"You brought it up." Phei’s voice cut clean through the outrage like a blade through silk. "You wanted to talk about what I offer. You wanted to call my won broken and desperate and starved.
"So, let’s talk about why they’re starved, Mr. Montgory. Let’s talk about the husbands who neglected them. The patriarchs who treat them like property. The n who were so busy building empires that they forgot to build anything worth coming ho to. The n who traded their wives’ happiness for a bigger office and a shinier title, then act shocked when soone else picks up the pieces."
He stood.
The movent was sudden enough that Jonathan’s hand twitched toward—what? A weapon? A panic button? Old instincts from a life spent dealing with dangerous n, activated before his conscious mind could override them.
But Phei wasn’t attacking. He was just standing. Looking down at the man who’d spent the last five minutes trying to humiliate everyone he loved.
"You want to know what kind of man I am, Mr. Montgory? I’m the kind who doesn’t forget when soone insults the won I love. I’m the kind who takes care of what’s his. And I’m the kind who—" he smiled, and there was nothing warm in it, nothing human, just the cold patience of sothing ancient wearing a boy’s beautiful face
"—always pays his debts. And you, sir, have just run up quite the tab."
Jonathan recovered faster than expected. The man hadn’t built an empire by folding at the first sign of resistance.
"Pretty speech. But speeches don’t raise children. Speeches don’t protect a woman when the world decides to crush her." His eyes found Phei’s again—cold, calculating, the gaze of a predator who’d rely been surprised, not defeated.
"You’re seventeen. You have no career. No assets—or at least, none you can access. You have enemies in every Legacy family in Paradise. And you’re asking to trust you with my daughter’s future? What exactly makes you think you’re qualified to play house with my little girl without even asking first, when you can’t even pay your own rent?"
"I’m not asking you anything."
"No. You’re not. That’s the problem. The attitude of a boy who’s never faced real consequences. Keep talking like that and you’ll learn what real consequences feel like, boy. I can make your life disappear with one phone call."
Sothing shifted in Phei’s expression.
Just a flicker. A shadow passing behind those athyst eyes like sothing vast moving beneath dark water. There and gone so fast that Jonathan almost missed it.
"Never faced consequences," Phei repeated. His voice was still calm. Still level. But there was sothing underneath it now—sothing cold and old and very, very patient. "Mr. Montgory, do you know where I was living six weeks ago?"
Jonathan didn’t answer.
"A room in the Maxton Mansion. Eight by ten feet. No window. A bed that was more springs than mattress and a desk I found in a garbage pile when I was twelve." Phei’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Sotis I ate what the family didn’t finish. Wore clothes that were hand--downs from cousin who hated .
"Got beaten by my uncle if I as much as used mt real nas, got beat ho at the academy too, which was often, and ignored by everyone else, which was always. So, spare the lecture about consequences, old man. I’ve been eating them for breakfast since before you learned how to properly raise your own child."
Sierra’s hand spasd in his grip.
"I’ve been facing consequences my entire life. Consequences for existing in the wrong family. Consequences for having the wrong na. Consequences for existing in a world that decided I was worthless before I could walk myself to school." He tilted his head. "So please. Tell more about how I don’t understand what it ans to suffer."
Jonathan was silent.
The room was silent.
Even Roxanne had stopped pretending. She was watching Phei now with an expression of dawning horror at how completely she’d misjudged everything about this evening.
"I’m not here to convince you I’m good enough for Sierra," Phei said finally. His voice had softened again. Back to calm. Back to level. "I’m not here to ask for your blessing or your approval or your permission. I’m here because she asked to co. Because eting her parents mattered to her and would make her happy. And because her happiness matters to more than my pride. Unlike so people at this table."
He released Sierra’s hand. Stepped back from the table.
"The first course was lovely. But I think we’ve covered enough ground for one evening. Sierra—" he looked at her, and sothing warm flickered in those cold athyst depths "—I’ll be outside. Take whatever ti you need with your parents."
He bent. Kissed her forehead. Soft. Tender. The gesture of a man who cherished what he held.
Then he walked toward the door.
lissa rose gracefully, napkin folded with the precision of a woman who had turned composure into an art form.
"The soup was excellent, Roxanne," she said. "My complints to your chef. We should do this again soti. Though perhaps next ti we can skip the amateur theater."
She followed Phei out.
The door closed behind them with the quiet finality of a tomb sealing shut.
Jonathan sat in the wreckage of his own performance for a long mont.
Then he picked up his wine glass. Drained it. Set it down harder than necessary.
"Well. That could have gone better."
Sierra’s chair scraped back like a blade being drawn.
"Sierra—"
"No." Her voice was shaking. Tears streaming down her face—the face of his little girl, his ice princess, the daughter he’d spent seventeen years trying to protect from exactly this kind of man.
"You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to interrogate him like he’s on trial, like he’s so criminal, and then act surprised when he doesn’t play along. You just sat there and tried to tear apart the one person who actually loves without expecting to be so doll in power grab. Congratulations, Dad. You’ve officially made yourself the villain you wanted to be."
"I was protecting you—"
"From what?" She was standing now. Fists clenched at her sides, chest heaving with emotion she’d spent the whole dinner trying to contain. "From soone who actually cares about ?
"From soone who makes feel like I am a loved human being not beyond being your daughter you so much loved to marry to Heavenchilds for more power? From soone who makes feel alive, Dad? Like I’m not just a Montgory daughter being grood for so Legacy marriage? Newsflash: I’d rather be ruined by him than preserved like a trophy by you."
Jonathan’s expression flickered. Sothing complicated moving behind those ice-chip eyes.
"Sierra, you don’t understand what’s coming. The Legacy families—"
"I don’t care about the Legacy families!" She was crying openly now. Not bothering to hide it.
"I don’t care about politics or power or whatever war you’re so worried about. I care about him. And you just—you just sat there and tried to tear him apart because you’re scared of sothing that hasn’t even happened yet. Scared that for once in your life, you can’t control who I love. All I wanted was you to et him and let him show you why I chose him, or at least get to know him better."
She turned.
Walked toward the door.
"Sierra—"
She didn’t stop.
The door slamd behind her with the finality of a daughter choosing her own path.
Jonathan and Roxanne sat alone at the long table. Five place settings. Three empty chairs. The soup going cold in crystal bowls that had cost more than most families earned in a year.
Roxanne hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Was still staring at the place where Phei had been sitting, her face unreadable.
Jonathan looked at his wife with the sudden clarity of a man who’d just been beaten at his own ga.
When’s the last ti you made her feel like she existed?
The boy’s words echoed in his skull like a verdict from which there was no appeal.
"Roxanne," he started.
She stood.
Walked out without a word.
Jonathan sat alone at the head of his table, surrounded by cold soup and empty chairs, and wondered when exactly he’d lost control of everything he thought he owned.
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