Charles laughs—actually laughs, the sound surprising in the tense confines of the car. “Did you really just suggest I pimp out our father’s widow to Ryan Matthews for the sake of optics?”
Heat floods my face. Dammit. That was low for me. “I didn’t mean?—”
“No, no. Let me repeat your own words back to you.” His smile is sharp now, almost cruel in its accuracy. “You and I both want to change how this family operates. We want to be less like Dominic. And pushing Aria onto Ryan would be exactly what Dominic would do—get someone out of his hair while building a stronger partnership.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “Sound familiar?”
Fucking asshole.
He’s right. Suggesting Aria date Ryan is exactly the kind of manipulative, strategic bullshit Dominic specialized in—treating people like chess pieces, caring more about alliances than actual human beings. The fact that I can’t stand Aria, that she’s living in luxury in our guest house while probably plotting how to useher unborn child to maintain her position in this family—none of that makes it okay to use her the way Dominic would have.
I look away, staring out the window at passing buildings. In the passenger seat, Jace’s shoulders are rigid, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs. I can feel the tension radiating from him, the barely controlled anger at hearing Charles push me toward another man.
“Fine,” I say finally, the word tasting like defeat. “I’ll go to the gala with Ryan. As peers. At most, as friends. Not a date. Not anything more than that.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Charles says, and I can hear the relief in his voice. The satisfaction.
I force myself to look at him, to meet those Carter-blue eyes that match mine. “But don’t ever decide something like that for me again without asking first. I’m not a piece on your board, Charles. I’m your sister. And I’ve spent years building my own life specifically so people couldn’t make decisions for me.”
Something shifts in his expression—guilt, maybe, or understanding. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have talked to you first instead of jumping in.” He reaches over, squeezing my hand. “I’m still figuring out how to balance being your brother with being the head of this family. Sometimes I get the priorities backwards.”
The apology helps, but it doesn’t erase the sour taste in my mouth. Doesn’t change the fact that he steamrolled me in that meeting, or that I’m now committed to attending an event with a man I barely know while the three men I actually care about won’t be able to touch me.
Charles looks stupidly happy with himself—pleased that he got what he wanted, that he maneuvered me into position like a good strategist. Part of me wants to hit him. Part of me understands that this is how he shows love—by protecting me, by thinking three moves ahead, by making sure I’m positioned well even if it means manipulating the board.
I avoid looking at Jace, unable to face whatever I’ll see in his expression. Anger, probably. Hurt. Maybe disappointment that I folded so easily, that I agreed to play Charles’s game instead of fighting harder.
The car rolls through the city, carrying us home, and I stare out the window and wonder how long it’ll take before everything I’m building with Jace, Cal, and Silas crumbles under the weight of expectations I never asked for but can’t escape.
32
CAL
The monitors bathe my office in blue light, lines of code scrolling across three screens while I dig through the financial records Charles requested. Martin Chen’s transactions paint a picture I already know—desperation wrapped in careful planning, a father trying to save his daughter the only way he knows how.
My phone buzzes. Charles’s name flashes across the screen with a message:My office. Now.
I save my work and head upstairs, my mind already running through possible reasons for the summons. More embezzlement? Issues with one of the clubs? Territory dispute?
Charles’s office is all dark wood and leather, windows overlooking the city like a throne room surveying its kingdom. He’s standing by the bar, pouring himself something amber that’s probably older than I am.
“Cal. Close the door.”
I do, then settle into one of the chairs across from his desk. “What’s up?”
He takes a drink, studying me over the rim of his glass. “Have you been able to track down the father of my nephews?”
The question hits like a fist to the solar plexus. My expression stays neutral—years of practice, years of being the charming one who never lets anyone see the machinery working underneath—but internally I’m scrambling.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to be looking,” I say easily, buying time. “Parker hasn’t mentioned wanting help with that.”
Charles sets his glass down with a soft click. “Parker doesn’t tell us a lot of things. She’s always been secretive—about the boys, about their father, about her life in California.” He moves around the desk, leaning against it. “And I get it. She wanted independence. Wanted to build something separate from all this.” He gestures vaguely at the office, the building, the empire. “But she’s back now. And she doesn’t seem to understand the optics surrounding her...dissolved relationship with the family business and her sudden emergence after so many years of silence.”
I keep my face carefully blank. “Optics.”
“I don’t want to be that guy,” Charles continues, and there’s genuine conflict in his voice. “I don’t want to invade her privacy or make her feel like we don’t trust her. But I need to ensure that she and the boys are safe from potential scrutiny. The old guard is already talking—single mother, disappeared for six years, comes back with twins and no father in sight. If there’s something problematic about their paternity, something that could be used against her or them, I need to know about it.”
The logic is sound. The reasoning makes sense. And it makes me want to put my fist through his face.
“I get it,” I say instead. “But Charles, if there are any clues—bloodwork, communications from family courts—they’d be sealed. Medical records are protected. Court documents involving minors even more so.”
