The city glitters beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like a promise Manhattan never keeps.
I settle into the armchair across from Violet, tea steaming between my palms. She's changed into comfortable clothes—borrowed sweats and one of my oversized Columbia hoodies—and the transformation is almost jarring. Without the designer armor, she looks younger. More breakable.
"University starts in September." She wraps both hands around her mug, staring into the amber liquid like it holds answers. "Two years of general requirements before I have to declare a major. My mother already has opinions about what that should be."
"What does Victoria want?" I ask, though I can already guess.
"Business. Economics. Something that makes me useful to the family legacy." Her mouth twists around the words. "Something that proves I'm not a complete waste of her investment."
The bitterness lands familiar. I've lived inside that particular cage myself.
"What do you want?" I lean forward, catching her gaze directly. "Forget Victoria. Forget expectations. What actually interests you?"
Violet's quiet for a long moment. Her fingers trace the rim of her mug with careful precision.
"I don't know yet." The admission scrapes out honest and raw. "But I know I want to earn my own money. Build something that belongs to me rather than accepting handouts from a family that never valued me anyway."
The hunger in her voice sparks recognition in my chest. I know that desperation. That need, to prove worth through independence rather than inheritance.
"I can offer you an internship." The words leave my mouth before I've fully calculated the implications. "Working primarily as Zachary's assistant. His responsibilities have multiplied since I've been away, and he needs help managing the workload."
Violet's face shifts through several emotions in rapid succession. Hope. Interest. Then immediate visceral resistance.
"Absolutely not." She sets her mug down with enough force that tea sloshes over the rim. "I won't survive working alongside someone who irritates me that thoroughly."
"Why does he irritate you?" I keep my voice neutral, genuinely curious.
"He's so..." She gestures vaguely, searching for words. "Controlled. Measured. Like he's calculating every response three moves ahead. It's exhausting being around someone that careful."
"That's called professionalism." I can't help the small smile that tugs at my mouth. "And it's exactly what you need to learn."
"I need to learn how to tolerate pompous assistants?" The sarcasm snaps out defensive and familiar.
"You need to learn how to navigate difficult people." I lean back, letting the truth settle between us. "The world won't rearrange itself around your preferences, Violet. Learning to work with people who challenge you—that's the real education. Not whatever classes Columbia assigns you."
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again. Something shifts behind her eyes.
"And Zachary is better than he seems." I continue, gentler now. "He's loyal. Competent. Completely trustworthy in ways that matter. Give him a chance before you decide he's insufferable."
"What's the salary?" The question comes out blunt. Practical.
I name a figure that makes her eyebrows rise. Entry-level but respectable. Enough to build independence without feeling like charity.
"That's..." She processes the number. "That's real money."
"Real work earns real money." I hold her gaze. "You'll be managing schedules, coordinating meetings, handling correspondence. Zachary will train you properly, but he'll expect actual effort in return."
Violet's quiet for several breaths. I watch determination settle into her expression like something solidifying from liquid to steel.
"Okay." She nods once. Decisive. "I'll do it."
"Good." Relief floods through me, though I'm not entirely sure why this alliance feels so important. "You start tomorrow. Nine a.m. sharp."
My phone buzzes against the coffee table. Jake's name glows on the screen, and my heart does something complicated in my chest.
"I need to take this." I stand, already moving toward the bedroom. "Make yourself comfortable. There's food in the kitchen if you're hungry."
Violet nods, settling deeper into the couch like she's claimed it.
I close the bedroom door behind me and press the phone to my ear.
"Hey." My voice comes out soft.
"Hey." Jake's drawl wraps around me like something physical. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm..." I pause, considering honesty versus performance. "I'm managing."
"That's not an answer." The gentle accusation lands familiar. "Try again."
I sink onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted in ways that have nothing to do with pregnancy or concussions.
"Walter is Richard's biological son." The words tumble out faster than I can control them. "Victoria had a one-night stand with my father twenty-four years ago. Walter found the DNA test and he's using it to claim ownership of Ward Enterprises."
Silence stretches through the line. I can hear Jake breathing, processing information that rewrites everything we thought we understood.
"Jesus, Adison." His voice drops low. Rough. "That's—"
"He gave me one week." I continue before he can finish. "One week to cooperate willingly or he starts dismantling my reputation. The pregnancy. Our relationship. Everything he can weaponize, he will."
"I'm getting on a plane." The decision lands immediate and absolute. "Tomorrow. I'll be there by morning."
"Tomorrow is fine." Relief floods through me so completely I almost laugh. "I need you here, Jake. We need to craft a press release announcing our relationship before Walter can turn it into a scandal."
"We're not letting him control this narrative." Jake's voice hardens into something I recognize from the ranch—protective instinct wrapped in strategic thinking. "But Adison, we need to discuss this properly. I refuse to let our love story be dictated by someone else's manipulation."
The words land somewhere tender. Somewhere I've been protecting since I left Texas.
"I know." My voice wavers despite my best efforts. "I know this isn't how we wanted to go public. But if we don't move first—"
"Then we move first." He cuts me off gently. "Together. On our terms, even if the timeline isn't what we'd choose."
"Thank you." The gratitude scrapes out raw and honest. "For understanding. For coming."
"I'm not letting you fight this alone." His voice carries weight that feels like a promise. "Not anymore. Not ever."
We stay on the line, breathing together across the distance. The city glitters beyond my window, and for the first time since Walter dropped his bomb, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I'm not drowning alone.
"I love you." I say it quietly. Certain. "Even when things get complicated."
"Especially when things get complicated." Jake's response wraps around me like shelter. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The call ends, but the warmth lingers.
I return to the living room to find Violet curled into the couch, her tea forgotten, staring at the city like it holds secrets she's only beginning to decode.
"Everything okay?" She glances up, reading something in my expression.
"Everything's about to get very complicated." I settle back into my chair, suddenly aware of how tired I am. "But yes. Everything's okay."
She nods, and we sit together in comfortable silence while Manhattan blazes below us—two women preparing for war, bound by choice rather than blood, building something neither of us quite understands yet.
But we will. Together, we will.