Alistair

The Scott Residence, Ten a.m.

Let me tell you a little about my family… a glimpse of a real billionaire’s life. Elizabeth and John Scott lived at the Scott Residence on a hill about thirty minutes out of town at Orchard Boulevard, Lester Harbor. It’s a magnificent rural property with acreage that epitomized luxury ranch living.

Every room showed off the spectacular Montville hinterland landscape, away from the coastal city. The Scott Residence was where I grew up. Oliver and I spent our childhood being ‘explorers’ of the great outdoors surrounding our family home. The birch tree near the garage was where I fell and broke my arm at eleven.

Contrary to the stereotypical billionaires you see on television shows or read in books, my folks were down-to-earth people who talked with friends and strangers after a church service or at a gas station. The Scotts were neither ostentatious nor pretentious. My mother, Elizabeth, sported shoulder-length silver-blonde hair, wore comfortable clothes, and enjoyed gardening on sunny days. John was a gray hawk who played golf and led the local Toastmasters public speaking club.

Coming from old oil money, my parents invested in various businesses, including the property sector, years ago. They were on the way to a happy retirement until the news about Erin broke this morning. While it didn’t change their retirement plans, it added stress to their golden years.

“Alistair, take a seat,” my mother instructed when I entered the living room.

“Sure.” I sauntered toward a comfortable lounge chair and sat down.

“Where’s Damian?” she asked. Her heavy frown and pursed lips conveyed her concern.

“He’s at a friend’s house,” I replied.

My mother accepted my response with a nod of approval.

Dad gave me a hard stare with his steel-gray eyes, then glared at Erin. “Alistair and Erin, I’ll be frank. I’m disgusted, absolutely disgusted with both of you.”

“Alistair doesn’t deserve to be called a Scott,” my brother spat, curling his lips.

Erin sat on the other side of the room, far from Oliver, hugging her frail frame in solemn silence.

“Is it true?” I asked. “Are you pregnant?”

All eyes were on the woman, who took her time to absorb my question before uttering the words I dreaded to hear. “It’s true, Alistair. The child is yours.”

“Erin, I want you to tell me the truth. Are you positive you’re pregnant?” Dad questioned.

“Of course, she’s telling you the bloody truth.” Oliver shouted, stretching out his tattooed arm to point at Erin. “You know I can’t have children.”

“Oliver.” my mother scolded.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Oliver shouted, running his hands through his dark curls.

“For goodness’ sake, don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” Mom exclaimed.

“I was in Asia for nearly a month, and when I came back, I found out my wife cheated on me.” Oliver pointed his finger at Erin. “She’s pregnant with my brother’s child.”

“You were busy fucking prostitutes on every business trip you were on. Why would I infect myself with God knows what disease you’ve got?” Erin retorted. Her brown eyes narrowed at Oliver.

“That’s bullshit, Erin, and you know that. Stop lying and admit you slept with my brother because you’re still in love with him. Just great. Our relationship is a fucking lie.” Oliver fired back.

“And you,” he pointed at me, “are a traitor.”

“Oliver, I’m sorry. It was a mistake,” I said, crossing the room to face my brother.

His fists curled, muscles straining under his sleeves, his jaw locked as he glared at me. I felt the heat of his breath just before the sneer cut across his face—then white-hot pain exploded through my eye as his fist connected.

“Fuuck.” I staggered back, adrenaline surging, shock tearing through me.

“You’re filth for sticking your fucking prick into my wife.” My brother stalked to the other side of the room as he shook his reddened fist.

Mom placed one hand over her chest as tears rolled down her cheekbones. “Stop it. Please, stop it, both of you.”

Dizziness slammed into me, pain flaring around my eye socket. My legs wobbled, fighting to keep me upright. I pressed a hand to my throbbing temple and forced the words out, each one meant to cut.

“Erin was never in love with you, Oliver. You knew she was mine years ago. You were the idiot who married her.”

