ASHTON
I pull away from Dean's office building too late to pretend I did not see the car father's car.
Even after the tinted windows disappear beyond the gate, my hands remain locked around the steering wheel hard enough for my knuckles to ache. My pulse drums behind my ears while my thoughts spiral so violently that for a second, I genuinely consider reversing and driving away.
Because what the hell was Brett doing here?
The timing alone makes my stomach twist. Tell me why days before the family meeting where decades of lies are supposed to unravel, my adoptive father is casually walking out of my biological father's office like they are businessmen settling a contract over coffee?
It makes no sense. Nothing about those two men existing peacefully in the same space makes sense to me.
