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I stare at him, chest heaving. Outside the window, freshly skimmed water gleams in the pale light. Pure and clean.

And suddenly, I’m twenty-two years old again, sitting in the hospital, eating lunch with Laurie Harwood.

“Your father will protect our family at all costs,”my mother says to me, picking at her mashed potatoes.“That’s why I chose him. He’ll keep the company strong until you’re ready. But Nick …”She reaches up and ruffles my hair, a gesture from my childhood she never lost the habit of, even near the end.“Don’t forget you have a choice. You always have a choice.”

I hadn’t known what she’d meant at the time, but she was right.

She was always right.

Victor shifts in his seat, glaring daggers at me. So much time has passed since Mom was alive. Her death was the only thing Victor Harwood couldn’t protect his family from. And maybe, if I’d never wanted anything different, I would bend to his will today without question.

Maybe, if I’d never spent time with Mom in the kitchen, I’d want what my father wants for me. If I’d never learned to cook. If I’d never met Sienna.

My heart contracts.

I miss you, Mom.

She dreamed of seeing me run the company she started. But now, for the first time, looking at my father in the study he built, behind the desk he bought, in the giant mansion where he lives alone, I realize something: Harwood Restaurant Group isn’t my mother’s true legacy.

I am.

“Dad,” I start, but my voice comes out a rasp. I cough and try again. “This is more than a publicity stunt.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Oh, please?—”

“No. Listen to me, Dad. I’m in love with Sienna. I’m not going to leave our marriage just because you say so.”

Victor scoffs, grimacing like I’m a child who just declared a belief in dragons. “Love,” he sneers. “Do you know what a billion dollars buys, Son? It buys all the love you want. No need to go looking for it in the alleyways of the world. This is about the Harwood name.”

“Dad.”

“I was hoping Lionel’s appearance at the charity gala would remind you of that.”

“I …”But his words settle over me, stopping my retort in its tracks. “Lionel?”

The rageful look on Victor’s face slips, just for a second, and I see guilt there. Then he does the same thing he did when I asked him about the private investigator: he shrugs and looks through the window.

Harwood Restaurant Group isn’t built on sentiment, Nicholas,he had said to me at the gala.It’s built on power. Leverage. Control. Making the hard decisions, even without permission. That’s how we stay on top.

I struggle to keep my mouth from falling open as my third realization in a matter of minutes hits me. “You got Lionel an invite to the gala. You told him to approach me.”

Victor’s gaze travels to the stack of papers on his desk, then flicks away.

“You …” There’s a ripping feeling in my chest. “Youhiredhim. To the board of the company.” I don’t know how I know it; I just do. The stack of papers on my father’s desk is tall enough to cast a shadow. I wonder which of them is Lionel’s employment contract. “And Roderick, too. That’s why they left their jobs. They have positions at Harwood Restaurant Group.”

Victor tents his fingers, letting go of a tired exhale. “Yes, yes. Co-CFOs, a seven-year contract. You won’t be able to fire them without going to court.”

I’m lost for words. “How could you?”

“I was hoping you’d decide to hire them yourself, but you’re too stubborn,” Victor says, ignoring me. “You’ll understand why I did this once you see that Lionel and Roderick are the best people for the job.” He examines his cuff links, picking a piece of lint from his sleeve. “What is a grudge in the face of a company like ours?”

I’m afraid I might push his desk over.Breathe, Nick. Control yourself.My feet carry me to the window, where I stare at buildings on the horizon and dig my nails into my palms.

I’ve been faced with my father’s uncaring personality a thousand times. This is different.

I glance over my shoulder. He’s not even looking at me. He’s resumed writing whatever it was he was working on when I came in, head bent over his desk.

At first, the betrayal is a knife in my back, a thousand cuts, sand in my veins. But when I try to find the words to counter it, the feelings to justify it, all I come up with is emptiness.