The father looks away. He seems to think carefully before saying what he wants to say. And then suddenly:
"Get Sullivan."
The words come out slurred, fighting through whatever the nurse just pushed into his IV. But my father's eyes are sharp. Determined. The same look he wore closing billion-dollar deals.
"Dad, you need to rest—"
"Now, Adison." His hand twitches against the blanket, a ghost of the commanding gesture he'd always use. "What I have to say concerns both of you."
I don't argue. Something in his voice tells me this isn't the moment for rebellion.
Jake is waiting in the hallway where I left him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking exactly like what he is—a Texas rancher stranded in a Manhattan penthouse, completely out of his element but refusing to show it.
"He wants you to see." The words feel strange in my mouth. "Both of us."
Jake's jaw tightens. "You sure that's a good idea?"
"No." I reach for his hand, and his fingers lace through mine automatically. "But he's dying, and he's asking."
Jake just takes off his cowboy hat and gestures for me to lead him to his father.
We walk back to my father's room together, and the moment Jake crosses the threshold, the air changes. Charges. Like standing between two electrical storms waiting to see which one strikes first.
Richard's gaze locks onto Jake with an intensity that shouldn't be possible for someone this sick. Jake stands beside me, his posture carefully neutral, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. The last time these two men occupied the same space, blood was drawn.
Neither speaks first. The silence stretches until I want to scream.
"Sit." Richard gestures weakly toward the chairs near his bed. "Both of you."
We sit. Jake's hand finds my knee under the chair's armrest, hidden, grounding.
"I assume my daughter told you why she's here." Richard's voice is stronger now, the medication buying him borrowed time. "What she didn't tell you—what she doesn't know—is that Ward Enterprises is under attack."
I blink. "What?"
"Corporate vultures." The words come out bitter, laced with something that sounds almost like fear. "They smell blood in the water. Major shareholders questioning leadership. Three hostile takeover attempts in the last month alone."
His hand curls into a fist against the blanket.
"Everything I built. Almost twenty years. Hemorrhaging because I'm too weak to hold the wheel."
The information lands wrong. Sideways. Like puzzle pieces that don't fit the picture I thought I was looking at.
"What does that have to do with me?"
Richard's eyes find mine. "You're my only child. My only blood. The only person I can trust with what I've spent my life building."
The laugh escapes before I can stop it. Sharp. Incredulous. The kind of sound that scrapes your throat raw on the way out.
"You can't be serious." I'm on my feet without deciding to stand. "You spent my entire life training me to be a wife. An ornament. A political asset to trade for the right connections."
The words come faster, years of suppressed anger finding their exit.
"You told me astrophysics was unsuitable. That science wasn't for girls like me. That my job was to smile and marry well and produce heirs for whatever dynasty you'd arranged."
"Adison—"
"I'm finally doing it." My voice cracks, and I hate myself for it. "I'm finally pursuing what Mom wanted for me. What I wanted for myself. And now you expect me to sacrifice that for an empire you never once prepared me to run?"
Richard's face contorts—pain or frustration, I can't tell which.
"Charles was supposed to handle the business side." Each word costs him visible effort. "The marriage wasn't just about politics. It was designed to secure your future. Your children's future. Everything I did was for you."
The old familiar hurt cracks open in my chest like a fault line finally giving way.
"You never asked." The words come out quiet. Devastated. "Not once. Not about school, not about Charles, not about any of it. You just decided. Planned. Controlled. And called it love."
He just looks at me as if I've said something ridiculous.
Of course, I've always played a role; no one expects me to say anything intelligent, let alone the truth.
"I'm dying, Adison."
The words land like stones dropped into still water. Rippling outward. Changing everything.
"This is my final request." His voice breaks on the last word, and I see something I've never seen before—Richard Ward, vulnerable. Desperate. Afraid. "Please."
The silence that follows feels infinite. I can feel Jake's presence beside me, steady and warm, and I don't know what to do with any of this.
"I won't judge you for whatever choice you make." Jake's voice is low. Careful. Offering me something my father never has—freedom to decide for myself.
Richard's head turns toward him, and despite the medication clouding his system, his eyes go sharp as glass.
"Don't interfere, Sullivan." The words come out cold. Commanding. A flash of the man who beat Jake bloody in his own bedroom. "Not if you want to remain in my house."
Fury rises in my throat. He's dying, but he continues to act like a rich jerk who thinks he has the right to do so. I open my mouth to defend Jake, to tell my father he doesn't get to threaten the man I love, not now, not ever—
The monitor screams.
The sound cuts through everything—a high, piercing alarm that turns my blood to ice. Richard's face goes gray-white, his body arching against the pillows in a way that looks wrong. Broken. Like something fundamental has snapped inside him.
The nurse bursts through the door, already shouting orders, hands moving with practiced urgency toward my father's convulsing form.
I can't move. Can't breathe. Can only stand there watching as machines scream and the nurse swarms and my father fights against his own failing body.
He's dying. Right now. In front of me.