“Bianca Covington,” the woman at the front desk calls out.

I hike my purse up my shoulder. “That’s me.”

I’m about to walk away, but think better of it.

“You care about your daughter, right?”

The man’s eyes widen. “Of course I do.”

“Then I suggest you find her a new psychiatrist.”

His mouth drops open. “Dr. Young came highly recommended.”

I look him in the eyes. “Trust me, she’s better off with someone else.”

Pushing past him, I slip my game face on and march into his office.

Stay strong.

“What brings you here today, Bianca?” Dr. Young mutters.

I cross my legs. “I’m pretty sure you already know.”

Lust flashes in his eyes before he looks away. “I told you I wasn’t comfortable with you coming to my office anymore.”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to reach over and strangle him.

I leisurely run a finger up my thigh. “What can I say? I’ve never been good at following instructions.”

He looks down at his notepad. “I’m aware.”

Drumming my nails along the armrest of the chair, I give him a menacing grin. “How’s your wife?”

His jaw bunches. “Bianca—”

“What’s the matter, Doc? Afraid I’ll tell her and everyone else the truth?”

He turns ashen. “You promised—”

“I promised nothing,” I hiss.

On second thought, he’s right.

I promised I’d make him pay for what he did.

I promised that one day I’d make him feel every ounce of pain he caused my family.

I promised I’d avenge her death.

The pathetic man looks like he wants to drop to his knees and cry.

Good.

“What do you want?”

“I want my mother back, but that can’t happen…now can it?”

Frowning, he rubs his forehead. “I told you I’m so—”

“Sorry won’t bring her back.”

He draws in a heavy breath. “What can I—”

“I need more money.”

He looks at me like I’m insane. “I wrote you a check for two hundred thousand three months ago. Not to mention, your father is a goddamn billionaire.”

I stand up and walk over to him. “I’m aware.” I flash him some teeth. “And you’re right, I don’t need your money. I just want to ensure your murdering ass doesn’t get to have any.”

“I’ve told you time and time again. I didn’t kill—”

“You have one month to come up with five hundred thousand.”

His eyeballs nearly pop out of his skull. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.” I tap my chin. “Or rather, a car going sixty miles an hour ramming into a tree and then rolling into a ditch.”

His expression turns solemn. “You know I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Not my problem.” I study my nails. “On second thought, it’s no biggie. I’ll just post those videos on every porn site I can think of.”

Turmoil colors his face. “You swore you wouldn’t do that. Don’t punish her for my mistake—”

The sharp sting from my hand slapping his cheek practically echoes in the small room. “My mother wasn’t a mistake.”

She was a tortured soul.

A tortured soul who trusted him to fix her.

But he didn’t. Because he was too busy taking advantage of her.

“Please, Bianca. I am begging you not to do this.”

I walk over to the door. “Just like my mom begged you before she killed herself?”

He slumps back in defeat. “I’ll see if I can take out another loan.”

“You do that.” I start to turn the knob, but pause. “Oh, and one more thing, Mark.”

“What’s that?”

“You better warn your cunt daughter to stop spreading lies about me or I’ll release every goddamn thing I have, and our little deal will be off.” I blow him a kiss. “I’ll text you with the time and place you can drop off the check.”

Chapter 15

Bianca

Holy shit.

Hayley’s dad was Mr. Young, my mom’s psychiatrist.

And the man she was cheating on my dad with.

Head whirling, I leave the classroom in a daze.

It’s safe to say I know exactly why I was blackmailing him now. And that I was using Hayley to do it.

Not that it makes it right.

Part of me wants to call Stone and tell him about this new memory, but I can’t.

I can’t tell anyone.

I’m so out of it I don’t realize where I’m walking to until the lake comes into view.

My heart stutters when I spot Oakley sitting on my bench eating a sandwich.

Stomach churning with nerves, I approach him as one would approach a bomb…with extreme caution.

“Hi.”

His blue eyes widen and he pauses mid-bite.

“Can we ta—”

He’s already walking away before I can even get the words out.

“Please,” I plead as I watch him toss the remainder of his sandwich in a nearby garbage bin. “Just give me two minutes.”

I can tell he wants to argue, but to my surprise he begrudgingly sits back down on the bench.

Whatever nerves I had disappear as I take a seat next to him. Despite his hostility toward me…I feel a comfort in his presence.

“I set your weed on fire,” I utter, recalling one of my recent memories.

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “That you did.”

I give him a rueful smile. “Sorry.”

He snorts. “It’s fine.”

Fidgeting, I wipe my damp palms on my jeans. “Do you still write poetry?”

I’ve clearly caught him off guard because the color drains from his face and he goes still.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ups—”

“Bianca.”

He utters my name like he’s on his last breath and I’m his lifeline.

“Yeah?”

His lips part on a sharp inhale and his strong throat works as he swallows. “I thought you had amnesia?”

“I do.”

For the briefest of moments, the despair lingering in his gaze evaporates. “Then how do you know—”

“I had another flashback.”

And just like that, the sadness is back. “Right.”

It’s as though I sucked the wind right out of his sail. “I’m sorry.”

His jaw tightens. “Stop apologizing to me.”

I can’t help it. For some strange reason I feel like I should.

I have no idea why, though.

My attention drifts to the lake and the two ducks fighting over a piece of bread in the water.

“I have to ask you something really awkward.”

Anxiety lodges in my throat, because despite him turning down my advances in every memory I’ve had, I feel like he knows me.

Intimately.

“Did we ever…you know…hookup?”