The room went absolutely still. Wyatt's chair creaked as he leaned forward.
"But it's time to come home," Mark continued, oblivious to the danger. "We have a life in Dallas. Plans. That corner condo you loved, remember? The one with the view of downtown? I put an offer in. A surprise for when you come back."
"Mark—"
"I know we had that little fight before you left, but couples work through things. That's what love is." He squeezed my hand harder when I tried to pull away. "Tell them, sweetheart. Tell them about us."
I stood so abruptly that my chair smacked against the floor. Every eye in the room turned to me.
"There is no 'us,'" I said, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. "There hasn't been for months. We broke up before I left Dallas. You don't get to come here and pretend otherwise. You don't get to use my name to build yours, my work to advance your career, my life as a prop for your ambitions."
Mark's smile finally died, replaced by something harder, meaner. "Careful, Ivy. You're embarrassing yourself."
"The only embarrassing thing here is you thinking you have any claim on me."
"Don't forget who helped you get where you are," he said, standing too, his voice dropping to a threat. "Who introduced you to Doug? Who vouched for you with the board? You were nobody before I found you."
"I was somebody," I said quietly. "I just didn't know it yet."
"A country girl with big dreams and no connections. I made you relevant."
"No. I made myself relevant. You just took credit for it."
His face flushed ugly red. "People who forget where they came from tend to lose everything, Ivy. Dallas is a small world. One word from me?—"
Wyatt's chair scraped back with a violence that made everyone jump. He stood slowly, deliberately, every muscle coiled for violence. "Finish that threat," he said quietly. "Please. Give me a reason."
Mark looked between us, and I saw the moment he understood—saw him realize that Wyatt wasn't some country bumpkin he could intimidate, but something far more dangerous. A man with nothing left to lose and everything to protect.
"This is a business discussion," Mark said, but his voice had gone high, scared.
"No," Wyatt said, moving around the table with the controlled grace of a predator. "This is you thinking you can come into our home, put your hands on her without permission, and threaten her career because your ego can't handle rejection."
"Wyatt," Owen warned, but there was no real censure in it.
"You should leave," Wyatt continued, now standing close enough to Mark that Mark had to look up to meet his eyes. "Now. Before I forget my manners entirely."
"Is that a threat?" Doug asked, standing too.
"It's a promise," Clay said, also rising. "We're particular about who we welcome at our table. And men who don't understand the word 'no' aren't welcome."
The room stood frozen, battle lines drawn—the Dallas contingent on one side, the Blackwoods on the other, me caught in the middle like a wishbone about to snap.
"The contract—" Doug started.
"The contract stands," Owen said firmly. "Ivy's work here has been exceptional. But if you think you can come here and disrespect her, disrespect us, you're mistaken."
"She's our employee?—"
"She's under our protection while she's here," Louisa said, and her voice carried the kind of authority that came from raising seven kids and surviving worse than corporate sharks. "And we protect our own."
Mark's laugh was ugly. "Your own? She's not yours. She's mine. She just needs to remember that."
And that's when Wyatt hit him.
Not hard enough to do real damage, just a quick jab that sent Mark stumbling back, blood appearing on his lip.
"Wyatt!" I grabbed his arm before he could follow through.
