Because the signature wasn’t forged.
It was real.
And it belonged to Alyssa.
That evening, I arrived at my family’s estate.
My father was waiting in the library.
He stood beside the fireplace with a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand.
He looked older than he had that morning.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
When I entered, he didn’t ask whether I was all right.
He simply said:
“You finally stopped choosing him.”
I looked at him.
“I thought I was choosing love.”
My father sighed.
“No, sweetheart.”
He walked toward me.
“You were choosing a man you hoped would become worthy of your love.”
That sentence broke something in me.
I looked away.
“I gave him everything.”
“I know.”
“I gave him the money.”
“I know.”
“The patents.”
“I know.”
“My connections. My reputation. My family.”
“I know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And he still thinks I’m nothing.”
My father placed his glass down.
“That is because you made one mistake.”
