He turns toward the door.
“Ridge,” I say, not sure if I want him to stay or go. “I stood up to my father for you. For us. And you’re going to walk out like? That’s it?”
He pauses with his hand on the handle, long enough for something in my chest to lift. For a second, I think he might turn around, that he might finally say something that makes this stop spiraling.
But he doesn’t.
“I’m not the man you want me to be,” he says quietly.
That’s it. No denial, no fight, and no promise to make it right.
The door closes behind him, the sound echoing through the space he leaves behind.
I chose him. I chose him over my father, over my family. And when it mattered, when I asked him to choose me back, he walked away.
Whatever Ridge Stone is willing to do to stay on top, I finally understand one thing with brutal clarity.
I am not the thing he will risk everything for.
TWENTY-SIX
Ridge
Jean Lafitte: A prominent figure in New Orleans, initially presenting himself as a legitimate businessman and privateer. Operating from Barataria Bay, Lafitte and his brother Pierre engaged in smuggling and piracy, covertly distributing contraband goods to New Orleans residents. While publicly maintaining an image of respectability, Lafitte's clandestine activities were eventually exposed, revealing his true role as a pirate and smuggler. His dual identity highlights the complex interplay between legality and deception in New Orleans' history.
I getin my car and slam the door.
The leather steering wheel is cold under my palms. Agitation coils through my arms and shoulders, spreading through my chest. The pressure is tight enough that it needs somewhere to go.
I start the engine and dial Vin’s number, putting the call on speaker as I pull away from the curb.
The hum of the engine fills the space between rings. He picks up on the second.
“Ridge,” Vin says.
I keep my voice level. “Where are you?”
There’s a brief pause, the kind that tells me he’s reading more than the words. “The Orchid.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way.” I end the call before he can respond.
I head down Annunciation Street, streetlights sliding past the windshield as everything stacks at once. My name is tied to a fentanyl shipment I know nothing about, and Tripp’s half-answers keep replaying in my head, louder now that the Duvalls are barely cold in the ground.
The fact that the rumor reached Coco tells me it traveled too far, too fast. Someone let it move when it should have been buried. Or worse, someone wanted it circulating.
I didn’t deny it because I don’t know the truth yet. And that’s the problem. As long as there’s even a question, she can’t be near me. Not standing close enough to get hit by something meant for me.
Whether the rumor is real or manufactured doesn’t matter. My reputation is suddenly radioactive, and her safety comes before my pride, my anger, or whatever this thing between us is trying to become.
Either someone inside my operation is moving product without my consent, crossing a line my father and I never touched.
Or someone let the lie breathe long enough for it to become useful.
Regardless, oversight failed somewhere it never should have. And until I get it back, Coco stays out of my world. Even if it costs me her.
If anyone would have heard the noise before it reached the street, it’s Vin. That isn’t faith, it’s function. He’s always been the filter, tracking what’s real, what’s planted, and what needs to be contained before itescalates. If he hasn’t heard, he knows where to go to find out the source.
My phone buzzes against the console. Gabe’s name scrolls across the screen.
