Chapter 1
My mother was shoving clothes into a suitcase when I walked into her bedroom.
She was crying so hard that she could barely breathe.
I had never seen her like that.
Not when my grandmother died.
Not when our family nearly lost everything.
Not even when my biological father disappeared from our lives twenty years earlier.
"Mom?"
She didn't look up.
She grabbed another handful of clothes and forced them into the suitcase.
"Mom, what happened?"
"Jaylen, please."
Her voice cracked.
"Not right now."
I stepped closer.
The closet doors were open.
Half her dresses were missing.
Her jewelry box lay on the bed.
And the framed wedding photograph that usually sat on her nightstand had been turned facedown.
My stomach tightened.
"Why are you packing?"
She wiped her cheeks.
"Because I have to leave."
"Leave where?"
She didn't answer.
I grabbed the suitcase before she could close it.
"Mom, look at me."
She finally raised her eyes.
They were red and swollen.
"Marcus threw me out."
For a second, I thought I had misunderstood.
"What?"
She swallowed.
"Your stepfather told me I couldn't stay here anymore."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
Her lower lip trembled.
"Because I wouldn't turn my back on your sister."
I felt my chest tighten.
My younger sister, Amara, was twenty-two.
She had been living with us temporarily after leaving a difficult relationship.
She worked part-time while finishing nursing school.
She was quiet, hardworking, and careful not to ask anyone for more than she needed.
Marcus had never liked her.
He complained about her using electricity.
About her studying late.
About the groceries she ate.
But I never imagined he would demand that our mother abandon her.
"What exactly did he say?"
Mom lowered herself onto the bed.
"He said Amara had to leave tonight."
"And you said no?"
She nodded.
"He told me I had to choose."
"Choose what?"
Her tears returned.
"Him or my daughter."
I stared at her.
Then I looked toward the door.
"Where is he?"
"Jaylen, please don't."
"Where?"
She grabbed my arm.
"He's in the garage."
I pulled away.
"Stay here."
"Son, don't make things worse."
I looked back at her.
"He's already made them worse."
I walked through the hallway so quickly that my footsteps echoed against the marble floor.
The house was enormous.
Six bedrooms.
A private theater.
A swimming pool.
A garage filled with expensive cars.
Marcus loved showing people everything he owned.
He loved talking about how he had rescued our family from poverty.
And he never let us forget it.
I pushed open the garage door.
Marcus stood beside his black Mercedes, wearing a white suit with black lapels.
He was checking something on his phone.
He didn't even look surprised when he saw me.
"Marcus!"
He slowly raised his head.
"What?"
I marched toward him.
"You kicked my mother out?"
He slipped his phone into his pocket.
"I gave her a choice."
I stopped a few feet away.
"What kind of choice?"
His eyes hardened.
"Me or her grown daughter."
I stared at him.
"Amara?"
"She chose her."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"So you threw your own wife away?"
Marcus shrugged.
"Your mother made her decision."
My hands curled into fists.
"She's been your wife for twelve years!"
"And I've supported her for twelve years."
He stepped closer.
"Don't forget that."
I felt anger rushing through me.
"My mother isn't something you bought!"
His expression darkened.
"Watch your mouth."
"Then stop talking about her like she's your property!"
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Marcus laughed.
It wasn't a happy laugh.
It was cold.
Almost amused.
"You really think you can come into my house and tell me how to run it?"
I looked directly at him.
"I'm telling you not to hurt my mother."
He pointed toward the ceiling.
"This house is mine."
I shook my head.
"That doesn't give you the right to treat people like garbage."
He stepped closer.
"And while we're discussing my property, I'm taking back the house I gave you."
My entire body went still.
"What?"
"You heard me."
I stared at him.
The townhouse I lived in had been a wedding gift from Marcus when I married my wife, Brianna, two years earlier.
At least, that's what he called it.
He handed me the keys at our reception.
He stood in front of two hundred guests and announced that he wanted to help us start our marriage without worrying about rent.
I thanked him.
I hugged him.
I believed he was finally treating me like a son.
Now he was using that gift as a weapon.
"You can't just take my home."
Marcus smiled.
"Watch me."
I swallowed.
"Brianna lives there."
"Then she can pack too."
I stared at him.
"My wife is pregnant."
His expression didn't change.
"Then you should have thought about that before disrespecting me."
Something inside me broke.
I took a step toward him.
"You don't get to threaten my family."
Marcus didn't move.
"You disrespect me every day but still want my money?"
I shook my head.
"This isn't about money."
"Everything is about money when you're spending mine."
He pointed toward the garage exit.
"Call your real father."
My breathing stopped.
Marcus knew exactly where to hurt me.
My biological father, David Carter, left when I was five.
I spent years waiting for birthday calls that never came.
I watched other boys play basketball with their fathers while I pretended I didn't care.
Marcus knew all of that.
He had listened to me cry about it when I was a teenager.
Now he was smiling.
"Ask the man who abandoned you to buy you a house."
I stepped forward so quickly that Marcus straightened.
"Don't you ever talk about my father like that!"
He raised his chin.
"Why? Because the truth hurts?"
I could barely see through my anger.
I wanted to hit him.
I wanted to wipe that smile off his face.
But then I heard my mother's voice.
"Jaylen!"
I turned.
She stood in the garage doorway.
Her face was wet with tears.
"Please, baby."
Marcus looked past me.
"Monica, I told you to finish packing."
She flinched.
I looked from her to him.
Then I noticed something.
Marcus wasn't angry anymore.
He looked satisfied.
Almost pleased.
As though the entire confrontation had unfolded exactly the way he wanted.
He took out his phone.
Then he smiled.
"Go ahead, Jaylen."
I stared at him.
"Do something stupid."
My mother screamed my name again.
And just as I stepped toward Marcus, his phone lit up.
A small red recording symbol appeared on the screen.
He had been filming everything.
I froze.
Marcus smiled wider.
"That's right."
He turned the screen toward me.
"Now let's see what happens when the police watch you threaten me in my own house."
My blood ran cold.
Then he leaned closer and whispered something only I could hear.
"Your mother should have taught you not to challenge the man who owns everything."
I looked at the phone.
Then at my mother.
And suddenly, I understood.
May you like
Marcus hadn't simply thrown her out.
He had been waiting for me to come running.
