“She’ll pay,” he muttered under his breath, his hands curling into fists. “I swear, she’ll pay.”
The slap landed harder than Seraphine expected. For a moment she only heard the sharp sound and felt the sting flaming across her cheek.
“How dare you slap me!” she snapped, stumbling back. “You’re not my father—who are you to—”
“Yes,” Mr. Howard said. “I am not your blood father. I am your stepfather. But I raised you. I gave you everything. Is this how you repay me?”
Seraphine’s eyes flashed. “Everything? You gave me a name and a house, and you kept the truth from me. You gave me nothing that matters.” Her voice trembled with a mixture of rage and hurt.
Howard’s mouth tightened. He moved closer and the second slap came quicker, sharper. Seraphine clutched her cheek, blinking, trying to steady herself.
“How dare you do that to my daughter,” he growled, looking past Seraphine at the framed photograph of Vivienne on the wall.
Seraphine spat back, words tumbling out like a thrown stone. “Do you even care about your daughter? You never did. You left her alone. You treated me better because I fit the life you wanted. You made her the scapegoat.”