That hits harder than I expect.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Bullshit. I know that tone. Same one you used when you fell off the stage in high school and told me you were ‘totally fine’ while your wrist was hanging at a 45-degree angle.”
“I was trying to impress girls.”
“You were trying to prove you didn’t need anyone. Some things don’t change.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “You were trying to prove you didn’t need anyone. Some things never change.”
She goes on, “Max, you don’t owe that man anything. But if part of you needs to look him in the eye and say, ‘I made it without you’? That’s valid.”
My chest gets tight again. I hate how she always knows what I need before I do.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say.
“You still coming to dinner after the tour?”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. Grandpa Sid’s coming too.”
When I hang up, I feel a little more solid. Like maybe the ground hasn’t completely vanished beneath me.
Mom’s still here. Still tough. Still on my side.
***
The knock comes just after nine, three sharp raps followed by a pause. Lucas never texts first. Never announces himself. He justshows up—like gravity, or bad news.
I swing open the door to find him leaning against the frame, six-pack dangling from one hand, the other raised in greeting.
“Looked like you could use a beer,” he says.
I grunt. “Understatement of the year.”
He walks in like he owns the place—kicks off his boots, drops the six-pack on the coffee table, and tosses me a cold bottle before even sitting. Melody lifts her head from the couch, gives him a disapproving huff, then promptly flops back down.
Lucas sinks into the worn leather armchair and cracks open his beer. “So. Bastard billionaire baby. Hell of a headline.”
I sigh. “You read it.”
“‘Course I read it. Half the damn world did. Vivienne called me three times. Sent me a spreadsheet of potential PR spins. Color-coded.”
I snort, despite myself. “Sounds like her.”
Lucas nods slowly. “Still. For what it’s worth? That article read more like agotchathan journalism.”
“Doesn’t matter.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “The facts are there. It’s all true.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But there’s a difference betweentruthandstory. You never cashed in on that name. Never even used it.”
“Didn’t want to.” My voice comes out sharp. “Did everything I could tonotbe him. I used to think if I just stayed far enoughaway—did my own thing, kept my mouth shut—it would stay buried.”
Lucas tilts his head. “But it didn’t.”
“Nope.” I clink the neck of my beer against his. “Welcome to my villain origin story.”
