She sucks in a sob as she glares down at me. “Bullshit. You knew exactly what would happen. You think he’d keep his mouth shut about that? You know how much I trusted you, telling you that, but it turns out, you’re just as bad as them.”

“You can trust me,” I croak out, my hands and voice pleading.

“Please leave.”

I slam my eyes shut. “Cass—”

She shakes her head, sniffling back tears. “Get out, Lincoln.”

I left.

I left because she needed space, and with her family there, I knew she was safe.

I left because I’m going to get answers.

For years, I’ve kept my mouth shut for those I love, to protect them.

For my father.

For my grandfather’s company.

I’ve kept so many damn secrets that I could get lost in them.

It was different with Cassidy.

Someone hurt her.

She’s not committing crimes.

I went to prison for protecting my father.

I’d go to prison to protect her too.

If she won’t tell me what is going on, I’ll figure it out myself.

I know just the person to ask for help.

It’s also the last person who’d ever want to help me.

Louis Berban.

Iowa’s district attorney.

The main force behind putting my father and me in prison.

Isla’s husband.

No one was looking into my father until Louis found out I was sleeping with his wife.

It was bullshit since I thought they were separated. When he found out, all hell broke loose. The first thing he did was tell my mother that I was sleeping with her friend, a woman her age, which broke her heart. He also made it a point to disclose that Isla wasn’t the first friend of my mother’s I’d spent time in bed with.

Him going to my mother caused friction between us. It gave her more trust issues than she already had. I never went looking for older women. It’d just … happened.

“I thought I’d never see your face again.”

I stare at Louis from the doorway of his office. He sits behind his massive cherry-wood desk with built-in bookshelves behind him, shelves filled with law books and family photos.

It was risky, barging into his office and asking his secretary to speak to him. I figured he’d send security out to escort me off the premises, but surprisingly, he told her to send me in.

Pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose, he waits for me to speak.

“Trust me,” I say, “I never wanted to see yours again.”

“Why are you here?” He flicks his Montblanc pen in his hand before sliding it into the pocket of his suit jacket. “To beat me up now that you’re free? To keep sleeping with my wife? What?”

Should I tell him his wife is still visiting me?