My stomach tightens. “Because you deserved the truth. And because I want this resolved before it gets worse. I wanted you and our family cleared of this, and I want us to make peace with the Stones.”
He studies me in silence, weighing something I can’t see. Then he nods once. “You’ve done your part. Leave the rest to me.”
That’s the dismissal.
I rise, my legs unsteady beneath the table. I thought he might be more receptive, that maybe I could find a way to tell him about Ridge. About the care he shows in quiet, inconvenient ways.
That conversation isn’t possible here. And I realize now it likely never will be.
“Coco,” he says as I reach the door.
I stop.
“If you’re keeping anything from me,” Laurent says evenly, “now would be the time to say it.”
My breath catches, but I answer without hesitation. “I’m not keeping anything from you, Papa.”
He watches me for another long moment, then nods. “Good.”
I leave the room with my heart hammering. Lying to my father is a careful balance, one misstep from disaster. But telling him the truth about Ridge would be something else entirely.
That wouldn’t just disappoint him. It would end whatever fragile peace still exists between us. And for the firsttime, I understand with absolute clarity that no amount of patience or explanation will ever make him accept the man I love.
Which means, sooner or later, I won’t be able to have both.
Ridge is alreadyat the Creston House when I walk in after ten.
The outer door unlocks as I reach it, the mechanism disengaging with a soft click that tells me he saw me pull up.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, phone in his hand, attention fixed on the screen. He doesn’t look up until the heavy door locks behind me with a final, unmistakable click.
His presence fills the room immediately. When his eyes lift to mine, my knees threaten to give out. My body reacts before I can remind myself that this is dangerous, complicated, and not something I can afford to want.
“You’re later than you said,” he says.
There’s no anger in it. Just that familiar edge that belongs to him alone. Control threaded through heat.
“My father was extra chatty tonight.” I set my bag on the chair, needing the motion to ground me. “I stopped by again on my way here to drop something off, and he insisted on a rare drink. I couldn’t exactly refuse without explaining that I had plans with my kidnapper.”
Ridge’s expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens.
“And what did he have to say?” he asks.
His voice is quieter now, which is unexpectedly more dangerous. He pushes off the island and moves closer.
“He went on about our family name. It’s the same speech he’s been giving for days. But tonight was different. It was almost like he was watching me instead of talking, waiting for me to slip.” I exhale. “He keeps asking if I have something to tell him.”
“There’s no way he knows about this place,” Ridge says evenly. “This house isn’t on his radar.”
“Probably.” I nod. “I just hate lying. But I also know timing matters.”
I cross the room and drop onto the sofa. Ridge doesn’t follow right away. He watches me instead, his gaze steady and intent, like he’s cataloging every shift in my posture.
The attention sends heat pooling low in my body, fast and unwelcome. My thighs press together without my permission.
His jaw tightens. He says nothing.
The silence stretches. Deliberate, chosen. It unnerves me more than sharp words ever could.
