“We have always been a united front. We’ve always done deals that make everyone very happy and very rich. You cut out a lot of people.”
I refused to back down. “I tried to get you to change your approach first. I presented you with alternatives that would have preserved what this place means to the people who built it. When that didn’t work, I took matters into my own hands. You’ve never been here. You have no idea what you were about to destroy. If you would have just come up here and talked to people.”
“You went behind my back.”
“I made a business decision using my own resources,” I interrupted, surprising myself with the steel in my voice. “I won’t apologize for that, because I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
The silence that followed was deafening. I waited. I didn’t know what to say to make him understand. To make him see things from my point of view.
“You’re missing sight of the big picture, son. All because of a pretty girl.”
Something cold and dangerous coiled in my chest. I felt like she was mine to protect. I didn’t have to protect her from my father, but I was still not about to let him insult her by suggesting her value was limited to her looks. “This has nothing to do with her.”
“She’s a nobody, Kent.” The dismissive way he said it made my hands clench into fists. “There are millions of women out there who have more to offer than some small-town girl who grew up on a tree farm. Women with education, breeding, connections that could benefit your career instead of derailing it.”
Rage flooded through me. For a moment, I could barely speak through the fury that was choking me. This was exactly the kind of toxic thinking that had driven Austin away, and suddenly I understood my brother’s decision in a way I never had before.
What kinds of things had my father said to Austin? What poisonous words about the choices Austin had made and the people he cared about had finally pushed him to cut ties with the family entirely?
My dad could be very humble. Very accepting. But he could also be a snobby prick. He had his own ideas about who his sons should be with. Although I couldn’t remember a time when he had ever talked about any of my sisters-in-law the way he was talking about Sylvie.
And that’s what pissed me off. That’s what sent me over the edge. I drew a line in the sand, and I was daring the old man to cross the damn thing.
“I’ve fallen in love with that nobody,” I said, my voice shaking with barely controlled anger. “And I won’t tolerate you speaking about her like that. Not now, not ever.”
The silence stretched between us. It crackled with tension and disappointment and the kind of fundamental disagreement that changes everything between two people.
I felt our relationship, what was left of it, fizzle in that moment. I was sad, but it wouldn’t devastate me. I had Sylvie. Brom. Stacy. Harold. If he wanted to disown me, I would survive.
“You’re still welcome at the estate for Christmas,” Dad finally said. His voice was calm. Clinical. Devoid of all emotion. “Your room will be ready, as always. But I want you to understand something, Kent. If you continue down this path, if you insist on prioritizing sentiment over sense, there will be consequences. You won’t be able to access your trust fund as of January first.”
The threat landed exactly as he intended it to. My trust fund wasn’t just money. It was my safety net. I always believed my inheritance was my birthright as a Bancroft. It had been my identity for as long as I could remember. The trust fund was kind of like payment for putting up with all the bullshit that went along with being a Bancroft. Because honestly, sometimes it was hard. Yes, there were a lot of perks, but there could be some serious downsides as well.
And now it was gone.
But looking out at the Christmas lights twinkling through the tree farm, thinking about Sylvie’s face when her father had accepted my offer and remembering the way Harold had called me “son” across the dinner table, I found I didn’t care about the money as much as I should have.
He thought he landed a blow that would make me change my mind.
I took a deep breath. “I won’t be there,” I said quietly.
“Kent—”
“I won’t be there for Christmas,” I repeated, louder this time. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
The line went dead.
I stood there holding my phone, staring out at the winter landscape that had somehow become more home to me thanthe Manhattan penthouse I’d lived in for years. My hands were shaking, though whether from cold or adrenaline or grief, I couldn’t say.
I turned to look at Sylvie, who had stepped out on the porch. She met my gaze, and she must have seen my emotions.
She walked straight into my arms.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Everything okay?”
I tried to smile, tried to project the kind of confidence that would keep her from worrying, but it was just not going to happen. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t believe me—I could see it in her eyes—but she didn’t push. Her arms wrapped around my waist and her head rested against my chest. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, her voice muffled against my coat.
