Page 158 of Broken Blades

My father stiffened like he'd been struck.

"Focus on your marriage."

The words landed with surgical precision. Not cruel. Not vindictive. Just true.

My father's hands curled into fists on the desk. "You can't⁠—"

Wyatt cut him off with a single step closer. "Or I'll expose everything."

The threat hung in the air like a loaded weapon.

I watched my father's face shift through a dozen expressions—fury, defiance, calculation. Then something broke. Just for a second. Long enough for me to see the man beneath the polish. His voice came out hoarse. "You'd really do that?"

Wyatt's answer was immediate. "Without hesitation." His lips curved. "After everything you did to me? The only reason I haven't already is your daughter."

My father looked at me then. Really looked at me. Like he was searching for the daughter who used to smile at his business dinners and wear the dresses he picked out and never question anything.

That girl was gone.

"Chastity." His voice cracked. "You're really choosing him?"

I stepped closer to Wyatt. Not hiding behind him. Standing beside him. "Absolutely."

My father's shoulders sagged. Just slightly. Enough that I noticed.

Wyatt's hand found mine. Squeezed once. Then he spoke again, quieter this time. "You've got forty-eight hours."

My father's head snapped up. "To do what?"

"Announce your resignation. Cite personal reasons." Wyatt's tone was businesslike now. Clinical. "Issue a statement praising your wife's strength and supporting her through a difficult transition."

I watched my father's face pale.

"Give Barbara your shares in the merger. Let her run it without you." Wyatt tilted his head slightly. "She earned it, didn't she?"

My father flinched.

Wyatt's grip on my hand tightened. "You do that, and this stays quiet."

My father's voice came out strangled. "And if I don't?"

Wyatt's smile was all teeth. "Then every reporter in the city gets documentation proving the affair. Timestamped emails. Hotel receipts. Text messages." He paused. "All of it."

My father stared at him with naked hatred.

But beneath that?

Defeat.

Because we both knew Wyatt wasn't bluffing.

Wyatt turned toward the door, pulling me with him. We made it three steps before my father's voice stopped us. "You think you can threaten me in my own office?"

My stomach sank.

I already knew the answer.

My father straightened his tie with deliberate precision—the same gesture I'd watched him make a thousand times before high-stakes meetings.