Mom’s gaze shifted between us, cool and precise. “The timing of this attachment is disastrous.”
I held her stare. “It’s not timing. It’s intentional.”
Dad let out a slow breath, irritation cutting through it. “You couldn’t walk away even if everything depended on it.”
Silence hung between us. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
“There it is,” he muttered. “You’re willing to gamble your name, everything we’ve built—for a girl whose mother may be dragged through an investigation.”
The thought of how Mila’s fingers had trembled around that envelope gutted me. The idea of her standing alone made something reckless stir in my chest. My jaw locked. “Adriana’s not under investigation.”
“Yet.”
The word hung heavy.
Drew stepped forward slightly. “We can manage the optics. Issue a neutral statement—Luke’s focused on hockey, no comment on unrelated corporate matters. That buys us space.”
Dad glanced at him. “So now you’re crisis management.”
“I’m suggesting containment.”
Dad studied him for a long second. Then a thin, humorless smile touched his mouth. “Fine,” he replied. “You want responsibility? You handle the board fallout. You deal with Lorne.” A flicker passed across Dad’s face—irritation, or something closer to caution. “You reassure the investors that my youngest son hasn’t lost perspective of his future with King Enterprises.”
There it was. Delegation with teeth.
Drew didn’t hesitate. “I’ll speak with them tomorrow.”
“You’d better,” Dad returned. “We don’t have room for mistakes.”
“Then maybe stop listening to the wrong people,” I shot back.
“Enough,” Mom cut in, voice clean and final.
Dad grimaced in the brittle silence that followed. “If Adriana Callahan gets pulled into something formal, our name won’t stay out of the headlines. Remember that.” He left the room without another word.
Drew met my gaze across the kitchen. “I’ve got it,” he assured quietly.
I hated that I wanted to believe him.
Upstairs, my window overlooked the dark stretch of ocean. Waves rolled steady against the beach, relentless and indifferent. I unlocked my phone before I could overthink it.
Me:You home?
Mila:Yeah. Just got in.
Me:Good.
A pause.
Mila:You okay?
Me:Always.
I wished I believed that.
I didn’t tell her what Dad implied about her mom. Didn’t tell her that Marcus thought Darren might have used another name.
I told myself I was protecting her. The truth pressed heavier. If Darren had been hiding something—if this went deeper than anyone at Blackwood wanted to admit—this stopped being about high school rumors and scholarship threats.