Bella sucks in a quiet breath, her eyes wide as saucepans.
I press the button, ending the call.
She’s still staring at the phone like it just rewired her entire understanding of me.
“That’s it?” she says, voice almost breathless.
I glance at her. “What, you were expecting a fight?”
She blinks. “I was expecting to be heard.”
My brows lift slightly. “You were.”
How interesting.
A flush creeps up her neck. “You didn’t ask what I wanted. You didn’t ask what Julian or Lila wanted. You just—decided.”
I hold her stare, unbothered. “They’ll be provided for. The best education. The best opportunities. If you have an issue with that, say so now.”
Her lips part, but no response comes immediately. I see the war in her eyes—the sheer disbelief that I made a decision that wasn’t mine to make. That I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t consult her.
Because why would I?
I don’t negotiate on things that don’t require negotiation. She wanted them safe? Done. She wanted them taken care of? Handled. Her opinion on how doesn’t matter.
She shifts in her chair, hands clenching against the desk. “You don’t get to just dictate their lives like that.”
I arch a brow. “You mean like you were about to?”
That stuns her into silence for a fraction of a second, her throat working as she swallows hard.
“I—”
“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” I press, my voice measured. “You wanted me to agree, but only on your terms. Only if I sat here and let you lay out the specifics, pretend this was an equal conversation.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head, but there’s nothing to argue.
I lean forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, voice calm but firm. “Julian Marquez is 17. He has one more year before he’s legally an adult, but until then, he and Lila will be set up at the best institutions. He’ll finish his final year at a top prep school. Lila Marquez will attend the best boarding school available, and when the time comes, they’ll have full tuition, housing, and living expenses for university. It’s done.”
Her lips part slightly, the shock evident.
I don’t wait for a thank you because I didn’t do this for gratitude. This was a transaction—a means to an end. I gave her what she wanted so she’d sign the fucking contract.
She presses her fingers into the desk, grounding herself.
“You could’ve at least asked,” she murmurs, quieter now.
I tilt my head. “Would it have changed anything?”
Her lips press together. No.
She knows it. I know it.
There’s no room for discussion in my world. No room for hesitation. I make decisions. I act. And she just got her first real taste of that.
“Anything else?” I ask, watching her carefully.
She stays quiet for a moment too long, then shakes her head. “No. That was my only request.”
