“She’s not suitable,” he states.“That woman ...and we found out she’s pregnant.You’ll have to get rid of the child.The Winthrop DNA doesn’t mix with just anything.”
“You hired someone,” I repeat slowly, “to investigate me.”
“It’s standard procedure.”
“No,” I say.“It’s stalking.”
“It’s risk management.”
“It’s stalking,” I repeat, and my throat is tight now because behind my anger is something worse: the image of Vesper being watched.Followed.Photographed.The idea of Monty’s past—his foster system, his grief, his entire life—being dug up by strangers with cameras and bad intentions.
The idea of their baby becoming a headline.
I swallow hard.
“Your father believes,” Daniel continues, “that if the rumors evolve?—”
“Stop talking,” I say.
This time it isn’t a request.It’s a command.
Daniel goes quiet.
Good.
I press my free hand to the counter, grounding myself in something real.The wood.The cool surface.The fact that Vesper is upstairs.The fact that Monty is somewhere in this house and if he knew what was being said right now, he’d go absolutely still in that terrifying way he does before he acts.
“Tell my father,” I say, each word controlled because if I let myself go, I will roar, “that if he comes anywhere near Vesper Lafontaine or Alberto Wade, I will destroy him.I will bury him in legal action until he forgets what sunlight feels like.”
Daniel makes a small sound.“Mr.Winthrop?—”
“No,” I cut in.“You don’t get to ‘Mr.Winthrop’ me like I’m a boy you can steer.You’re calling because you think I’ll panic and run back to New York like a good heir with a pretty smile.I’m not doing that.”
“Then you leave your parents no choice.”
I inhale through my nose.Slow.Controlled.
Fine.
If they want choices, I’ll give them choices.
Just not the ones they’re expecting.
Just not the one they expect.
“Send me,” I say, “every document you believe gives my father the right to do what you’re threatening.”
“Of course.”
“And Daniel?”I add, voice sweet.“Tell my mother I said hi.And tell her this isn’t a game.It’s war.”
He pauses, and for the first time I hear something like caution in him.“I advise you to be careful.”
“Too late,” I say.“You should advise them that they might lose every cent they have...and more.”
I hang up.
For a second, the kitchen is too quiet.The house hums around me—the security system, the soft whirr of climate control.
