Jack's POV
I stood frozen in the doorway of the bedroom, my lungs refusing to function properly. This secret mansion -this temple to my father's deception was bad enough.
The once-pristine room had been savaged. Shards of crystal vases glittered across imported carpet. Silk bedding lay torn from the king bed.
Expensive artwork hung in tatters, and the unmistakable scent of a woman's perfumenot my mother's-lingered beneath the sharp sting of spilled alcohol.
"Look at your father," Mother said beside me, gesturing toward the wreckage with a bitter laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Quite the player, isn't he? Even puts you young men to shame."
The words carried a forced lightness, but I heard the tremor beneath them.
A toxic mixture of disappointment, rage, and shame flooded my chest, making it impossible to respond. The father Id spent my life trying to emulate, whose approval I'd desperately sought, had been nothing but a carefully constructed facade.
