Alex pushed open the front door with her elbow, her bag slipping down my arm as she stepped inside. The scent of roasted garlic and grilled chicken wafted through the hallway. Her stomach grumbled immediately.
Dinner. Finally.
Alex just wanted food, a hot shower, and maybe—if the universe decided to be kind—five minutes where she didn’t have to think about her parents, her grades, or Michael’s face when her left him in that park.
But as she turned the corner toward the stairs, Alex stopped dead in her tracks.
Her father was standing in the doorway of her room.
Arms crossed. Brows drawn low. A look that wasn’t quite anger, but wasn’t anything good either.
“Dad?” Alex said carefully, adjusting her grip on her bag. “Something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. Just turned, slowly, and held something up between two fingers.
Papers.
Her stomach twisted.
No—not those.
He stepped forward, and she saw the bold letterhead immediately: Steel International Holdings. Internal Memorandum. Restricted Distribution.
Crap.
She’d left them on her desk last night after reading into the early hours. Alex thought she’d stuffed them under the drawer.
“I believe,” Luca said, his voice low, “that I told you not to go digging through my files.”
Her lips parted. “I wasn’t— I just—”
He raised a brow.
Alex sighed. “Okay. I was reading them. But it’s not like I leaked them to the press or anything. They were just sitting on the kitchen counter. I didn’t steal them—just borrowed.”
“For what?”
Alex hesitated. “To study.”
He folded the papers neatly, slowly, like someone folding a flag before a funeral. “You want to explain why you’re studying confidential acquisition terms for a foreign steel merger?”
“Because I want to know how it works!” She said, frustrated. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m majoring in business management, Dad. Your business. I have the right to understand it.”
He moved back into the hallway, still calm—too calm. That always made her nervous. Her father didn’t yell. He didn’t slam doors or throw fits. He measured his words like blades and only used them when he needed to cut.
“And what exactly were you planning to do with this understanding?” he asked. “Lecture your professors? Challenge the board?”
“I don’t know,” Alex snapped. “Maybe not stand around waiting until I’m thirty to be treated like I have a brain?”
“You think reading stolen memos qualifies you for board meetings?” His voice dropped lower.
“I think I care more than half the idiots sitting on those boards now!” Alex shot back. “I care about the company. I care about what you built. You should be glad I give a damn.”
He shook his head slowly. “I should be glad that my daughter is skipping rest and boundaries to claw through sensitive paperwork she’s not ready to understand?”
Alex stared at him, heat rising in her chest. “You’re afraid I’ll do better than you.”
His expression didn’t even flinch.
“You want to be part of this world?” he asked quietly. “You want to wear the crown? Fine. Then listen when I tell you this: I saw what ambition did to my father. I watched it rip him apart. I saw him die because of it.”
The words punched through the room like a silent gunshot.
“You think you’re ready?” he said, stepping closer. “You think you’re strong enough? You think business is just numbers and confidence? It’s war, Alex. And you have no idea how fast it can destroy you.”
Alex opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
He exhaled, low and heavy, as if the weight in his chest had finally broken loose. “I don’t want to see you gunned down in some alley because you walked into a deal thinking you understood power.”
Her breath caught. Alex didn’t mean to feel startled. But she was.
Because she knew that nightmare. The one he never talked about but always carried. The one that painted shadows under his eyes in the morning.
He turned and walked away without another word, the papers still in his hand.
Alex stood in the hallway, frozen, her back pressed against the wall, staring at nothing.
He didn’t yell.
He never needed to.
“Alex?” a soft voice called from the stairs.
Alex turned just as her mother reached the top step, her hand brushing the banister like she was anchoring herself.
“You okay?” Nova asked.
Alex gave a tight nod. “Peachy.”
She crossed the space between them and placed her palm on Alex’s cheek.
“He’s not angry at you,” she said. “He’s scared.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Nova wrapped her arms around her, and Alex sank into them before she could stop myself. The tears were stupid. She knew that. She wasn’t twelve anymore.
But it still hurt.
“It’s not fair,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I just want to help.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
Alex pulled back, sniffling. “You’re not going to tell me I need to slow down too?”
“Nope.”
She blinked.
Nova smiled. “I’m going to tell you to remember who you are. And also...” She tapped her daughter’s nose. “Remember who he is.”
Alex looked down.
Nova cupped her face. “You remember your twelfth birthday?”
Alex frowned. “Which part?”
“The roller coaster.”
Alex choked on a laugh. “You mean when Dad got stuck in the seat?”
She burst out laughing. “They had to call three different security guys to unbuckle him.”
“He kept yelling that the thing was defective,” Alex said through giggles. “Even though you told him not to get on the ride.”
“He said, and I quote,” Nova deepened her voice, “‘If my daughter’s doing it, then I’m doing it too.’”
They were both laughing now, real laughter, the kind that bubbled up from somewhere too deep to fake.
“He was red for hours,” Alex said. “Like a tomato in a suit.”
Nova wiped her cheeks with her thumbs. “And you, my dear, laughed so hard you got the hiccups.”
Alex leaned into her again, letting the last of her tears slip into her shirt.
“I miss that,” Alex whispered. “That version of him.”
“He’s still in there,” she said. “He’s just carrying too much right now. And he’s terrified of losing the two people he loves most.”
Alex didn’t say anything. Alex didn’t need to.
For now, it was enough to be held.