like vultures. My father suffered a massive heart attack in the middle of a board meeting and never recovered. We buried him while Julian watched from the shadows, smiling.
Now my mother lay in a public hospital, her heart failing. The doctors gave her weeks. The only hope was a transplant—five million pesos. Money we no longer had.
Desperate, I swallowed every ounce of pride I had left and went to Julian’s penthouse.
He was lounging on his leather sofa, a glass of vintage wine in hand, looking like the
