His Amber Eyes Were Lies

Boris Montgomery was the secret I kept buried under my skin for years.

He never knew that the man who orchestrated his family’s ruin, the one who pulled the rug out from under their empire, was my father.

Before he fled the country five years ago, the last words he threw at me were like shards of poisoned glass: "Sylvia, you’re just like your father. You make me sick."

Thinking about it now still makes my chest tighten, a phantom pain that never quite dulls.

In the hollow years that followed, I started hunting for traces of him in a revolving door of strangers.