Aaron had not foreseen Angie being that in the know about her Chaos clients. She’d made Steele sound like a crusader for justice, and Carissa hadn’t even blinked.

She knew it all, or if she didn’t know it all, she knew enough not to give a shit.

Then she’d walked out and right into Steele’s arms.

Right into his arms.

“I said, shut up.”

His father’s face twisted.

“Don’t let that little bitch get into your head,” he hissed. “She’s been fucking with it since she was fucking fourteen.”

Carissa was a little bitch now. For over a decade, she’d been everything from an angel to a demon depending on his father’s mood.

His mother had always loved her.

His mother detested Tory.

His father didn’t mind staring at Tory’s tits any time she was around, but he thought she was a low-class homewrecker, and he’d shared that straight to Aaron’s face.

Repeatedly.

He’d never win with his dad.

But Carissa had always been a winner with his mother.

One out of two had not been bad.

Aaron advanced until he was nose to nose with his father, the man pressed to the side of the elevator.

“Aaron,” Steven whispered.

“Do not ever call Carissa a bitch.”

“I raised a weak son,” his father sneered. “Mind filled with skirt.”

I can’t stand the sight of you.

The doors opened.

Aaron backed away from his dad and strode out.

* * *

Aaron Neiland didn’t go to his office.

He went to his house.

The house his fucking father shoved down his throat.

He knew Carissa hated it. It was big and imposing, took forever to clean, it wasn’t her. Not even a little bit.

It could have been her, if they’d worked up to it, they’d started smaller and he’d been able to give her bigger and do it gradually, but his parents planting them in it when he was just starting as a junior associate…

No.

He went to the kitchen, opened a cupboard, grabbed a glass, opened another cupboard, grabbed a bottle, but stopped himself before pouring.

The bottle held an expensive Scotch whisky.

His dad drank Scotch.

He stared at the bottle.

Fuck, why did he drink whisky? He hated it.

He poured it down the drain and made what he liked.

A gin and tonic.

Then he did what the asshole in a romantic movie would do.

He went to the box that Tory had filled and put in the closet of one of the guest rooms. He tugged it out. He grabbed the wedding album. He went to the bed and dropped it on it.

He slugged back some gin and tossed open the cover.