Adopted to Biological? Keep Your Golden Child Scapegoat Out novel Chapter 62

Chapter 1

Six years after the divorce, I ran into Zachary at the police station.

He was there as a decorated lieutenant, guest speaker for some big department training.

I was there to pick up a death certificate.

While he made the rounds handing out little bags of Jordan almonds–wedding favors–our eyes met across the lobby.

Neither of us spoke.

I turned to leave.

That’s when I heard it–quiet: “Wren… do you still hate me?”

I shook my head.

When he went from being my bodyguard to some celebrated hero cop–undercover op, medals, the whole promotion-

and I went from heiress to nobody, living under a fake name like I was on the run-

yeah. I hated him then.

But hate only exists where love did first.

Six years later, I don’t love him anymore.

So no. I don’t hate him either.

The rookie cop kept circling the room, oblivious:

“Come on, everybody–grab some! Let’s all share in Lieutenant Hart’s good luck!”

Zachary blocked the hand reaching toward me. Caught up to me in a few quick strides.

His voice came out rushed:

“Wait–what are you even here for? I can help-”

I held up the paperwork. Cut him off:

“Already done.”

And kept walking.

Funny thing is, we’d crossed paths here twice before.

This was the second time.

The first? When my father got convicted.

Zachary grabbed my sleeve. Forced me to stop.

“Are you… doing okay?”

Such a nothing question.

I glanced down at the shiny wedding band on his ring finger Gave him an equally empty answer:

“I’m fine.”

He flinched like I’d burned him. Let go.

Denny’s car was idling out front.

I glanced back one last time:

“My husband’s here.”

His voice cracked:

“…Okay. See you.”

I hope I never do.

The car pulled away. He stayed where he was.

Until his tall frame finally disappeared from the rearview.

“So… are we gonna talk about how you just used me as a fake husband back there?”

Denny shot me a look, grinning wide.

“That cop was this close to following you home. But wait–wly does he look so familiar?”

The car went quiet. Just the hum of the engine and the city sliding past.

Denny’s eyes dropped to the folder in my lap. He cleared his throat.

“So… what were you doing there anyway?”

I traced my thumb over the word stamped across the top: DECEASED.

“Closing out my dad’s records.”

He died two weeks ago.

Collapsed in his cell one night, coughing up blood. They four stage four stomach cancer. Got him out on compassionate release. He didn’t even last three months.

On his deathbed, the last thing he said was:

“I’m guilty. Hart didn’t do anything wrong. But he lied to you And for that, I wanted him dead.”

Dad never blamed me.

Not even when he turned down every single visitation request I made over six years.

I knew why. It wasn’t because he thought I’d betrayed him.

He just didn’t want me spending the rest of my life as a mobster’s daughter.

Thinking about him now–I couldn’t help it.

The grief came back sharp and heavy, like something lodged in my chest.

I needed to redirect. So I asked Denny the question he’d clearly been holding back:

“You want to hear the whole story?”

I was the daughter of the most powerful crime boss in the state.

He was the department’s golden boy.

Our worlds should never have collided.

But they did.

And this is how it all fell apart.