Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Trent begins shaking his head.
“The Wolfe fortune isn’t yours,” I tell him. “Not by marriage, not by anything. And after—what?—five minutes ago”—I tilt my head—“neither is the Koning fortune. Your baby brother, the one you love so fucking much, is the sole heir of everything.”
The thirdborn finally has the crown.
It only took two deaths, a three-month-long fake marriage, and a summer spent in my deceased family’s mansion with the con man who murdered them.
Top three hardest jobs of all time. No question.
Trent can’t stop shaking his head. “He’s not…” He stakes a glare at Jake now. “Dad will clear this up. He knows I would never just hand you everything.”
“Dad?” Jake frowns. “Dad has been in Sweden since Mom died. He has no shares or interest in the company. He never has. What’s he going to do?”
Trent lets out a low chuckle. “Jordan won’t like this—”
“Jordan is going to rehab.” Jake names their other brother. The secondborn. “I already told him I’d help him out under the stipulation he checks himself into a facility and stays sober. He’s not going to vouch for you.”
Trent stops shifting his weight. He fumes in place, his eyes pinging from me to Jake. “You two fucked me.”
I raise and lower my brows, not admitting to shit verbally.
Then Trent zeroes in on Hailey. “You.” His lip curls. “Did you know about this? Were you a part of this fucking…thing, too?”
Hailey has her knuckles to her cheek, acting sheepish. He sees right through it. She’s basically smiling.
“You fucking bitch—” He makes one furious step toward Hailey, and I cut off his path in an instant. I throw my fist into his mouth, hard, and he stumbles backward again, his ass meeting the ground this time.
“Fuck,” he grunts. He doesn’t get up. He spits out blood. Glaring at me like I’m picking on a guy when he’s down. How unfair.
“What’d I say?” I glare. “Don’t mess with my fucking sister. You want to fight someone, I’m right here. Stand the fuck up.” I motion to him.
He stays seated. His forearms on his bent knees.
Yeah. That’s what I fucking thought. All these petulant little pricks are the same. They always go after the girls because they know they’re physically stronger than them and want a guaranteed win without injury or harm.
I watch his eyes veer again, and I rotate slightly to see Phoebe emerge from inside the house. She leans a shoulder in the doorway to the patio. Her lips stretching higher and higher at Trent’s disgrace.
I tower over Trent, and he’s rethinking what he wants to say to my wife because his eyes drop to my foot.
“Wow, TK.” Phoebe feigns surprise. “Is it true? Are you really, like, losing billions of dollars in one day? Does this make you…broke? Like, do you have money to pay your mortgage—oh wait, do you even have a mortgage? Are you…are you homeless?” She gasps, a hand to her mouth, which she turns into a middle finger.
I grind down a smile. Phoebe grins at me, which makes it harder not to share in this sweet, sweet victory.
Trent’s face flames bright red in humiliation, in hatred. “You think you’re better than me…Phoebe?” He says her name with a mocking high pitch. I know where this is going.
I crouch down to his height on the ground. “You call her a cunt, a whore, or anything in the realm and I will put your face in the fucking ground. I think I saw a pile of dog shit over there. You want to eat it?”
“Fuck you,” he mutters under his breath, unable to even meet my eyes now.
“What was that?” I turn my ear to him.
“I could have you arrested for assault,” he says more clearly.
“Self-defense,” I say assuredly.
He laughs.
“You came at Rocky first,” Phoebe chimes in. “I saw it.”
“Me too,” Hailey adds.
Trent is more surprised at Hailey turning on him. It’s been sinking in. Rapidly, then slowly, then quickly again. “You…?” He’s cringing.
Right then, “Spirit in the Sky” begins playing in Jake’s hand—a ringtone he’s set for someone. He doesn’t answer right away, so the song continues as Hailey rises from her chair and comes to the edge of the patio.
“I’m filing for divorce,” she tells Trent. “Today. You weren’t a very good husband.”
He lets out a stunned noise. “You were a shitty wife who never put out.”
“That’s because you said cruel things to me—”
“Oh please.” He winces like she’s full of shit. “I was nothing but nice to you.”
Hailey raises her phone and plays some voice recordings. I hear him say, “You little freak,” and “I wouldn’t fuck you if my life depended on it,” and “You’re lucky I like your money,” and “You better do what I say like a good little wifey.” Yeah, fuck him.
My blood runs hotter, and she plays enough that he gets the idea. He’s breathing like he’s scaling a vertical wall.