Chapter 124 The revelation (2)

Chapter 124 The revelation (2)
Genevieve
Walking through the hidden room behind the bookshelf was nothing short of humiliating. I hadn’t signed the papers. I couldn’t. I just stood there, staring at the ink as if it were blood.
Arthur didn’t push. Instead, he reached for a leather-bound book on the shelf, pulled a lever, and the wall groaned loudly and opened. “I have more to show you, Genevieve.”
I was still naked. Goosebumps erupted over my skin from more than just the cold in the room. Uncle Artie held my arm, his grip firm and possessive, while my father trailed behind us. Every time I tried to fold my arms over my chest, Arthur’s gaze landed on me. If his eyes could shoot daggers, I’d have dropped dead on the marble floors.
“Arthur, your employees are going to start asking questions about the lockdown,” my father muttered. He kept his eyes fixed on anywhere except my bare body. “Especially if they can’t reach you. We need to get her dressed and get out of here.”
“The people see what I allow them to see, Richard,” Arthur replied. He didn’t even glance back. His focus was entirely on me, his eyes dark with a hunger that made my stomach flip. It was terrifying, but I hated the way my pulse jumped in response. I hated that even now, I wanted him to keep looking.
“What is this place?” I whispered. My voice sounded small.
“This is the truth,” Arthur said.
He led me to a safe fixed to the corner of the wall. He spun the dial, the clicks echoing in the quiet room, and pulled out a thick leather binder. He dropped it onto a small desk and flipped it open.
PROJECT GEN.
I stepped closer, ignoring my father, who stood by the door like a ghost. I began to flip the pages. It was a ledger of my entire life.
Entry 412: University of Chicago. Dean’s discretionary fund. Subject: Transcript amendment.
Entry 589: Settlement payment. Subject: Thomas Miller.
“Thomas?” My heart stopped. “He told me he moved to California for a job.”
“He moved because I paid him a hundred thousand dollars to disappear,” Uncle Artie murmured. He stepped into my space, his chest pressing against my bare back. His breath was hot against my ear. “He was a distraction. You weren’t ready then.”
I kept flipping, my eyes stinging. Receipts for tutors, logs of my phone calls from years ago, and a final, recent entry: Marcus Thorne. Resignation package and non-disclosure agreement.
“You’ve been paying everyone,” I whispered. “My teachers, my friends... even Marcus. This isn’t a plan you made six months ago.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve wanted you for the longest time, Genevieve,” he murmured. He slid his hand down to the small of my back, his palm hot against my cold skin. “Every school, every ‘chance’ encounter, every man who ever walked out on you; I cleared the path. I’ve been the architect of your every choice since you were fifteen.”
I looked at my father. He was staring at the wall, his expression hollow. He had known. He had watched Uncle Artie curate my world, and he had taken the checks to keep it running.
Uncle Artie’s thumb traced the line of my spine, dragging slowly until it reached the nape of my neck. He looked at my naked body in the dim light, his desire raw in his eyes.
“You think you were a rebel, Gen? You think that club was your secret?” He let out a low chuckle. “I bought that club the day you walked into it. I’ve been watching you since the first night you took your clothes off for strangers. I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to realize you only belong to me.”
The realization was a cold click. My entire life had been a long-term scam. There was no Jacobson legacy. There was only Uncle Artie, this room, and the debt my father used to sell me.
“Is that all I am?” I asked, looking him in the eye. “An investment?”
“The only one that matters,” he said, pulling me flush against his suit.
Behind us, my father let out a dry grunt in disgust. He didn’t move to stop us. He couldn’t. He had already cashed the check.
Uncle Artie tapped the “Sign Here” line on the paper he’d brought from the office. His teeth grazed the shell of my ear.
“Sign it, Genevieve,” he prompted. “Own the truth.”