"You brought it up." Pheiâs voice cut clean through the outrage like a blade through silk. "You wanted to talk about what I offer. You wanted to call my women broken and desperate and starved.
"So, letâs talk about why theyâre starved, Mr. Montgomery. Letâs talk about the husbands who neglected them. The patriarchs who treat them like property. The men who were so busy building empires that they forgot to build anything worth coming home to. The men who traded their wivesâ happiness for a bigger office and a shinier title, then act shocked when someone else picks up the pieces."
He stood.
The movement was sudden enough that Jonathanâs hand twitched towardâwhat? A weapon? A panic button? Old instincts from a life spent dealing with dangerous men, activated before his conscious mind could override them.
But Phei wasnât attacking. He was just standing. Looking down at the man whoâd spent the last five minutes trying to humiliate everyone he loved.
"You want to know what kind of man I am, Mr. Montgomery? Iâm the kind who doesnât forget when someone insults the women I love. Iâm the kind who takes care of whatâs his. And Iâm the kind whoâ" he smiled, and there was nothing warm in it, nothing human, just the cold patience of something ancient wearing a boyâs beautiful face
"âalways pays his debts. And you, sir, have just run up quite the tab."
Jonathan recovered faster than expected. The man hadnât built an empire by folding at the first sign of resistance.
"Pretty speech. But speeches donât raise children. Speeches donât protect a woman when the world decides to crush her." His eyes found Pheiâs againâcold, calculating, the gaze of a predator whoâd merely been surprised, not defeated.
"Youâre seventeen. You have no career. No assetsâor at least, none you can access. You have enemies in every Legacy family in Paradise. And youâre asking me to trust you with my daughterâs future? What exactly makes you think youâre qualified to play house with my little girl without even asking me first, when you canât even pay your own rent?"
"Iâm not asking you anything."
"No. Youâre not. Thatâs the problem. The attitude of a boy whoâs never faced real consequences. Keep talking like that and youâll learn what real consequences feel like, boy. I can make your life disappear with one phone call."
Something shifted in Pheiâs expression.
Just a flicker. A shadow passing behind those amethyst eyes like something 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 something underneath it nowâsomething cold and old and very, very patient. "Mr. Montgomery, do you know where I was living six weeks ago?"
Jonathan didnât 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." Pheiâs smile didnât reach his eyes. "Sometimes I ate what the family didnât finish. Wore clothes that were hand-me-downs from cousin who hated me.
"Got beaten by my uncle if I as much as used mt real names, got beat home at the academy too, which was often, and ignored by everyone else, which was always. So, spare me the lecture about consequences, old man. Iâve been eating them for breakfast since before you learned how to properly raise your own child."
Sierraâs hand spasmed in his grip.
"Iâve been facing consequences my entire life. Consequences for existing in the wrong family. Consequences for having the wrong name. 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 me more about how I donât understand what it means 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 sheâd misjudged everything about this evening.
"Iâm not here to convince you Iâm good enough for Sierra," Phei said finally. His voice had softened again. Back to calm. Back to level. "Iâm not here to ask for your blessing or your approval or your permission. Iâm here because she asked me to come. Because meeting her parents mattered to her and would make her happy. And because her happiness matters to me more than my pride. Unlike some people at this table."
He released Sierraâs hand. Stepped back from the table.
"The first course was lovely. But I think weâve covered enough ground for one evening. Sierraâ" he looked at her, and something warm flickered in those cold amethyst depths "âIâll be outside. Take whatever time 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.
Melissa 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 compliments to your chef. We should do this again sometime. Though perhaps next time 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 moment.
Then he picked up his wine glass. Drained it. Set it down harder than necessary.
"Well. That could have gone better."
Sierraâs chair scraped back like a blade being drawn.
"Sierraâ"
"No." Her voice was shaking. Tears streaming down her faceâthe face of his little girl, his ice princess, the daughter heâd spent seventeen years trying to protect from exactly this kind of man.
"You donât get to do this. You donât get to interrogate him like heâs on trial, like heâs some criminal, and then act surprised when he doesnât play along. You just sat there and tried to tear apart the one person who actually loves me without expecting me to be some doll in power grab. Congratulations, Dad. Youâve officially made yourself the villain you wanted to be."
"I was protecting youâ"
"From what?" She was standing now. Fists clenched at her sides, chest heaving with emotion sheâd spent the whole dinner trying to contain. "From someone who actually cares about me?
"From someone who makes me 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 someone who makes me feel alive, Dad? Like Iâm not just a Montgomery daughter being groomed for some Legacy marriage? Newsflash: Iâd rather be ruined by him than preserved like a trophy by you."
Jonathanâs expression flickered. Something complicated moving behind those ice-chip eyes.
"Sierra, you donât understand whatâs coming. The Legacy familiesâ"
"I donât care about the Legacy families!" She was crying openly now. Not bothering to hide it.
"I donât care about politics or power or whatever war youâre so worried about. I care about him. And you justâyou just sat there and tried to tear him apart because youâre scared of something that hasnât even happened yet. Scared that for once in your life, you canât control who I love. All I wanted was you to meet him and let him show you why I chose him, or at least get to know him better."
She turned.
Walked toward the door.
"Sierraâ"
She didnât stop.
The door slammed 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 hadnât moved. Hadnât 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 whoâd just been beaten at his own game.
Whenâs the last time you made her feel like she existed?
The boyâs 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 heâd lost control of everything he thought he owned.