“My responsibilities,” he said evenly, “are to Hawthorne Holdings. And the people depending on it.”
Her mouth curved, a gesture shaped like a smile, but void of softness.
“Hawthorne Holdings may carry your grandfather’s name, but don’t kid yourself. Everything you do reflects back on us.”
“No.” Gideon said. “It reflects on you.”
She exhaled, quiet and dismissive. Like entertaining the complaint of a child.
“You are my son, Gideon. That means you don’t get to pretend. Independence isn’t permanent.”
His hands curled at his sides, but his voice stayed level. “Do you say the same to Alex?”
For a breath, a flicker passed through Evelyn’s expression, irritation, maybe disdain. Gone before he could name it.
“Alex and Cate haven’t given this family an heir,” she said. “Which means the future rests on you, whether you want it or not.”
His breath caught, then left him slow and quiet. “Funny. I thought you already cut your losses.”
She shifted slightly, eyes narrowing with a knowing edge that stripped away any trace of amusement. “Not completely. There’s time to course-correct. But that window is closing.”
She laced her fingers. “You should be choosing the right people. Building something that lasts—not chasing distractions.”
His jaw flexed. “You mean Arden.”
She didn’t deny it. Her expression stayed neutral, but cold triumph flickered behind her eyes. Less surprise. More satisfaction.
“Yes. If we’re naming names, then yes.”
Gideon stepped closer. The shift in his stance quiet but unmistakable.
“She’s not your business.”
Evelyn raised a brow, smooth and practiced. “She’s very much my business. Because she’s a distraction. And she’s not Blackwell material.”
A chill settled low in his chest. “Say that again.”
She gave a sigh, all theatrical patience.
“Gideon. Let’s not play pretend. You’re the heir. Not because it flatters you—but because it’s required. Alex failed. That burden falls to you now. And a Blackwell doesn’t throw away a legacy for a… passing indulgence.”
His hands hovered near the edge of her pristine desk, tension flickering through his fingertips. But he didn’t let them shake.
“Say what you really mean.”
She leaned in slightly, hervoice cold and flat.
“She is no one. No name. No standing. Just complication. You want her? Fine. But you don’t build a future on a charity case.”
The words didn’t rise.
They didn’t need to.
Evelyn had spenta lifetime perfecting the art of damage, cutting clean without raising a blade.
And this?
This was a direct hit, the kind of precision that left bruises where no one could see. No theatrics. No venom.
