My heart hammered against my ribs, each ring an eternity.
Three times—of course he's not answering, it's 2 AM, he's probably asleep or ignoring you or—
"Winnie?"
His voice crashed through, rough and startled and so achingly familiar that my breath caught.
But beneath it—background noise. Not the quiet of a bedroom or the sterile hum of a hospital.
Music. Jazz, sultry and low. The clink of glasses. Muted conversation and laughter—the kind that belonged to cocktail parties, to Dallas penthouses, to a world I'd never fit into.
"Beau." His name came out strangled. All my carefully rehearsed words evaporated.
"God, Winnie—I'm so sorry. I know I should've called sooner. My phone was—things here have been—" He was stumbling, words tripping over each other in a way I'd rarely heard from smooth-talking Beau Sterling. Beneath the apologies, I heard exhaustion. Strain. Something frayed and breaking. "I wanted to call. Every day I wanted to, but—"
"Where are you?" The question slipped out sharper than I meant, all the hurt I'd been swallowing for four days bleeding through.
A pause. Too long. The jazz swelled behind him, someone laughed—bright, feminine, effortless—and my stomach twisted.
"I'm... in Dallas. Still. At my parents' penthouse. There's been... a situation. With Dad, with the company. It's complicated, Win."
Dallas. Still. Four days of radio silence, and he was at a party—aparty—while I was falling apart in a hospital hallway.
"Complicated," I repeated, the word tasting bitter. "Right. Complicated. Well, Pops fell yesterday. In the barn. His knee—the one with the replacement—gave out. Complete ligament tear, displaced fracture. He's been in surgery for ten hours, Beau.Ten hours.And they're saying eighteen thousand for the surgery alone, plus PT, and I—" The words choked off, tears burning my eyes. "I don't have enough. Elise's check isn't enough. And I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to save him, and you're..."
"Jesus, Winnie—" The background noise shifted abruptly, like he was moving—a door opening, closing, muffling the party sounds to a dull throb. "Is he okay? Is he going to—"
"I don't know!" The shout tore out, loud enough that the night nurse looked up sharply. I lowered my voice, but it still shook. "He's sixty-eight. He might not walk right again. And I'm here alone trying to do math that doesn't add up." I sucked in a breath. "And you're at a party. So where are you, really?"
Another pause, heavier this time. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, weighted with something I couldn't name.
"My penthouse. The one I had before... before Oklahoma. My parents threw some dinner thing tonight—investors, board members. I couldn't get out of it without raising questions." He exhaled hard. "Winnie, there's something I need to tell you. About why I stayed. Why I couldn't call."
My blood turned to ice. "What did you do?"
"My parents—they knew. About the ranch. The debts." His words came faster now, ripping off a bandage. "My dad had people investigate when he sent me there. Financial records, medical bills. They know Pops owes on the mortgage, the equipment loans, that knee surgery from two years ago that's still in collections. Twenty-five thousand in medical debt alone, Win."
I couldn't breathe. "How do you know that? Those are private—"
"My dad has resources. He dug it all up and presented it to me as leverage." His voice cracked. "He made me an offer. A deal."
"What kind of deal?" The words came out flat, dead.
"Come back to Dallas. Work at Sterling Industries—real work, shadow him, prove to investors I'm serious." He swallowed loud enough for me to hear. "If I do that, he clears everything. Every debt. Pays off Pops' surgery—past and present. And he'll set up a trust fund for you. One million dollars, Winnie. For the ranch. To make it sustainable."
One million dollars. The number hung in the air like a noose.
"So you sold us," I said quietly.
"No—Winnie, that's not—"
"You sold us. Sold me. To your dad. For money." My voice rose, trembling with rage and grief. "You made a deal about my life, my ranch, without asking me. Without even telling me until I dragged it out of you four days later."
"I'm trying to save you!" His voice broke, raw and desperate. "Don't you see? If I say no, those debts don't disappear. Pops' surgery—you just said you don't have enough. What happens then? You lose everything Nana built because I was too selfish to—"
"To what? Sacrifice yourself on the altar of Sterling Industries?" I was pacing now, phone pressed so hard to my ear it hurt. "You think I need your dad's blood money? That I can't figure this out on my own?"
"You shouldn't have to!" He shouted it, and I heard something shatter in the background—glass, maybe. "You've been carrying everything alone since you were twelve, Winnie. But I can fix this. I can give you the life you deserve—"
