"You want to pay me to break up with your son?" My voice sounds distant to my ears. "On Christmas?"
"I want to help you both make the right decision," he corrects smoothly. "You're a young man with student loans, I imagine. Career aspirations. This money could help you achieve your goals without the..." His pause is telling. "Complication of a relationship with no future."
Anger rises in me, hot and sudden. "With all due respect, Mr. Huntington, you can go to hell."
His expression doesn't change. "Don't be hasty, James. Think about it. Seventy-five thousand dollars is a significant sum. And let's be realistic, how long do you think this relationship will last once Caleb graduates? Once he's surrounded by people from this world again?"
"That's not your decision to make. Or mine. It's Caleb's."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong." His voice drops lower. "Caleb thinks he wants independence, but what he really wants is approval. Why do you think he's still pre-law despite claiming to hate it? Why do you think he came home today, despite how 'awful' we are?" He shakes his head. "He'll always come back to the fold, James. The only question is how much damage gets done before he does."
Standing up, unable to stay seated across from him any longer. "I'm not taking your money. And I'm not breaking up with Caleb because his father is stuck in the last century."
He studies me for a moment, then, unexpectedly, smiles. "Good answer."
"What?"
"I said, Good answer." He tucks the chequebook away. "I needed to know what kind of man my son is involved with. You'd be surprised how many would take the money."
Disbelief wrestles with suspicion. "You expect me to believe that was a test?"
"Believe what you want." He stands as well, adjusting his jacket. "But I respect loyalty, James. Even misguided loyalty."
Bullshit.The offer was real; the only thing that changed was his approach when I refused. It’s a classic manipulation tactic.
"I should find Caleb."
"Of course." His hand on my shoulder stops me as I turn to leave. "But James? A word of advice: the Huntington family has been playing the game for generations. Be very careful which battles you choose to fight."
Despite the pleasant way he speaks, the threat is clear, and I step away from his touch, forcing a neutral expression. "Thanks for the advice."
Leaving the room, my heart is hammering against my ribs, anger and disbelief tangle in my brain, and everything short-circuits. Seventy-five thousand dollars to walk away from Caleb. Like he's a car being sold off, like I'm being paid to disappear. Who does that? What kind of father tries to buy off his son's boyfriend on Christmas Day?
The bathroom door clicks shut behind me, and the lock turns with a satisfying snap. The mirror shows me what I already know: my face is flushed, and my jaw is tight enough to crack teeth. I try cold water over the wrists, that old foster-kid trick for keeping your shit together when everything's going sideways.
Well fuck, the porcelain is probably worth more than my laptop.
I've never had a traditional family Christmas, but I've thought about it a lot: warmth, laughter, fun, and a sense of belonging. Not this cold calculation, this chess game where people are pieces to be moved around. No wonder Caleb is the way he is, growing up with the constant knowledge that his usefulness to the family brand measures his value.
By the time I get back to the main rooms, I've pulled myself together enough to keep my face blank, but inside I'm still spinning. Caleb sees me right away and comes over.
"Sorry about that," he murmurs. "Mother's 'emergency' was deciding which tablecloth to use. Where did you go?"
"Bathroom," Technically, it isn't a lie. "Your father and I had an... interesting chat."
Something wary crosses his face. "What did he say to you?"
Before I can answer, Caroline calls everyone to the dining room. Caleb's warning look says this isn't over, but he lets himself be hustled into lunch.
The dining table is a masterpiece, set with china so delicate that it might shatter if you breathe too hard. I follow Caleb's lead on which fork to use, but still catch Audry exchanging a knowing look with Alexis when I hesitate over the array of cutlery.
"So, James," Thomas says as the first course is served, "Caleb tells us you're quite the computer expert. Self-taught, I imagine?"
"Mostly to begin with," there's no point in denying it; they have investigated me anyway. "But I'm taking the advanced courses at PCU."
"Fascinating," he replies in a tone that suggests it's anything but. "Our family's foundation donated a new computer science building to Princeton. State-of-the-art facilities."
"That's very generous."Don't take the bait. Don't take the bait.
