“No. It isn’t.”
Silence settled. Thick. Choking.
Her tone cooled further. The air shifted with it.
“And while we’re on the topic of your other…deficiencies?—”
His jaw worked. “Here we go.”
“I trust you haven’t been foolish enough to try and remedy the situation elsewhere.”
His posture stayed still, composed. But something in him tightened.
“You’re reaching.”
A quiet, dismissive laugh. “Please. Don’t insult me.” She leaned forward, voice dipping lower. Sharper.
“Let me make myself clear: I will not tolerate some bastard crawling out of the woodwork ten years from now, waving a blood claim.”
Alex’s smirk returned, but it had teeth now. “Worried about the family name being tarnished by some stray?”
“I’m worried about cleaning up another one of your messes.”
He shook his head. “Relax. I know how to be discreet.”
She arched a brow. “Do you?”
The question dangled, pointed and barbed.
“If you insist on your indulgences, fine. But if a Blackwell heir is to be born, it will be with our approval. On our terms.”
Alex’s mouth curved, all edge. “You always did make motherhood sound like a hostile takeover.”
Her silence was answer enough.
“This family wasn’t built on love, Alex. It was built on legacy. One you’ve yet to secure.”
The words scraped something raw in him, but he buried it. He always did.
“Cate is trying,” he said, voice tight. “We both are.”
She gave him a long, unreadable look. Then leaned back, as if bored with the entire exchange.
“Try harder.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It pulsed with tension.
He finished his bourbon and set the glass down with finality. It rang like punctuation.
“You know,” he murmured, not quite looking at her, “Gideon might not be the heir you wanted, but at least you don’t have to remind him of his responsibilities every time he walks through the damn door.”
Evelyn’s lips curved. A phantom smile.
“That’s because he understands the stakes.”
Alex gave a short, humorless laugh, then he stood.
