Instead of answering with words, I crossed the room and kissed him, putting all of my gratitude and love and desire into the connection between us. Tonight had been perfect in ways I’d never dared to hope for. My family had accepted Kent’s offer. They’d welcomed him into our inner circle. We had a future together that looked brighter than anything I’d ever imagined.
And now I wanted to show him exactly how grateful I was for the choice he made and the sacrifices he was willing to make. And mostly for the way he’d looked at my chaotic family dinner like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
I stepped back and went behind the bar. “You deserve a glass of the good stuff.”
“I knew you were holding out on me,” he said with a laugh.
I waggled my eyebrows and opened a cabinet under the counter. I pulled out a bottle of scotch. It wasn’t super expensive, but it was one of the better ones. I poured us each a glass and handed one over to him.
“I want you to be honest and tell me about your brothers,” I said. “Will they disown you as well?”
CHAPTER 62
KENT
Ifroze mid-sip, the scotch burning a path down my throat as her question settled over me like a weight. The warmth from dinner, from being welcomed into her family, suddenly felt fragile. Like it could shatter if I said the wrong thing.
I set the glass down carefully on the bar and took a breath.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, meeting her eyes. The truth felt heavy. I had been doing my best to ignore it, but there it was. “Honestly, Sylvie, I have no idea how they’ll react.”
She waited, her expression patient but concerned. I could see the worry creeping into her features. I hated that my family drama was casting a shadow over what should have been a perfect night.
“Hudson will probably understand,” I continued, thinking through each of my brothers. “He’s always been the one who tries to see all sides. He might not agree with my choice, but he’ll at least try to understand why I made it.”
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the familiar tension that came with thinking about my family dynamics.
“Austin already knows, and he’s on my side. But Austin’s been on the outs for years, so his support doesn’t exactly help my case with the rest of them.”
“And the others?” Sylvie asked softly.
I let out a long breath. “Some of them will definitely be pissed. They’ll see it as me taking food out of their children’s trust funds. Never mind that those trust funds are already obscenely large. Never mind that their kids’ kids’ kids will never have to work a day in their lives.”
The bitterness in my voice surprised even me.
“The Bancroft mineral rights deal was massive,” I explained. “We’re talking hundreds of millions over the next decade. That kind of money gets divided among family shareholders. By walking away from it, by choosing to invest my personal assets here instead, I’m essentially costing each of them a significant chunk of change.”
“How much?” Sylvie asked, though I could tell she was almost afraid to know.
“Enough that they’ll notice. Enough that they’ll be angry.” I picked up my glass again, needing something to do with my hands. “But here’s the thing—none of them will be poor. None of them will struggle. They’ll still have more money than they could spend in ten lifetimes.”
I took another sip of scotch, letting it warm me from the inside.
“My father has built an empire. Every single member of the Bancroft family is set for life, multiple times over. We have investments, properties, businesses generating passive income. Losing out on this one deal won’t change their lifestyle in any meaningful way.”
“But it will change yours,” Sylvie said quietly.
I looked at her, taking in the concern written across her beautiful face. She was worried about me. About what I was giving up. About whether I would regret this choice somewhere down the line.
“Yes,” I admitted. “It will change mine. But I’m gaining something money can’t buy.”
“Why do they need more?” Sylvie asked, shaking her head like she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “If everyone is already set for life, what’s the point of fighting over more millions?”
I laughed, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “That’s the question, isn’t it? That’s exactly what I’ve been asking myself for the past week.”
I turned my glass in my hands, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light from behind the bar.
“Growing up the way I did, money was never about survival. It was about status. About power. About winning.” I met her eyes. “My father didn’t build Bancroft Industries because he needed to. He already had plenty of money. He did it because he wanted to prove he was better than everyone else. Smarter. More ruthless. More successful.”