“I never raised you boys like this,” my father proclaimed. “Erin, is my son, Alistair, the father? Not any other man? A lover outside the family, perhaps?”

“Alistair is my baby’s father,” she answered.

“I never trusted you, Erin,” Mom said, letting out a heavy sigh as she watched Oliver sit down to bury his head in his hands.

“You never gave me a chance,” Erin hissed back. She wrinkled her nose and raised her upper lip in contempt. “Worst mother-in-law on the planet.”

“You know what happened years ago,” my mother interjected. “I gave you a chance, but you lied to me. To this day, you’ve never admitted it.”

I glanced at Erin, whose face faded into sickly paleness. Was there something I didn’t know about her? What was Mom on about?

“That’s enough. We’re here to resolve a challenge,” Dad bellowed. “The challenge is, who will Erin raise the child with?”

“I’ll take the responsibility,” I volunteered, raking one hand through my hair.

“Erin and I will raise the child together,” Oliver butted in. “We’re a family, and we need to stay united.” He walked over to Erin and sat beside her. “Call me crazy, but I love you. I don’t care about the past. I’ll take care of you and the child. Whatever you need, I’ll give it.”

“I love you too, Oliver,” she replied. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes flicked from her husband to me and back to him again. What the heck was she doing?

Guilt gnawed at me as I stepped closer, my voice steady even with the sting in my eye.

“It’s my child. Like I said⁠—”

“Shut up. You’ve already messed up my marriage. I’m going to fix it, so save your apologies. I don’t need your support. Stay the fuck away.” Oliver squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“I’m just saying I can to help,” I pressed, the words pulled from the knot of guilt in my conscience.

“I think it’s best if Oliver and I raise the child as our own,” Erin said, her voice edged as she fixed a glare on my mother. She turned her eyes on me, pleading. “I’m sorry, but it’s the only decision that makes sense for this family.”

“Sure,” I muttered hoarsely. My throat felt like a dried-up oil well, and my skull throbbed. I needed painkillers to numb my wounded eye and the pounding headache that drilled into me. Burgeoning rage sent my temperature toward an explosion which might leave someone injured. I had to leave before I blew up.

“Alistair, where are you going?” Mom called as I stalked toward the door, my face still burning from Oliver’s punch.

“Where I always go when I need peace and comfort. Lady Jane.”

Alistair

A day later

Horseback riding was my therapy. Whenever life closed in, I found my escape in Lady Jane, a palomino my parents gave me back in my teens. She was well past her prime now, but still my favorite on the ranch. Age had slowed her stride, yet she carried herself with the same quiet pride, ears pricked, as if daring the world to underestimate her. She always tried to give me that extra mile, even at a gentle pace.

Nothing calmed me more than riding, the wind on my face, and the wide-open land stretching out like it belonged only to me. Away from the city, away from people. Horses didn’t want anything back. They gave empathy without judgment, something I figured out as a teenager. Back then, I wore the label—ADHD kid—and money didn’t protect me. Not from a pack of spoiled assholes who made sport out of kicking the vulnerable in high school.

I only came back to my childhood home when work let me breathe, and this afternoon was one of those rare times. Out here with Lady Jane, the city felt a world away. The sun warmed my skin, and for a moment, I let myself sink into the quiet, into her steady rhythm.

Mom pulled me into a tight hug the next day when I showed up with Damian after work. I’d come home to unwind, maybe sneak in another ride on Lady Jane. We sat on the patio flipping through old photos until she sent my son off to “help Grandpa with the woodwork.” Translation: clear the deck so she could grill me about my personal life.

“How are you, son?” she asked.

“Work’s keeping me busy. We signed another contract for a drilling campaign near the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Well done,” she remarked with a nod. She readjusted her hat, which nearly blew off in the gentle fall breeze.

“I’ll be in Dubai and London for a few weeks,” I said. “Damian’s glad he can stay with you.”

Mom squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. “He’s my grandson, and I don’t trust his mother.”

I patted her arm assuredly. “I’m fighting for full custody, but it’s gonna take a while.”

