“My father is gone,” he said lightly, sipping his drink. “Which means I inherit everything. Seventy-five million dollars. Do you understand what that means?”
“It means a huge responsibility,” I began.
He laughed sharply, the sound echoing through the empty house.
“Responsibility?” He sneered. “There is no ‘we.’ You were useful when Dad needed someone to clean him and feed him. A free nurse. But now? You’re dead weight. You’re ordinary. No ambition. No refinement. You don’t belong in my life as a wealthy bachelor.”
The words crushed me.
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