Chapter 164: Unearthing the Truth

Justin’s POV

I stood in front of the bedroom mirror, methodically buttoning my shirt, wondering if I could get away with not leaving the house today.

My body was still running on empty. Every muscle felt heavier than it should, and even though I had slept, I could feel the accumulated fatigue from weeks of development camp sitting deep in my bones.

For the first time in forever, I was home.

I wanted to stay here. I wanted to crawl back into bed, pull Harper against my chest, and spend the entire day doing absolutely nothing.

Unfortunately, I had promised my father I’d see him. And there was one thing I needed from that conversation more than anything else.

Answers.

My stepmother’s trial was only a week away, and there was no way in hell I was walking into that courtroom blind.

I glanced toward the bed. Harper was still fast asleep, half-buried under the duvet. She looked peaceful. Too peaceful.

I had initially planned to wake her up so she could come with me especially since I’d already told my father she was coming. But watching her rest, I couldn’t bring myself to disturb her. She had been just as exhausted as I was after everything yesterday. She deserved the sleep.

I finished dressing, grabbed my wallet and keys, and quietly stepped out of the bedroom. Before pulling the door shut, I glanced back one last time.

"Sleep, baby," I murmured into the dark room.

The house was dead silent.

I grabbed my phone and stood near the front entryway. For some reason, the simple thought of driving over to my father’s house alone made my stomach turn into knots. I hadn’t set foot in that house in months. And I definitely hadn’t been back under circumstances like these.

I pulled up my messages. There was only one person I could reach out to right now.

Me: Are you awake?

Mason replied almost instantly.

Mason: Yes.

A ghost of a smile touched my lips.

Me: Can you follow me to my dad’s house?

The three dots appeared, flickering back and forth.

Mason: Cool.

Then another message popped up.

Mason: I’m already dressed. Was actually out earlier.

Mason: Who’s driving? Me or you?

Me: I’m driving.

Mason: Cool. Coming down.

I stepped outside, breathing in the crisp morning air, and got into my car. A few minutes later, I pulled up along the curb in front of Mason’s apartment. He came walking out immediately, opened the passenger door, and climbed in.

"You look like shit," he said without preamble.

I glanced over at him as I shifted into drive. "Good morning to you too."

He scoffed softly. "I’m just being honest."

"I’m tired, man."

"I know." Mason reached over and buckled his seatbelt. He looked out the windshield, his tone shifting into something quieter. "You ready for this?"

I stared straight at the road ahead. "No."

Mason’s usual sarcastic edge softened completely. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Me neither."

We drove in heavy silence. Neither of us tried to fill the space with useless noise. We didn’t need to say out loud what both of us were thinking.

When I finally turned the steering wheel onto the long driveway leading up to my father’s estate, a sudden, suffocating tightness gripped my chest. I hadn’t expected it to hit me this hard.

I knew every inch of this place. I had grown up here.

There had been a time when pulling into this driveway meant noise the bustling hum of a wealthy household. People walking around, music drifting from open windows, my stepmother filming content for her social media, Vanessa’s loud laughing down the hall, staff moving in and out, my father barking orders on business calls.

Everything had always felt busy. Loud. Alive.

But as I cut the engine in the courtyard today, the first thing that hit me was the complete, eerie silence.

It was deeply unsettling.

Mason looked up at the massive front facade. "Damn."

"Yeah."

We got out of the car, our footsteps heavy on the stone path. I walked up to the grand front entrance. When the heavy door swung open, an older woman I didn’t recognize was standing there. She wasn’t one of the regular staff members I remembered from my childhood.

She offered a small, polite smile. "Mr. Justin."

I gave a curt nod. "Is my father home?"

"Yes. Your father is expecting you." She stepped aside, holding the door open wider. "Please, come in."

I stepped into the grand foyer, and the oppressive silence inside was even worse.

I looked around the sprawling space. Nothing. No ambient music, no raised voices, no high-end camera equipment abandoned on the side tables. No Vanessa. No chaos.

It felt like someone had methodically drained the life out of the entire house.

Mason followed close behind me, his boots echoing softly against the marble floor. The housekeeper gestured toward the main living room. "Please have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here."

"Thank you."

I walked over to the leather couch and sat down. Mason dropped onto the seat beside me.

I looked over at him, the silence sitting heavy in my throat. "Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head. "No."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

So we waited. I stared down at the floor, my hands clasped tightly between my knees, my knuckles strained.

Then came the sound of approaching footsteps from the hallway.

I lifted my head. My father walked into the room.

Richard looked old. Much older than the last time I had seen him. He wore a dark turtleneck sweater, and thick reading glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose. There was significantly more gray dusting his hair, and the sharp, imposing stature he’d carried my whole life seemed reduced.

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of us said a word.

Then Richard’s eyes shifted over to Mason. "Mason."

Mason immediately stood up straight. "Mr. Richard."

My father extended his hand. Mason reached out and shook it with a brief, respectful nod.

"Good to see you," my father murmured.

"You too, sir."

Then my father turned his attention back to me. His expression softened into something desperate and vulnerable. He took a hesitant step forward, his arms opening slightly toward me.

I knew what he wanted. He wanted a hug a moment to pretend we were still father and son.

My body reacted on pure instinct before my mind could even process it. I took a sharp step backward, creating immediate distance between us.

"I don’t feel comfortable doing that."

My father froze. His arms slowly dropped to his sides.

I watched a raw flash of hurt cross his face. It was only there for a fraction of a second before he carefully masked it behind a tight nod.

"Okay," he said softly. The single word sounded quiet, almost defeated.

I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "Let’s sit."