Chapter 65: The Faithless Devs

Cora actually laughed. It was sharp and joyless.

Of course. Grandma’s “plan” was almost elegant in its cruelty. Tell Dad the money was to buy a place for Mom. Tell Mom it was for “their” future. Then whisper to Laura that the deed would be hers.

One apartment, three promises.

“And those ‘savings’ you’ve stashed—what’s that about?” Cora cut in, voice soft and lethal. “Why has Mom spent years saying every cent goes to household expenses?”

Her father’s head dropped. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“If you still want me to call you Dad,” she said, “you need to start telling the truth.”

She’d spent a lifetime making excuses for this family. Whatever was left of her patience had burned away.

“Don’t forget,” she added, cool as glass, “Watson money doesn’t move until my baby is born. If your big plan is to use  seven-figure wedding gift to fund your new life, you might want to run that past me first.”

Panic flickered across his face. Without Cora’s “payout,” what would he use to dump his wife and start over with his new “angel”?

“Cora, don’t talk like that. I raised you. Don’t be ungrateful,” he blurted. “Your mother and I—that’s our business. You promised your grandmother that once the baby’s born, you’ll give the money to the Dev family—”

There it was again. Money. Always money.

He saw the disgust in his daughter’s eyes and fumbled for a patch. “Listen to me. Whatever happens, you’re still my daughter. You’re still a Dev.”

Every word made it worse.

Cora’s lashes lowered. For one naïve moment she’d hoped the sight of her would shame him into stopping. She had been wrong. He didn’t want forgiveness. He wanted financing.

Mom, I’m sorry, she thought, throat tight. If I hadn’t married like this, would your life have turned out kinder?

She stood to leave.

His phone went off, clattering to the tabletop. In his scramble he hit speaker.

“Honey, when are you coming home? I made dinner,” a woman purred—warm, intimate, unmistakably not Mom.

All three of them froze.

Cora stared at him. How many? How many faces, how many tables like this?

On the phone, the woman’s tone sharpened. “Who is that? Why do I hear a woman?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, flustered. “It’s— it’s my daughter.”

Silence. Then the line went dead.

Cora swayed, catching herself on the edge of the table. She’d thought “dating around” was the worst of it. He already had a second home.

“We’re done here.” She looked at him one last time—at the man who had once been her entire idea of safety—and turned away.

Julian hadn’t said a word. He simply took her hand and held it, his grip steady, the only solid thing in a day gone unreal. Cora’s gaze flicked up to him, raw with gratitude. This man she’d married on paper had been more honest with her than her own family.

Behind them her father flailed. “Cora, don’t misunderstand. I only just met her! It’s not—”

Worse and worse, she thought, and kept walking.

He stood there, stunned and useless, until panic sent him hammering a call to his mother. He spilled everything. Ravi’s answer was a hissed tirade.

“Idiot! How could you let her find out? I told you—careful, careful—wait until the other woman is pregnant before you admit anything! How do we ask her for money now?”

Faithless Devs, Cora thought when Julian relayed the gist later. Every last one of them.

“What do I do?” her father whimpered into the phone.

“Get home. We deny it. All of it,” Ravi snapped. “Your wife worships you. If we never admit it, she won’t believe Cora.”

It was monstrous—and exactly the kind of plan her father needed to feel brave again.

Back in the car, the suburbs sliding by in a blur, Julian finally asked, “How do you want to handle this?”

“I don’t know.” Cora scrubbed at her face and sat up, forcing breath into her lungs. “Jule, I keep thinking… if it weren’t for me, would Mom have had a different ending?”

“Don’t,” he said. After a beat: “Talk to her tonight. See what she wants. If you decide on divorce, I’ll get you the proof.”

“Thank you.” She meant it.

He didn’t like the way that felt. He hadn’t moved heaven and earth for a thank you. He didn’t want to be a polite outsider to her life. The thought startled him; it also settled in like it belonged.

Cora was too consumed to notice his shift. There was only one thought ringing in her skull: Get Mom out.

But how do you hand this kind of blade to the gentlest person you know?

She called. “Mom, where are you?”

“In the room, resting—didn’t you tell me to?” Her mother’s voice was warm, then worried. “You sound drained. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Are you hungry? I can take you out.”

Her mother hesitated. “Laura just called. She’s here too. Asked if I could come pick her up.”

Laura.

Cora looked at Julian, pleading. He gave a small nod.

“Don’t go,” Cora said swiftly. “Jule will pick her up. I need to talk to you alone.”

She hung up, exhaled hard, and met Julian’s eyes. “Please go get Laura. I’m telling Mom tonight. I can’t keep watching them grind her down and do nothing.”

“Okay,” he said.

The car rolled to a stop. Cora climbed out and started for the hotel, Julian’s gaze following her—steady, unreadable, threaded with something he hadn’t named yet.