Done letting that bastard’s shadow stretch over everything I build. Everything I am.
I tighten my grip on the wheel as we roll down the long gravel drive, barns rising up on either side like monuments to his ego.
Jersey Iron Ranch might be growing fast—but this place?
This is old money.
Old power.
The kind that thinks it’s untouchable.
But not anymore.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
Because this isn’t just about business.
Yeah, he’s been trying to tank us.
Threatening clients.
Sending hired muscle after our runs like we’re just another nuisance he can swat down.
But this?
This goes deeper.
This is about every year I spent thinking I wasn’t enough.
Every time I let his name define me.
Every time I walked away instead of standing my ground.
That ends today.
Because I can’t ask Esme to believe in me—can’t ask her to trust me, to choose me—if I don’t believe in myself first.
And the thought that she might be carrying my child?
My jaw tightens.
That changes everything.
Makes this urgent.
Makes this necessary.
Beside me, Esme shifts, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Esme asks, and fuck, she’s just so damn beautiful, it steals the breath from my lungs.
I nod because I can’t talk.
Not yet.
“I mean, I get it. Your father is a dick,” she says, her tone climbing just enough to betray her nerves, “and you picked now to say hi?”
I suck in a careful breath, not taking my eyes off the narrow road.
