Dan studied him. “Okay. So we’re pretending this is just business. Got it.”
Silence stretched between them. Not hostile, but full of what wasn’t being said.
“You want to tell me this isn’t like Isabel?”
Gideon stiffened.
“That’s different,” he said, too quickly.
Dan held his gaze. “You were different.”
“She was—” The words got stuck somewhere between his teeth and his regret. “Evelyn made sure Isabel didn’t last.”
“And you let her,” Dan said evenly. Not a jab. Just truth. “Because you thought that was the price of peace. Of control. And now look at you.”
He gestured toward the glass. “Standing here again, wondering what it’s going to cost you.”
Gideon exhaled, slow and hard. “My mother’s already caught wind.”
Dan blinked. “Of course she has.” A pause. “How long before she circles like a shark?”
“She’s circling.”
Dan pressed his palms together. “Look, this world? Evelyn’s world?” He dropped his voice. “You’ve seen what happens to women who challenge it.”
“She’s not Isabel,” Gideon said. Low. Sharpened.
“No,” Dan agreed. “She’s not.”
Gideon turned away, back to the window.
“You’ve built your whole life around control,” Dan continued. “But what happens when someone walks in who doesn’t play by the rules you’ve written?”
“She starts tonight.”
Quieter now. Almost to himself.
Dan stood. Adjusted his cuffs, slow. “Just make sure she’s not walking into a fight she doesn’t see coming.”
He glanced back from the hallway.
“And for what it’s worth? I don’t think you’re worried about her breaking the rules.”
A beat.
“I think you’re worried she’ll rewrite them.”
The door shut behind him with an infuriatingly casual click.
Gideon remained still, fingers curled against the desk.
He should’ve let the words roll off his back.
Should’ve dismissed them as noise.
But he didn’t.
Because Dan was right.
