Then laughed—cold, mocking.
"If you were Richard Whitmore's daughter, you wouldn't have been rejected. Stop making things up. It's pathetic."
I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat.
"Leo?"
Vanessa's sweet voice cut through. She approached, brow furrowed with concern as she slipped her arm through his.
"Is everything okay? Is there a misunderstanding?"
"It's nothing," Leo said, demeanor instantly smooth. He glanced at me with disdain. "Just an ex from college. Having a hard time letting go."
He wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her away without a backward glance.
But just before they disappeared into the crowd, Vanessa looked over her shoulder.
Her eyes met mine. Her lips curled—triumphant, knowing, cruel.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out numbly.
"Rena," Margaret's voice came through, sharp and impatient. "It's Sunday. Are you still throwing a tantrum? Your father is furious. Stop making a scene and come home."
"I'm not making a scene," I whispered.
I ended the call before my voice could break.
I dialed another number.
"Tyler Whitney, Tax Investigation Division. We have jurisdiction over Ascend Corporation, correct?"
"Yes, Director Whitmore."