Lionel sneers. “I’ll ruin you. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Try it,” I say, quiet but deadly. “Go ahead. See how it plays out. But just so you know—you’re the only one who’s going to end up alone at the end of this. Noah’s got people who actuallycare about him. You’ve got… what? A reputation and an empty house?”
There’s venom in his glare. “You think any of this is helping him? Look at you. You’re the reason he’s sick—he was normal before you. Noah, get in the fucking—”
“No,” Noah says quietly, but it’s loud enough to make his father’s eyes widen. “No, I’m not getting in the car. I’m not going anywhere with you ever again.”
Lionel glances at him, barely hiding his annoyance. “Excuse me?”
Noah pulls his hand from mine and walks toward his dad. He looks so small, so breakable, but there’s a steel in his voice I’ve never heard before. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore. You don’t get to scream at me for things I can’t help, things I was born with. You humiliated me my whole life for things I couldn’t control. My brain. My body. My—” His breath catches. “My neurodiversity isn’t a flaw, Dad. It’s not something you can punish out of me. Neither is falling in love with a man.”
Lionel’s mask slips, a sneer twisting his mouth. “Don’t you dare—”
“No, you’re going to listen,” Noah cuts him off, voice rising. “You want to know where I’ve been? Why I missed the meet? I almost died because of you. Because you called me a slur and told me I was disgusting for being in love with Damien. Because every time you look at me, you see something broken, and I believed you. I binged and purged until I passed out. They found me on the bathroom floor. My friends—thesedegenerates—saved my life. Not you. Not Mom. Them.”
I can see the words hitting Lionel, see the mask starting to slip, but Noah presses on.
“I hate swimming. I always have. I hate the pressure. I hate the pain. I hate waking up every day knowing I have to perform just to earn scraps of approval from you. I’m done. I’m quittingthe team, and I’m leaving Blackthorne. I’m choosing myself for once, and I don’t care if that means you cut me off and never speak to me again.”
“Noah, think about what you’re saying.” Lionel’s voice is barely above a whisper as his desperation finally hits. “This is your future—”
“No, it’s yours,” Noah spits back, and his dad blanches. “It’s always been yours. I’m done living for you.”
The fucker looks at his son as if he can’t reconcile the boy in front of him with the product he’s spent years molding. There’s a moment where I think Lionel might lunge—might throw more words, more threats. Instead, he just stares at Noah like he’s someone else’s problem now, rage and helplessness mixing in his eyes. “You’ll regret this,” he says.
“Maybe,” Noah’s voice softens, but it’s stronger than I’ve ever heard it. “But at least they’ll be my regrets. Not yours.”
Lionel looks like he wants to retort, but then a new voice cuts through the night.
“What do we have here?”
We all turn as Killian steps out from the edge of the lot, his posture lazy, but his gaze laser-sharp. His hands are buried in the pockets of his hoodie; the only sign of tension is the line of his jaw.
He steps right between Lionel and us, making a wall without raising his voice or his fists. Noah leans into me, confused eyes flicking from Killian to his father and back. “What’s going on?” he whispers, and I shake my head because even I don’t know.
Killian’s voice is calm and polite. “Mr. Adams. Still making a mess of your son’s life, I see.”
“This is a private conversation, King,” Lionel spits.
“Funny you say that.” Killian tips his head, all mock-thoughtful. “We don’t often get VIPs out here at this hour. You know, it’s interesting—how’s Monica these days?” He letsthe name hang, then adds, “Or should I say, how’s Switzerland treating her?”
Lionel freezes, and I watch as the name lands with the force of a body blow. For a beat, the only sound is the wind. Even Noah, despite the shock and confusion stamped across his face, seems to realize something is happening beneath the surface. He glances at me again, mouthing,Monica?
Killian keeps his tone pleasant, but his eyes are dark. “See, I’ve got friends everywhere. Family everywhere. You try to start something on this campus, you try to make life hard for Damien, or for Noah, or for anyone in my house—well, maybe I make a call. Maybe Monica gets homesick. Maybe people start asking questions. You’d be amazed how small the world can get, Mr. Adams.”
Lionel tries to recover, but the damage is done. He clears his throat, schooling his face back into a mask of control, but it’s slipping around the edges. “That was a long time ago.”
“And yet, some things have a way of catching up, don’t they?” Killian chuckles. “Especially when there are witnesses who might still be willing to talk. You want to keep your reputation intact? I suggest you listen to your son. Because next time you come sniffing around here, you’ll have a hell of a lot more to lose than just a son who finally learned how to tell you to fuck off.”
I’m stunned. Whatever Killian is referencing, it’s enough to make the old man turn the color of chalk.
“Go home, Mr. Adams,” Killian says, voice soft and deadly. “Before you make things even worse for yourself.”
For a second, Lionel stands there, indecision warring on his face. But Killian holds his gaze, and whatever he sees in Killian’s eyes makes him take a step back. Without another word, Lionel turns and stalks off, shoulders stiff, car keys clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
The tension bleeds out of me all at once, leaving me a little unsteady. Ryan lets out a long breath, shaking his head. “Jesus, dude. Who the hell is Monica?”
Killian watches Lionel’s car pull away, his expression flat. “Nothing you need to worry about tonight.” He turns to Noah, voice softening in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen from him. “You alright, Noah?”
