SEVENTY-TWO

ELLEN

Oliver dragged me up to his room, ignoring all my whimpers. He shoved me down on the bed when we were in his room.

“What is wrong with you? Do you know what this would do to Sophie? You are just being wicked,” I snapped.

Oliver chuckled with poison in his eyes. “You hid my fucking daughter from me for how long? Six years? Seven? And I am the wicked one?

“Oliver, it’s not entirely my fault—”

“It’s my fault then!” he barked.

“You left me with no choice when you left me in that dingy club room, and dropped me a bundle of money like I was only a prostitute.”

“What?” Oliver’s face crumpled in a frown. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“I don’t know how often you pay for a woman’s drink, but you paid for my drink at Dynamite Club in New York, five years ago. We spoke for a while and had sex in the guest room.”

I saw remembrance cross his face. “You...you were that girl?” I nodded. “That does not justify your actions, Ellen.