His attention slides past Candace. "You look well. Health agrees with you."
I force air into my lungs. "What do you want?"
His smile widens. "Conversation. Clarity. Perhaps an apology."
Candace's laugh is sharp. "From who?"
He ignores her. Tilts his head, studying me as though I'm an object he's evaluating for damage. "Two years. Do you know how many people I had looking for you?"
My stomach flips. "You were looking for me?"
His brows lift. "Of course. You don't vanish from my life because you decide you're done."
"She's not your property," Candace says, colder.
His attention snaps to her, composure intact. "And you're not her savior." He studies Candace for a beat longer than necessary, head tilting with recognition that looks rehearsed. "You really are a lot like your mother."
Candace goes still. Every muscle locked, jaw white, hands flat on the table.
He lets it land. Watches it work. Pivots back to me as though he didn't just put a knife between Candace's ribs.
"I ran into an old friend. Alice." My grip tightens. "Alice Brighton. She said you looked… settled."
Darla's fingers clamp on my wrist.
"You've been talking to Alice," I manage, too steady.
A shrug. "She's useful. Keeps her ear close to interesting circles." He leans in just enough to invade space without touching. "She mentioned you've been… playing doctor for a motorcycle club."
Candace's smile turns sharp. "Say another word."
His glance cuts toward the windows, the crowd, the witnesses. "I'm simply curious. You've always had such ambition, Sloane. I expected better than… this."
"This is my life."
His focus narrows. "No. This is a phase. A rebellion. You'll come back when you're done proving something."
Candace, lower. "You don't know anything about her."
He gives Candace his full attention, and the air changes, not louder, just colder. "Oh, I know her. I made her."
Darla makes a small sound.
He looks at Darla now, as if just noticing she exists. Perfectly pleasant. "And you must be Darla Graves."
Of course he knows her name. Winston Graves, Trent Moreland, my father. They all swim in the same water. Darla isn't just my friend sitting at a café table. She's Winston Graves' daughter, and my father knows exactly what that means, exactly what her father tried to do to her. The fact that he says her name with a smile makes my skin crawl.
Darla's face drains, but she lifts her chin. "Yeah. And you must be the reason she learned to flinch without moving."
Candace's head turns in surprise, pride following.
He lets out a low laugh. "Charming." Back to me. "You should come home. We can fix this."
"I am home."
His smile falters half a beat, returns wider, colder. "Don't be dramatic."
Candace's fingers flex. "Leave. Right now." He assesses her. But he's not threatened. He's entertained. "You're protective," he tells Candace. "It must be exhausting, guarding what isn't yours."
