Chapter 7

Logan's POV

On the day she stood outside my villa, wearing those threadbare clothes and looking deathly pale, I had shoved a plane ticket into her hand and told her not to ruin my life.

She had fought through her terminal illness just to see me one last time, and I had told her to get lost.

My body slouched back. My head hit the doorframe with a dull thud that echoed through the quiet study. The pages of her diary scattered across the carpet.

A wave of intense nausea surged up my throat.

I scrambled out of the study, stumbled into the bathroom at the end of the hallway, and bent over the toilet, vomiting violently. My stomach was empty, so I only threw up bitter bile, the acid burning my throat.

I gripped the edge of the sink. In the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot, my collar was torn open, and the veins on the back of my hands were bulging.

Where was I when Chloe was begging on the delivery table for ten minutes?

Where was I when Mason was taken away?

And where was I when she wrote that her only wish before dying was to see me one last time?

I slid down onto the cold tile floor, the chill seeping into my back. Tears spilled over, hot and heavy, tracking down my face. I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth to muffle my sobs, the metallic taste of blood mixing with the sour bile.

The scattered pages of her diary still lay on the study carpet. The last page was facing up, the date clear under the soft light.

The next morning, my mother and father stormed into the villa.

Before the maids could even stop them, my mother marched into the living room. Her gaze swept over the open books on the sofa and the unwashed glass on the table, her face contorting with undisguised disgust.

"Look at you! What is wrong with you?"

I sat on the sofa, my shirt wrinkled and my eyes heavily bloodshot.

My mother snatched a set of divorce papers from her designer bag and slammed them onto the coffee table.

"Victoria Sinclair's family is waiting to finalize the marriage paperwork. They've given us plenty of respect. Are you really going to ruin this family over a convict like Chloe?"

My father stood behind her, his face grim.

"The company needs this merger, Logan."

I looked up at them, my eyes shifting to the phone in my mother's hand. The screen was lit up with urgent messages from the Sinclair family.

My mother pushed the papers closer to me.

"Sign it! She's been to prison, and now she's wrapped up in this cheap cheating scandal. Do you want the Vance family to lose all credibility? If you don't sign, I will make the announcement myself."

I suddenly stood up.

I snatched my mother's phone from her hand and threw it violently onto the hardwood floor. The sound of the screen shattering instantly silenced the room.

My mother shrieked.

"Logan! Are you insane?"

"The merger is off."

"What did you say?"

"I am not marrying Victoria Sinclair," I stood before her, my voice incredibly raspy. "And I am not signing these divorce papers."

My mother's face turned pale with fury.

"You're rebelling against your own family for Chloe? What is she to you?"

I stared at her.

"Who was the one who went to prison for me?"

My mother bit her lip.

"She did that voluntarily."

"On the day she went to prison. On the day she gave birth in that cell. On the day her baby was snatched away. Did you ever mention her name even once?"

My mother froze.

My father stepped forward.

"Logan, that happened years ago. Bringing it up now serves no purpose."

I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant's number.

"Freeze all accounts under my parents' names that are funded by my company. Cancel their black cards, repossess the luxury vehicles, and lock down the estate properties. Do it today."

My mother's eyes widened, and she lunged forward to grab my phone.

"How dare you!"

I stepped aside.

The assistant confirmed the order on the other end of the line, and I hung up, slipping the phone back into my pocket.

"If you want to merge with the Sinclairs so badly, fund it yourselves."

My mother's voice shrieked to a high pitch.

"I am your mother. You're doing this to me for a convict?"

The security guards stood at the entrance. The moment I said, "Escort them out," they stepped forward immediately.

My mother clutched the crumpled divorce papers, crying and cursing as she was ushered out.

My father's face was dark as night. He glared at me one last time before leaving.

Once the front door closed, the living room fell silent again. Only the shattered glass of the phone remained on the floor.