Sins of the Father Read Online Jenna Rose

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)

Callum Alister is evil incarnate. Richer than God and as gorgeous as one. Maybe that’s why he’s as cocky as he is. Maybe that’s why he’s holding the millions of dollars my father left for me after he was murdered and making me do everything he says for it.

Because he thinks that he can break me. Make me forget that he’s the reason for my dad’s death. My heart has barely healed and he’s going after it like it’s just another thing that he can buy with all his money and power. He thinks because he’s ruthlessly handsome I’ll forgive him for his sins. I’m his plaything now, but if he thinks that’s all I’ll ever be, he’s sorely mistaken.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One


* * *

Rain. Of course it has to rain today.

“Go ahead and cry, sweetie. The rain will wash away your tears, and nobody will notice.” That’s what my father used to say. My father who I buried today. My father who was murdered by a man I never knew for a reason that I’ll never discover. My father who I loved, the only man who ever truly loved me, who was taken from me by a world so cruel that now at eighteen years of age, I’m completely on my own.

I was only allowed to cry around my father or when it was raining and no one could see. Otherwise, I had to keep my tears to myself, bury my emotions deep and maintain full control of them.

“It’s a tough world out there, Evie,” he used to tell me. “You gotta be hard like steel. If you let people see you’re soft, they’ll crush you up like a wet piece of cardboard. Understand?”

I remember nodding as a little girl, looking up at him like he was my everything. Because he was. I grew up without a mother, so it was up to my dad to raise me. I wasn’t quite a tomboy, but I wasn’t exactly a girly-girl either. He taught me to stand up for myself, to not let people walk all over me, and most importantly, how to read people.

“See that guy over there?” I remember him saying to me once when we were walking in the park. “Good guy or bad guy?”

I glanced over to the man he was pointing at—a beggar talking to a woman who looked like she was on her way to yoga.

“I…I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “He’s homeless—”

“Look harder,” my dad replied, his voice firm.

I frowned, focused, took in the details of the scene. What did he want me to see? The man’s body language? His clothing? He was hunched over, like he was in pain. His clothing was all worn out and dirty. He certainly looked down on his luck.

But then, I noticed something.

“His shoes…”

“What about them?” My dad sounded pleased.

“They’re…really nice.” And they were. They were sneakers, almost brand new, especially when compared to the rest of his clothes.

“Look at his hands.”

I did. They were dirty, but…

“His nails!”


“There you go!” my dad roared with delight. He patted me on the back, filling me with the joy only a daughter can get from her father’s praise. “He’s a faker, Evie.”

* * *

“Are you sure!?”

“I sure am,” he replied. “The news caught him doing this downtown a few months ago. Looks like he moved up here where the yuppies are. More money, people are less likely to question his game. Probably makes a killing too.”

“What are we going to do?” I asked. “Stop him?”

My father just shrugged and smiled. “Hey, if people are dumb enough to give their money away to this guy, he deserves it. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Ten years ago, and I still remember that moment like it was yesterday. So many of those moments throughout my life, father-daughter moments that taught me so much about the world. Moments like that are all I have left now, because my father is gone now. Gunned down by some maniac and robbed for the twenty-seven dollars in his wallet.

The funeral was…well, it was something. Dad apparently wasn’t too popular at work. None of his co-workers from the insurance company showed up, despite me sending out an invitation, so it was just me and the pallbearers and the priest, who said a few words about Dad’s spirit passing on and being peaceful and all that jazz.

It was nice, I guess. I was going to keep my tears to myself, but when it started to rain, I let them flow.

“Bye, Dad,” I said as they lowered him into the earth.

* * *

Now, walking back to the house we shared for eighteen years, I have to meet the lawyer and go over the details of his estate, which should be a whole lot of fun. Go from saying goodbye to the only man who ever cared for me to dealing with monetary issues of which I have absolutely no experience.

When I get there, I see John’s car parked out front. Of course it has to be a black sedan, adding to today’s grim tone. He’s standing by the door in a black rain jacket looking like death itself.

“Hello, Evie,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t add any levity to the moment. “How are you?”

“Well, Mr. Greenfield, my dad’s six feet under, how do you think I am?” I ask, stepping past him to unlock the door. He clears his throat and says nothing as I let us inside. “Would you like some tea? I know this may take a while.”

“Sure, tea would be nice,” he says. I kick off my wet boots and slip out of my jacket, then hear John clear his throat behind me. “Actually, I’ll pass on the tea. Listen, Evie, there’s something I need to speak to you about.”