I had asked myself that question a thousand times.
We were both his daughters. The same blood. And still they could tilt the scales this far without flinching.
A sudden tightness clamped down on my chest. I turned and left the hall. The deck outside was empty. Sea wind hit me full in the face, and some small measure of the pressure eased.
I leaned against the railing, staring out at the endless dark water.
Behind me, the sharp click of heels on the deck.
"Sister. What are you doing out here all alone?"
That familiar voice, threaded with quiet mockery, pulled me back. I turned. I didn't answer. I just looked at her.
Adrian Winslow didn't seem bothered. She walked toward me slowly, chin tilted upward, letting her gaze travel over me from head to foot.
"Don't you think you're pathetic, sister?"
Her tone was light, almost careless, but every word cut.
"When we were children you tried so hard to win their love. They only ever loved me. When the inheritance was divided, they wouldn't give you a single cent. Then you chased after my husband, and he didn't love you either. Julian Frost was kind to you, sure. But now he's dead."