Either you sign right now or I am going to make you useless for life!” my father shouted, raising the wooden baseball bat directly in front of my face.
I did not even have the time to back away before the heavy blow landed squarely on my right forearm, causing a sharp crack to echo loudly through the living room of our family home in Fremont.
I fell straight to my knees on the cold marble floor as my head spun with dizzying pain, while Mark Darcy stood over me, breathing heavily as if he had just won a prize fight.
My stepmother, Yasmin, did not even pretend to show a single ounce of worry as she smoothed down her elegant dress and smiled coldly at my agony.
“We warned you, Alana, because your grandmother is finally dead, and it is time for you to stop pretending that you own this family,” she sneered.
