“No. You’ve done enough.” Sebastian slices his arm through the air. “I’ll fix what you've broken. Again.”
Sebastian storms out of the room, and the silence that follows is suffocating. Ivy stands statue-still, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the door. She hasn't looked at me since Sebastian's warning.
I step to the bar cart and knock back my drink, refilling and taking another healthy swallow. The bourbon burns, but not enough to touch the cold spreading through my chest.
Fuck him. Fuck this family. And fuck me for thinking I could have something good without destroying it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thorne
Sebastian's exit still echoes in the silence. The billiards room stretches cavernous around us, empty except for Ivy and me and the wreckage of our evening— a few articles of clothes scattered across antique rugs, pool balls abandoned mid-game, the bottle of Blackstone Reserve sitting on the bar cart like an accusation. The newspaper lies crumpled on the floor where Sebastian threw it, that damning photograph of me at Williams's door visible even from here.
Just like Dad.
The words circle in my head, each rotation cutting deeper. The silence should be a relief. Instead, it's suffocating.
Ivy retrieves her sweater from the floor. When she turns back, she doesn't meet my eyes.
I reach for the bottle and pour. Three fingers this time, the amber liquid catches the low light.
"Didn't you already have your drink?" Ivy asks.
I gesture at the newspaper on the ground, at the chaos Sebastian left in his wake. "After all that? I think I need a little more."
She doesn't argue. Her jaw is tight, and I can practically see the thoughts racing behind her eyes.
"Those photographs," she says quietly. "Of you visiting Williams." Her voice shifts, lawyer-brain engaging. "This could compromise everything I've been advising on."
I take a slow sip. The bourbon burns, but not enough. "I know."
“Do you?” She moves into my space, every inch of her radiating anger. “Or do you just not care that you handed the EPA ammunition to discredit every legal opinion I've given your family. We agreed that no one from Blackstone would contact him. And what did you do? You went to see him.”
“We—I had to get to him quickly. We have a lot of property. I had to know if there was more my father had done.”
“You left Blackstone exposed.”
“No, I left myself exposed.”
“What are you talking about?”
I should deflect. Change the subject. But she's looking at me like she already knows I'm planning something. How does she do that? We've known each other a month, and she reads me better than people who've known me for years.
Fine. If she can see through me anyway, I might as well be honest. This won't put her at risk—it's my plan, my consequences. And after Williams, I owe her the truth.
"I have a backup plan,” I admit. "If the Williams thing blows up even worse. If the EPA comes after us."
"Which is?" She is measured. Controlled. But I can see her pulse jumping at her throat.
"I’ll go to them first. To the police, the EPA, whoever's running the investigation." I’m past sipping and take a healthy swallow of my bourbon. "If Williams is talking, I’ll be Blackstone’s fall guy.”
“Why would you do that? This is your dad’s mistake, not yours.”
"Nobody cares who's really to blame as long as they can blame someone. Preferably someone alive. And I should have looked closer at that acquisition when Dad first brought it to me four years ago." I take another drink, feel the burn. "But I didn't. I just signed off."
"Why?" The question is simple, but I can see her lawyer brain working. "You're meticulous about everything else. Why not this?"
The answer sits stuck in my throat. I've never told anyone this. Not in nineteen years. The only people who know are dead or betrayed me to my father in the first place.
