Adopted to Biological? Keep Your Golden Child Scapegoat Out novel Chapter 68

Chapter 7

Quinn showed up at my studio without warning.

I was fixing Denny’s collar for a shoot.

She stormed in, heels stabbing the floor with every step.

She’d ditched the thick glasses by now. Shed the small-town girl look completely.

Designer clothes, professional blowout, full face of makeup.

But I’m a photographer-I could see past the layers of foundation to the bone-deep exhaustion underneath.

Her eyes landed on my hands at Denny’s collar, fingers working the top button of his shirt.

It was for the campaign brief. Client’s orders.

“So this is your little boy toy?” Venom in every word. “Unbelievable. You’ve already got a man and you’re still throwing yourself at other people’s husbands?”

Before I could say anything, Denny’s expression went ice-cold:

“The hell did you just say? You need to-”

He started to get up. I pressed down on his shoulder, kept him in the chair.

Couldn’t help it-the shoot called for cold, controlled intensity.

And Denny’s face right now? Absolutely perfect.

I lifted my camera. Started firing. Shutter clicking nonstop.

Quinn, realizing she was being completely ignored, snapped

Ripped the camera out of my hands. Hurled it at the floor.

The lens ploded into fragments.

I knelt down, checked the body, kept my voice level:

“That’s destroyed. I’ll need the receipt amount, full replacement cost, plus a week’s lost wages.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” She looked down at me like I was dirt.

“Zach gives me his entire paycheck. How much could this cheap thing possibly be worth?”

“Twenty-eight thousand. I’ll send you my account details.”

“What?!”

Quinn’s eyes went huge.

“Have you lost your mind? You think you can shake me down like that? Absolutely not. Five grand. Take it or leave it.”

Guess the lieutenant’s wife isn’t as flush as she pretends to be

Couldn’t tell if the bakery had changed, or if I had.

I stopped eating. Set the bag down outside for the stray cat.

Zachary watched me crouch and scratch behind her cars. Hi voice went soft:

“You haven’t changed at all. Still so kind. You used to feed every stray on campus, remember?”

I didn’t respond.

He kept talking:

“And every weekend you’d make me sit on the curb with you for hours, sketching dogs and cats. You’d completely lose track of time… Wait-why’d you stop? Why switch to photography?”

My hand froze mid-pet.

After a long beat, I said:

“Brain damage from the ECT. I can’t draw anymore.”

Zachary went completely silent.

The cat finished her meal, stretched out in a warm patch of sun, purring.

Finally, his voice came out hoarse:

“That’s my fault. All of it. You lost your dad. You lost the thing you loved most. But is there any chance-any chance at all-that you’d let me back in? The way it used to be?”