Twisted (Never After #4)(2)

I follow her stare, down the length of my espresso-stained dining table, until my gaze hits my father at the head, his dark skin looking sallow and worn. Deep bags line his tired eyes, the splotches of purple indicating the fact that he is, in fact, quite ill. But I guess if someone hasn’t spent years of their life memorizing the minuscule changes of every one of his features, I could see how he might look simply overtired. And for a man who owns and runs a multibillion-dollar empire that controls most of the world’s jewels, being overtired is synonymous with normal.

I’m sure he will be thrilled people can’t see the change in his health.

Jealousy squeezes my middle, and for just a moment, I wish I could trade places with someone else in the room, anyone else, if it meant I could pretend he was still okay.

The tilapia from our last course threatens to surge back up my throat, nausea tossing my stomach, because I know my wish is impossible to grant. Maybe they don’t see the difference, but I do.

I see it in the way his movements are stiff and stilted, like there’s concrete coating his bones that he can’t seem to shake off.

I see it in the downturn of his lips when he thinks no one is watching, the way he soaks in small inconsequential details that we all take for granted every day.

And most of all, I see it in his absence, every time he locks himself away, sparing me from having to watch as the radiation and chemo burn through his veins, destroying everything in their path.

That’s what cancer does. It ravages you from the inside out without caring who you are. It doesn’t matter whether you keep the world in the palm of your hand or if you have more money than God.

It just feeds on death.

And death always wins, one way or another.

My gaze moves from my father to the French doors that line the far wall and open to the back of our estate. I focus on how the stars twinkle against the black sky and how the deep blue lights of the expansive swimming pool create a haunting glow over everything they touch.

Anything to keep me from focusing on the problems I can’t seem to outrun.

Debbie giggles and draws my attention away to where she’s practically purring at the man sitting next to her.

Julian Faraci.

His dark eyes, as black as bottomless pits, are already on mine, searing through my mask of polite quiescence and stripping me down until I feel like a small, worthless girl primed and ready to be squished beneath his shoe.

I remember when he first came around, hired on as the COO of Sultans when I was fifteen, and like the naive girl that I was eight years ago, I developed a crush. He was a power-hungry twenty-eight- year-old man, and whenever I’d come home from boarding school for the holidays, I’d hero-worship him, blinded by his appearance and sucked in by the commanding nature that bled from his pores.

But it only took one time of me overhearing him try to convince my father to keep me locked away that my stomach stopped fluttering in his presence.

She’s bad for business. You shouldn’t let your daughter show up and distract you when you’re supposed to be focused on things here. Shame she isn’t a boy. Who will you leave everything to?

That last line was the nail in the coffin of my crush on Julian Faraci, and anything I’ve felt since has been little more than hatred.

No loss, really. By then, I’d turned my sights on my best friend anyway.

My gaze narrows on Julian, irritation stabbing at my skin like needles. He smirks, lifting up his wine and tilting it toward me, the tattoos on his other hand shifting with the flex of his knuckles as he brushes it through his disheveled black hair.

A small drop of water from my drink splashes on the back of my wrist, and I set down my glass quickly, tearing my eyes away from his taunting gaze while I shove my trembling fingers beneath my thighs.

My phone vibrates in my lap, and I bend my head down, seeing a notification from the boy who’s held my heart since we were kids.

Aidan: You’re beautiful





My heart flutters and I grin despite myself, glancing around to see where he is. His mom is standing in the corner of the room, her blond hair pulled back in a tight bun, the way every member of the staff in our house is told to wear it, and her gaze is pointed down.

Is he working with her tonight?

“Yasmin.” My father’s harsh voice cuts through the fog, and I snap my gaze back, meeting the eyes of the twenty people around the table who are now focused on me.

“I’m sorry.” I force a smile and bring my hands up to clutch my silverware. “I must have missed what you said.”

“The governor asked what you think about your father’s newest acquisition.” Julian’s voice is cold yet smooth as butter, and a chill skirts down my spine. It’s rude for him to have a voice like that and a face like he does when his soul is so rotten. He looks over to Governor Cassum, smiling sardonically. “Yasmin has no clue about the ins and outs of our business. She’s been busy frolicking in…” He glances at me. “Where was it? Oregon for college?”

My fork clinks against the plate as I set it down and turn my attention to Governor Cassum, my teeth gritting from the control it takes me not to throw my knife across the table and hope it stabs Julian in his cold, dead heart.

Despite what everyone seems to think, I do know what goes on in my father’s business. He may try to shield it from me, but growing up around a man who is as powerful as him means I’ve seen and heard more than my fair share of under-the- table deals.