"Dad," Asha's voice cuts across the space.
He turns, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Asha, I was wondering when you'd come over to say hi." His gaze flicks to me over her shoulder before sliding back to her. "Enjoying yourself?"
"Did you pay Cassidy to lie about Trigger being the father of her baby?" The words detonate across the patio.
Warrick's expression doesn't change, but I notice the way his hand tightens around his glass. She hit a nerve. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Asha takes a step closer. Her voice shakes, but she doesn't back down. "You've been trying to sabotage my relationship from day one. The electricity, the road, blocking me from entering my mother's home, the invites for one, as if your words weren't enough. I know you hate Trigger, but this…paying someone to claim he's the father of her baby. That's a new low."
"That's a serious accusation." His voice drops dangerously low. "You might want to reconsider making it in front of all these people."
"Is it an accusation if it's true?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw. "You're being hysterical."
"I'm beinghonest." Her voice rises. "Something you clearly know nothing about."
He drains his whiskey in one swallow and sets the glass down with a sharpcrackagainst the bar. "This conversation is over."
"No, it's not?—"
"I said it's over." His eyes cut to mine, cold and calculating, before sliding back to Asha. "You think you can stand here and accuse me? In my home? In front of my guests?" His voice drops to something lethal. "You're walking a very dangerous line, Asha."
"Dangerous?" her voice shakes, but she holds her ground. "Are you sure that's the word you want to use?"
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or the first crack in his control. His jaw tightens. "Watch it," he warns.
"You're not even going to deny it," Asha's voice fractures.
"I don't owe you an explanation for how I protect my family." His tone is ice.
"Protect?" Asha shakes her head. "You tried to destroy the man I love because you can't control me anymore. That's not protection. That's manipulation."
"You're making a scene."
"Good." Her voice doesn't waver. "Let them see exactly who you are."
"I've given you everything. Every opportunity. Every advantage. And this is how you repay me? All these years, I thought I was raising a daughter who understood respect, who valued what she had. Instead, I raised an ungrateful child."
I snap and step between them. "You don't get to speak to her that way."
Warrick's eyes cut to me. "Excuse me?"
"She's my wife," I cut in, my voice dangerously low when I add, "And you and I are going to have a real problem if you keep disrespecting her.”
For a long moment, he just stares at me. The small crowd around us has gone silent. Then his mouth curves into something that might be a smile on anyone else, but on him it’s a threat.
"Your wife." The words come out flat. He looks at Asha, and for just a second, something raw flashes across his face. "She's my daughter. My only family. We were all each other had." Then his expression hardens again. "And that husband title? It means nothing. You're not her partner. You're her revenge. A means to an end. Remember that when this all falls apart."
He turns on his heel and walks toward the house, his stride measured and controlled despite the fury rolling off him in waves. The crowd around us parts, and no one dares to meet his eyes. As I watch him go, my jaw is clenched so tight my teeth ache. A man like Warrick doesn't lose control without purpose. He plans. He orchestrates. Which means he saw this confrontation coming. Every word was calculated, designed to burrow into our heads and fester. Plant doubt. Drive wedges. Break us apart from the inside.
But why?
There has to be more to this feud than my father's letting on. Warrick is too smart to waste this much energy on pride alone. He knows my father's hands are tied when it comes to our land. So what's really driving this? What does he think he'll gain by destroying his own daughter's happiness?
Unless breaking us apart isn't the goal and we're just collateral damage in whatever game he's really playing.
Movement catches my eye near the house, and a shadowy figure steps from the porch as Warrick approaches. They exchange words before Warrick disappears inside, but not before a gust of wind reveals the shadowy figure is wearing a dress. I scan the party for answers, and sure enough, I find Hollis sitting across the yard, beer in hand, but Sydney is no longer at his side. Shit.
