Adopted to Biological? Keep Your Golden Child Scapegoat Out novel Chapter 64

Chapter 3

His wedding photos hit our college group chat a few days ag

The bride was exactly who I thought it’d be: Quinn Foster.

My roommate all through undergrad. My best friend.

She came from nothing–some nowhere town, barely scraping by. Plain features, thick–framed glasses, always studying.

Worked her ass off. Proud. Defensive about where she came from.

When our English professor mocked her accent–said she “talked like a farmhand“-her face burned red, but she never backed down.

I was the one who approached her first.

Asked her to join the speaking group Zachary and I were running.

Maybe it was the shared background. The same kind of drive.

They hit it off.

Or maybe they just fit.

The cheap campus food I couldn’t stomach? They both loved it.

I wore color. They both stuck to black–practical, low–maintenance.

When we split up for assignments, they’d somehow always pick the same option without coordinating.

But everything between them went through me. They kept their distance. Never stepped over the line.

So I never suspected anything.

After I graduated, Quinn was struggling to land a job.

She reached out for help. So I got her into my father’s company. Asked Zachary to keep an eye on her.

No more three–person study sessions. This time I wasn’t ther as a buffer.

That’s when they started.

Why Quinn?

Probably because with her, he didn’t have to pretend anymore. Could finally drop the act.

I was completely in the dark.

Until my wedding day–when Quinn threw herself into Zachary’s arms, crying:

“You did it. Ten years undercover. You can finally stop hiding.”

Ten years.

That’s how long it took me to meet the real Zachary Hart.

He just stood there. Expressionless. Watching me from across the room like I was a suspect being processed.

I had a thousand questions.

What happens to Dad now? When did you two start?

And… when exactly did the lying begin?

I didn’t sleep for days.

Bottom line? There was no fixing this.

That’s when it finally hit me.

My father was a criminal. An actual one.

Twenty–six years of everything I thought I knew–gone.

People are complicated. Nobody’s purely evil.

He did awful things. But he also loved me fiercely. Gave millions away. Tried to do some good.

And nobody’s purely good either.

Like Zachary.

The press called him a hero. “Shadow of Justice.” “The Man Who Brought Down Whitmore.”

But I walked into our honeymoon suite and found him with his tongue down Quinn’s throat.

I didn’t have any fight left.

I just collapsed.

“Then what?!” Denny practically yelled. “What the hell happened next?”

“After that?” I stared out the window. “I don’t remember. Almost died, I think.”