Sara’s POV

A con man.

It was ironic.

I lay there, biting my cheek to stop myself from cursing him while I stared at him even when I wanted to glare. He was the man who had killed my parents in my presence and had pointed a gun at me.

He was holding my hand and every instict screamed to yank it away. But fighting him wasn’t going to give me the answer I wanted.

So, I smiled and continued the conversation as though I was truly Irene Peters, and maybe, my father was Reverend Peters and ...