Chapter 52
Anna POV
I walked straight toward my father's study, each step on the polished hardwood feeling like a countdown.
Without knocking—a small rebellion—I pushed open the heavy oak door. Richard Parker stood with his back to me, silhouetted against the window, tension visible in every line of his posture.
He turned at the sound of the door, and I barely registered the fury in his eyes before his palm connected with my cheek.
"You worthless bitch!"
The slap was so unexpected that I staggered backward. A searing pain spread across my face, and my ears rang with the impact. I tasted blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my cheek.
I straightened slowly, refusing to touch my burning face. Years of practice had taught me that showing pain only invited more.
"Is this how we're starting tonight's conversation?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
His face contorted with rage as he grabbed a crystal flower vase from his desk and hurled it toward me. I ducked instinctively, and it shattered against the bookshelf behind me. A shard sliced across my forearm, drawing a thin line of blood.
Crystal fragments littered the floor around us, catching the light from the desk lamp and throwing it back in fractured rainbows.
"You deliberately humiliated yourself in front of Michael Johnson," Richard snarled, stepping closer. "You aired all our dirty laundry in public just to destroy yourself, didn't you? Just to make sure everyone knows about your filthy past!"
I met his gaze evenly, feeling warm blood trickle down my arm. "I didn't ask George Wilson to show up at my dinner. with Michael."
"You should have handled it privately!" His fist slammed down on the desk. "Instead, you made a scene that someone recorded and shared all over social media. Do you have any idea what this will do to our family's reputation?"
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "Our family's reputation? Or your business prospects?"
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "You ungrateful—" He shook his head, disgust evident in every line of his face. "I should have known better than to bring you back. I should have just left you lost!"
The words hit harder than his slap had, though I'd always suspected he felt this way. There was a strange relief in finally hearing it said aloud.
"Indeed, father. At least we finally agree on something," I replied softly.
Richard raised his hand again, but before he could strike, the study door burst open. Edward stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable as his eyes moved from Richard's raised hand to my face. The red mark must have been clearly visible.
Behind him, Vera peered around his shoulder, letting out a theatrical gasp
"Anna!" She rushed forward, throwing her arms around me with theatrical concern. "Oh my god, your face! And your arm is bleeding!"
I remained stiff in her embrace. Vera had never been concerned about my wellbeing before; I doubted she'd suddenly developed sisterly affection.
Edward stepped fully into the room, his gaze lingering on my cheek before turning to Richard. "I believe we need to have a conversation, Richard."
My father's jaw tightened, but he lowered his hand. "This is a family matter, Edward."
"A family matter that's currently trending on Twitter," Edward replied coolly. "I think that makes it my concern as well."
Richard's expression shifted as the implications sank in. With visible effort, he composed himself. "Fine. We'll talk privately." He looked at me with cold dismissal. "Get out."
I disentangled myself from Vera's clutches and walked toward the door, passing close to Edward. Our eyes met briefly. I couldn't read his expression, but something in his gaze made my chest tighten.
In the grand living room, Irene was waiting, pacing in front of the marble fireplace. She stopped when she saw me, her eyes raking over my appearance with dismay.
"What were you thinking?" she demanded without preamble. "Why would you confront that... that man in public like that? Do you know what people are saying online?"
I walked to the bar cart and poured myself a glass of water, using the moment to gather my thoughts. "I didn't plan it, Irene. He just showed up."
"You should have excused yourself quietly. Made some excuse." She shook her head, perfectly styled blonde hair swaying with the movement. "Instead, you announced to an entire restaurant—and now the entire internet—that your foster father tried to assault you!"
I turned to face her. "Would you have preferred I let him continue threatening me? Continue blackmailing our family?"
"There are ways to handle these situations discreetly," she insisted.
"Let's be honest, Irene. The real issue isn't how I handled George Wilson. It's that Michael Johnson witnessed it all." I set my glass down carefully. "Now Michael knows the truth about my past, which means he probably won't be interested in pursuing a relationship with me anymore. And that's what's really bothering Father, isn't it? I've lost my value as a business asset."
Irene's perfectly composed face showed a flash of shock. "How can you say such things? Your father loves you. He's just concerned about the family's reputation!"
"No, he's concerned about losing the Johnson merger," I corrected her. "And now he's lost his bargaining chip."
Vera had entered the room during our exchange and gasped dramatically at my words. "Anna! How can you speak to Mom that way? She's only worried about you!"
I looked at her—this girl who had taken my place for eleven years and never relinquished it even after I returned. Her concerned expression might have fooled others, but I knew better. There was satisfaction in her eyes at seeing me finally fall from grace.
"I'm leaving," I announced, turning toward the foyer.
"If you walk out that door," Irene called after me, her voice tight with anger, "don't bother coming back. You'll no longer be welcome in this family."
I paused, letting her threat hang in the air between us. Then I smiled—a genuine smile that seemed to unnerve her more than anger would have.
"Thank you," I said simply, picking up my purse from the entryway table.
The heavy front door closed behind me with a solid thunk that felt like punctuation at the end of a very long, painful sentence. The night air hit my face, cool and clean compared to the stifling atmosphere inside. My cheek still stung, and the cut on my arm had started to throb, but I felt lighter than I had in years.
The spring wind tousled my hair and seeped through my thin jacket, but I welcomed the chill. It made me feel alive.
"Miss Parker?" a voice called softly.
I glanced down to see Jenkins, Edward's driver, standing beside a black sedan at the curb.
"Mr. Frost asked me to ensure you had transportation when you were ready to leave," he explained, opening the rear door with formal precision.
I hesitated, my hand instinctively reaching for my phone to call a rideshare. The screen was black—dead battery. Of course.
"Thank you, Jenkins, but I'll manage," I said, though the prospect of trying to find a cab with a dead phone wasn't appealing.
"Mr. Frost was quite insistent, Miss," Jenkins replied with gentle firmness.
Exhaustion suddenly hit me like a wave. The adrenaline from confronting Richard was fading, leaving me drained and aching. The car looked warm, and the idea of sitting somewhere quiet, somewhere no one could reach me, was tempting.
"Alright," I conceded, walking down the steps to the waiting car.
The leather seat embraced me as I sank into it, the door closing with a soft, expensive sound that sealed out the world. In the privacy of the backseat, I finally allowed my shoulders to slump, my hands to tremble.
I closed my eyes, letting the subtle scent of leather and Edward's cologne wash over me. There was something oddly comforting about being in his car without him present—all the familiarity with none of the tension. A safe, quiet bubble where no phones rang, no demands were made, and no one expected anything from me.
For just a moment, I allowed myself to feel everything I'd been holding back: the shock of George's return, the sting of Richard's rejection, the bone-deep weariness of fighting battles on every front. A single tear escaped, tracking silently down my cheek—the only one I would permit myself.
Tomorrow I would worry about where to go and what to do next. Now, just for these few minutes of silence and solitude, I would rest.
After all, I was truly free now. No longer a Parker, no longer a Frost. Just Anna.
It should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like the first real breath I'd taken in years.