"There isn't a single thing money can not fix, little brother," she replied smoothly. Little brother.
The words grated like rusted steel against my ears. I wasn't little. I wasn't her brother.
She was my father's bastard. A stain on our family. Born two years before me to the whore who had poisoned my parents' marriage beyond repair.
I hated her with every fiber of my being. She was as cunning and soulless as the woman who birthed her.
"I never thought I'd see you after the last time we met," I emphasized the last word, relishing the look of anger on her face. "Too bad people don't learn their lessons."
She smiled. That same serpent's smile I remembered from years ago, the kind that coiled around a room, waiting to choke.
But I wasn't seventeen anymore.
"You don't seem surprised to see me," she said in a deceptively light tone, as though this was a casual reunion between long-lost siblings.
