92. Locked in the house

ROSE

Weeks had passed since my accident.

Since Ryan finally told me the truth about Ana—and about the woman who had given birth to her.

Everything had happened just a week after his father’s death.

Ryan had unraveled. Alcohol. Drugs. Fights. Anything that could dull the pain of losing his father, just like he had after returning from India when he thought he’d lost me. This time, though, there were no women. For that, I was grateful.

It happened during that haze. One night, out of his mind drunk and high, a woman he’d been sitting with at a bar followed him back to his hotel.

Ryan barely remembered any of it.

He told me he’d asked her to leave once they were inside. He hadn’t been capable of doing anything, physically or mentally, and had apologized, telling her to go. But she’d been high too, clinging to the idea of seducing a billionaire.

The next thing he remembered was waking up alone and naked. His wallet was gone.

A month later, when he was nineteen, drowning in