Five years ago, on a night he'd clearly forgotten, I'd been forced to work as a hostess to pay for my foster mother's medical bills. That night, I stumbled upon him drugged by his cousin Wayne Simmons, barely conscious. I'd only meant to help him back to his room—but he'd pulled me in, and I couldn't break free.
When I discovered I was pregnant, I knew the gulf between us was too vast to bridge. I never told him. I raised Denise alone for four years.
And now he had the audacity to humiliate me like this.
Rage obliterated reason. My hand moved before I could think.
The slap echoed through the office. Silence crashed down like a hammer.
Denys Simmons's face flushed a mottled purple. He grabbed my wrist with the grip of a man unhinged. "You dare hit me?"
I wrenched free and met his glare, biting out each word. "It seems Mr. Simmons has forgotten that night five years ago at the club."
He went rigid. His pupils contracted sharply, as if something had struck him square in the chest.
"How do you know what happened five years ago?"