How many times had Ruby called him saying she was in a bad mood, and Nathan immediately ditched my rehab appointments to take her out?
On my father Charles Hayes’s birthday, I asked him to come home early for dinner.
Instead, he told me coldly, “You celebrate with him. I’m busy,” because he had to watch a replay of a race with Ruby.
He came home drunk past midnight.
Every time I expressed dissatisfaction, Nathan would frown and scold me in return.
I used to think that he only spoke this way because we were closest — so I kept backing down.
Seeing Ruby cry in the car, Nathan climbed in and held her hand, whispering comfort.
I turned and walked away.
Behind me, Nathan’s voice floated over.
“Don’t be upset. Seeing you hurt breaks my heart. Stella’s been mentally off since her injury — it’s not your fault…”
I stared at that blazing red Ferrari, burning my chest like a fire.
Nathan’s glare cut into me, full of command.
“Stella, have you made enough of a scene?”
“I just made a female friend, and you’re acting hysterical. Don’t you have male friends at the hospital? Did I ever complain?”
“You’re making me lose face — do you get that?”
“Apologize to Ruby, and maybe I’ll forgive you!”
Apologize?