knees weaken, and I have to grip the arm of the chair as not to fall, and Anthony’s laugh deepens.

“It’s funny, you’d think I planned this out.” He dabs at the blood on his lip. “Do we call it coincidence, or fate?” the asshole adds, adjusting his button-up. “I’ll give you ten minutes to fill him in on our contract, and only because I know he’s incapable of touching you.”

If only he knew...

“You’re a prick,” I manage to rasp.

“Ten fucking minutes, Jameson. Don’t test me. You have no idea what I know, what I have, and what I can accomplish with it.”