My house looked the same as always when I pulled into the drive. Massive. Still. Untouched.
Inside, it wasn’t. Dad’s voice carried from the study. Mom’s layered over it, tighter than usual. Drew’s cut between them, steady. I slowed near the corner before I could stop myself.
“You should have anticipated the fallout,” Mom was saying. “The board does not tolerate being blindsided.”
“We moved quickly,” Dad replied. “Exposure was limited.”
“Limited?” Mom’s voice lowered instead of rising. That was worse. “Funds shifted within hours.”
A pause.
“That does not mean instability,” Drew inserted.
“It means perception,” Dad countered. “And perception becomes reality if we do not redirect it.”
“We need something tangible,” Mom pressed. “They want assurance.”
“They will have it,” Dad answered.
Silence hung thick.
Drew’s voice came again, quieter. “And if redirecting perception requires escalation?”
Dad’s reply dropped too low for me to hear.
I stepped back before the floorboard under my shoe could give me away.
Funds shifting. Board unrest. Assurance required. Leverage.
The word from Darren’s notebook pressed into place about not trusting anyone with the King name.
Money had moved. And money never moves without pressure.
CHAPTER TEN
MILA
The kitchen smelled differently this morning. Not burned toast or coffee or the stale quiet that had seeped into the walls over the past few months. Butter warmed in a pan. Bacon hissed. Edwardo hummed under his breath.
I stood on the last stair longer than necessary before making my presence known.
Edwardo moved through the space as though he belonged there, broad shoulders filling the narrow room, sleeves rolled to his forearms, one hand steady on the skillet while the other reached for a plate without looking.
Mom sat at the table, elbows resting on the wood, chin propped in her palm. She wasn’t braced or checking her phone every thirty seconds. She was smiling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen that expression land so easily on her face.
“You’re up,” Edwardo called without turning around. “Coffee’s ready.”
His awareness never felt intrusive. He just knew where everyone was.
“I thought you were joking about cooking.” I stepped into the room.
He set a plate down in front of Mom and glanced over his shoulder at me. “I don’t joke about breakfast.”
Mom shook her head, amusement lingering in her eyes. “He insisted.”
“Someone in this house should know how to use a stove,” Edwardo replied.
“I cook,” Mom defended then winked at me. “Sometimes.”
