Chapter 177

Agnes

I stared at my father, momentarily stunned into silence. Of all the people who could have stopped to help me, of course it had to be him. The man hadn’t been there to help me with a damn thing in seven years, and yet he’d shown up over a fucking flat tire.

Recovering quickly, I straightened my spine. “No thanks,” I said coldly. “I can change it myself.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. I couldn’t tell if he was judging me or what. “You’re going to change a tire in that outfit?” he asked. His eyes traveled pointedly to my blue dress and heels, and his brows lifted a half centimeter further.

“I’ve done it before,” I snapped over my shoulder, already moving to the trunk of my car to retrieve my spare tire. And I had—just not in formal wear. But I wasn’t about to admit that to him. I also wasn’t about to admit to him that I had to teach myself through online tutorials since he’d been too busy fawning over Ava and his new wife to show me how to do it.

My father sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Thea’s recital starts soon, doesn’t it?” he said casually, tilting his head. “You’ll never make it in time if you’re changing a tire.”

I froze with my hand on the trunk latch. How the hell did he know about Thea’s recital?

“How do you—”

“She’s the Alpha’s kid. Word travels,” he cut in with a shrug. “Look, I’m heading into town anyway. Let me give you a ride.”

Every instinct screamed at me to refuse. To tell him to fuck off and let me handle this on my own, even if it meant missing the start of the recital. But my dead phone and the ticking clock left me with few options.

If I missed Thea’s first solo performance, I would never forgive myself. I’d promised to be there, not just for the recital, but in every possible way. I’d promised to be the type of mother to her that Olivia had never been.

The type of mother that my biological daughter never got to have.

I couldn’t disappoint them now.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, even though the thought of sharing a car with the man who had disowned me during my greatest time of need made me want to vomit. “But this doesn’t mean I’m forgiving you for a single shitty thing you did to me.”

My father snorted. “Don’t expect you to,” he said, already walking back toward his car.

Resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at the back of his head, I grabbed my purse from my car, locked it, and followed him to his car. The interior smelled of new leather and his cologne—the same brand he’d worn when I was a child. Some things never changed, I supposed.

I slid into the passenger seat, keeping my body as close to the door as possible. Even just being within three feet of his presence made my blood boil. And although my father had never actually done anything to hurt me physically, my instincts wanted me to ensure there was space between us just in case.

Thankfully, the first few minutes of the drive passed in tense silence. I stared out the window, watching the familiar landscape roll by and trying to ignore the man beside me. I hoped we could just get it over with without talking to each other.

But my hopes were crushed when he cleared his throat. “I heard about what they found in the caves,” he said carefully. “The bones.”

I swallowed down a sudden surge of bile in my throat. Of course he would bring that up. Of course he would prod at my freshest wound. Fucker probably derived some sick sort of glee out of it.

“Don’t,” I hissed, turning to face him. My lip curled to reveal my canines. “Don’t pretend you give a shit now when you haven’t for seven years. You made it very clear where I stood with you when you threw me out.”

To my surprise, his face didn’t harden with anger as I expected. Instead, something almost like pain flickered in his eyes. But I knew better.

“It’s not what you think, Agnes,” he said quietly. “I cared more than you could know.”

A harsh laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Oh, that’s rich,” I spat. “What a fucking liar you are. After Mom died, you couldn’t wait to replace her, to replace us. You chose your new wife and daughter over me without a second thought.”

My hands were shaking now. “You basically spat on Mom’s grave the moment Ava and that woman came into the picture. You stopped caring about anyone but yourself.”

His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles going white. “Until you lose a spouse,” he said, his voice cold and measured, “you will never understand.”

The implied comparison to my mother made my blood boil. As if his grief somehow justified abandoning his own daughter in her time of greatest need. As if my mother would have ever approved of how he’d treated me.

As if I’d ever lose Elijah.

“Is that a threat, Dad?” I sneered, putting all my contempt into that last word.

His jaw tensed, a muscle jumping beneath his skin—the same tell he’d had when I was a child and had pushed him just a touch too far. But he said nothing, just kept driving.

Coward.

When we finally pulled up to the auditorium, I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. I shoved the door open and slammed it behind me without a backward glance or a word of thanks. Let him think I was ungrateful. I owed him nothing.

I was halfway to the entrance when I heard the sound of his window rolling down.

“Agnes,” he called after me.

Against my better judgment, I paused.

“If they tell you those bones belong to your daughter,” he said, his voice carrying across the parking lot, “do your own research before you believe anyone. Trust no one. Not even your husband.”

I froze, ice flooding my veins. What?

I turned back slowly, confused and suddenly wary. What was he implying? That someone—maybe even Elijah—was lying about the bones? That they weren’t my daughter’s after all?

“Agnes!”

The sound of Elijah’s voice echoed across the space.

Before I could form a question, my father was already driving away.

I stood rooted to the spot, my mind reeling. Do your own research before you believe anyone. What the hell did that even mean? And why bring Elijah into it?

Most of all, why would father even care? He had made it abundantly clear seven years ago that my “bastard child” was no concern of his. That neither of us mattered to him in the slightest.

Unless...

“Agnes! Agnes, there you are!”

I turned to see Elijah jogging across the parking lot toward me. He was slightly breathless when he reached me, immediately grabbing my hand with a relieved expression on his face.

“The recital starts in three minutes,” he said, pulling me toward the entrance of the auditorium. “We have to go.”