All Chapters of No Saints in My Bed: Chapter 121 - Chapter 127

GenevieveThe next morning, the tension in the office between us felt like a live wire. My father was pacing the rug, concluding a meeting with Arthur, Marcus, and two other board members. I stood next to Arthur, leaning over a stack of spreadsheets as the final directives were given.“The numbers for the April targets are here,” I said, my voice professional and steady.“Let me see,” Arthur murmured. He didn’t look at the tablet. Instead, he reached out, his hand sliding under the table and resting on my hip. His thumb hooked into the waistband of my skirt, tugging it just enough to let the air hit my skin. “You’ve been very thorough, Genevieve. I like the attention to detail.”I felt a flush creep up my neck. My father turned around as the others began to pack up. “She’s a fast learner, isn’t she, Arthur?”“The fastest,” Arthur replied, his fingers digging into my flesh. “She knows exactly how to follow instructions.” He looked up at me, a knowing smile on his lips.At the close of

GenevieveThe silence in the room was a heavy weight, broken only by the sound of my father's ragged breathing. I scrambled back, my knees hitting the floor, my hands trembling as I tried to scrape up what was left of my dignity. I tried to gather my clothes, but they were strewn across the floor in different directions. My panties were kicked far away. I weighed the option of crawling toward it and just staying put, and realized crawling was far more humiliating.So I pulled my knees tighter and shielded my breasts with my hands. I looked at him, waiting for the explosion, for the rage that would surely end us both. I was officially dead, like cold in the morgue dead. I could see my life disappear in front of me.I stole a glance at Uncle Artie, if I was having it worse, his was definitely going to be worse. There was no way in hell my dad would spare him. And yet when I looked at him, he had that same blank, unbothered expression he had had on his face when he told me he would handl

GenevieveThe gala was a failure. It was just a room full of people in expensive suits pretending in each other’s faces. Every “congratulations” from a board member felt like a slap. The champagne was too cold, the lights were too bright, and I just wanted to scream.Father and Uncle Artie had masked the ceremony as a celebration of a merger; meanwhile, it was a funeral for my old life as Genevieve Jacobson. My mother had been awfully silent through all of this.My father stumbled over to me for the dance. He reeked of scotch and whiskey. He was disheveled. How he managed to stand on his own two feet was a miracle. When he pulled me onto the floor, his hand was clammy, and beads of perspiration formed on his head despite the perfect air conditioning. He was so shaky I felt like I was the one propping him up.“You look beautiful, Genevieve,” he whispered. His head actually sagged toward my shoulder. He sounded pathetic. “Thank you. Seriously. You’re saving the family, Gen. I know it’s