“You’d better have the best lawyer in town because of that woman…” Mom’s voice trailed off as she shook her head.

“I’m wiser.”

“I never agreed with your father pushing you to marry Saira. Sure, he and Darius were business partners, but I always suspected Darius had mafia ties before he died. And Saira? She’s worse than him. Smarter. Colder. Absolutely heartless.”

“I know, Mom. I know. That’s why I took over The Church from Saira, remember?”

Mom’s eyes glinted cheerfully. “You have a heart of gold.”

Turning slightly away, I shook my head.

“Alistair, you’re a handsome man. You’re intelligent. But you were wrong to sleep with Erin. I know you. You regret what you’ve done, but that baby was no accident on her part. You should have been more careful. She wanted a piece of you, and now she can hold it over you for the rest of your life.”

“I know, Mom. I know.” Thirty-something and still, she could make me feel twelve again.

“She’s a loose cannon, more so than Saira.” Mom’s deep-green eyes pierced mine.

My thoughts were doing laps, sprinting nowhere, and stress was the trophy strapped to my shoulders.

“Alistair, have you taken your medication?”

“I don’t miss a day.” I shook my head, grinning as the wind tried to steal Mom’s hat like it was in on the conversation.

“I want the best for you because I love you. I hope you will find a woman whom you can trust. A woman who is honest and strong in the mind and the heart.”

“Vera,” I murmured, hiding behind my shades. I’d caved and sent her a short text—told her I was at the ranch, asked how she was. Like that would fill the space she left.

“Go and see Lady Jane. The grand dame has been expecting you.” Mom gave a small grin as she stood up from her seat and walked to the house with that crazy hat tucked under her arm.

An hour later, I dismounted and gave Lady Jane the attention she’d earned, running the brush along her flank before leading her toward the stable. That’s when I heard a familiar feminine voice call my name.

“Hello, Scotty.”

Turning around, I saw a silhouette of a tall, slender figure blocking the sun’s low afternoon rays. “Erin,” I responded coldly.

The woman looked fresh in a pair of jeans and a collared shirt unbuttoned just above her breasts, revealing a hint of their fullness. Erin was beautiful, no doubt, and I had a weakness for beautiful women.

“Can we talk?”

“Let me get Lady Jane settled in her stable. We can talk at the house.”

“I’ll wait. We can walk back together,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips. “I don’t mind watching.”

I let out a low breath, shaking my head. “Suit yourself.”

Thirty minutes later, Erin and I strolled the path toward the main house. The sun slipped behind the clouds, and she shivered, jamming her hands into her pockets.

“Scotty, I want to talk about the baby and us,” she said.

“We’re not a thing.” My jaw locked. “Don’t fool yourself.”

“Alistair, please. We can still see each other. Oliver doesn’t need to know.”

“You lied to me. You said you were on the pill.”

“The pill doesn’t always⁠—”

“Bullshit.” My fists clenched, pulse spiking hard in my throat. I forced myself to stop walking, dragging in a breath I didn’t feel. “Erin, what are you doing here?”

“I dropped off some baked goods for your mother. I wanted to make peace.”

“How’d that go?”

“She wouldn’t even look at me.”

“And Oliver?”

“He needs space, but he wants us to stay together. I’m trying, Alistair. I’m trying to love him, but I’m still in love with you.”

“What we had is gone. I can’t love you that way.”

“Wait.” Erin’s hand clamped around my wrist, her grip too tight. Her lips twisted into a sharp smile. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“Don’t start,” I warned, peeling her fingers off. I turned to leave⁠—

—but she lunged. Her mouth crashed against mine, hungry, insistent. For a beat, I froze, fury and disbelief tangling, before I shoved her shoulders back.

That’s when I heard it.

My name.

Sharp. Cutting through the mess.

Vera.

My whole body jolted. I looked up. She stood there, wide-eyed, the world collapsing around her.

Of course. Out of every possible moment, she had to walk in on this.