The mention of Ivy makes my chest tighten. "I'm busy."
"You're spiraling." She moves to stand in front of my desk. “And before you say I should let you because we don’t need you or some other shit. We need you. As our brother and atthisdistillery. You and Sebastian work because you're in the right positions. He's the face, the master distiller, the steady hand. You're the shark in acquisitions, seeing deals no one else can. Dad put you there to punish you, but you've made it your own. Made it matter.”
I stare at her. “How…”
She can’t know. She was only fourteen, the same age Madison is now, when it happened. Too young to understand or question what was really going on when Dad suddenly announced Sebastian was slated to take over the distillery instead of me.
“That day in the car, something you said snagged my attention, so I snooped through Dad's personal files."
Of course she noticed my slip. And, of course, she looked into it. "Forget tutoring or running the other operations within Blackstone. You should be a detective. You'd make a killing ferreting out secrets."
She laughs, but it fades. “You went to Warren Hartwell, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Was that in Dad’s personal stuff?” I take a sip of my drink, needing to drown old memories.
“No, but he's been calling board members since those photos leaked. Building his case against you. I didn’t know if it was because he wants you out so he’ll have more power or if it was something else.”
I shrug.“Probably both”
"Don't you even care?" Her hands flatten on the desk. "He calledme, Thorne. Asked which way I'd vote. He's telling everyone you're unstable. That you're a liability. That we—the family and the shareholders—can't control you."
"He's not wrong."
"Heiswrong. And you know it."
I have to appreciate her loyalty, even if it is misplaced.
She returns to the window. "He's trying to push you out. If he gets your twenty percent, he'll have real power in this company."
"Let him have it."
She whirls back. "Are you serious right now?"
"This is me, my life, my mistakes. And it's time to get on with the tragedy of my life."
Lillianna snorts. Actually snorts. "Jesus, Thorne. I don't remember these theatrics and penchant for drama when you were drunk before.”
Despite everything, my lips twitch, lifting in an almost smile. "Maybe because they were lost in my acts and decisions."
"You were always dramatic." She drops into the chair across from me, her expression softening at the memory. "Remember when you turned twenty-one? You got me that fake ID, and we took that group of friends to Keeneland. It was summer, blazing hot, and everyone kept buying you drinks."
"I remember being very drunk."
"You were obliterated. Shots, beers, bourbon—you couldn't say no to anyone." She's smiling now. "And then you bet half your inheritance on a horse."
The memory surfaces, hazy but warm. Everyone tried to stop me, but I'd been so sure the universe owed me a win.
Lillianna shakes her head. “We all stood there with our jaws on the ground while you collected your winnings. You were so drunk you tipped the clerk with a thousand dollars and told him to ‘buy something pretty.’”
I laugh at the memory.
"What would you have done if you'd lost?" Lillianna asks.
My grin fades. "I probably should have lost. That win made me believe I was invincible. That I could take any risk and come out ahead." I turn my mug in my hand. Setting it on my desk, I say, "That wasn't the last risky bet I made."
"But you won most of them. You have good instincts, Thorne. You're good at acquisitions because you spot opportunities others miss. You take calculated risks."
"Williams didn’t work out."
