My phone buzzes before I can reach the conference room door.
Violet's name glows on the screen. I stop in the hallway, pressing my back against the cool wall as I read her message.
I heard everything. The day we came back. Victoria and Walter talking about the DNA test, your father, all of it. You're not alone in this.
The words settle into my chest like something solid. Something I can stand on.
She knew. She knew before I did, and she chose to warn me anyway. Chose alliance over blood.
I type back quickly: Thank you. Going back in now.
Her response comes immediately: Make him wait. He hates waiting.
Something fractured in my chest steadies itself. I straighten my spine, smooth my expression into something unreadable, and push through the door.
Walter looks up from his phone, his composure perfectly intact. As if he hasn't just detonated a bomb in my lap.
"Feeling better?" His voice carries false concern. "Pregnancy can be so unpredictable."
"I need time." I settle into my chair, matching his posture with deliberate calm. "To consider your proposal."
The pleasant mask flickers. Just for a moment.
"Time." He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. "How much time, exactly?"
"A week." I hold his gaze without flinching. "Maybe two. This isn't a small decision, Walter. You're asking me to restructure my entire inheritance."
"I'm asking you to acknowledge what's rightfully mine." His voice sharpens, that practiced patience wearing thin. "I've known who my real father is for over a week now, and to be honest, it's affecting my sleep and mood. The anticipation is frustrating. I think I've been patient enough."
"And I just found out I have a half-brother." I lean forward slightly, letting exhaustion bleed through my armor. "Give me time to process that, at least. You had your time."
Walter studies me with clinical attention. His fingers tap against the table in a rhythm that feels deliberate.
"You're stalling." The accusation lands flat. Certain.
"I'm struggling." The vulnerability isn't entirely performed. "The pregnancy has been complicated. I had a concussion a week ago that still hasn't fully healed. I'm exhausted in ways I can't even describe." I pause, letting the truth of it settle between us. "I can't make decisions this large when I can barely stand upright."
Something shifts behind his eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or calculation.
"You remind me of Violet." The observation comes out quiet. Almost thoughtful. "Reckless choices wrapped in stubborn determination. She does the same thing—runs headlong into situations her body can't handle, then expects the world to accommodate her recovery."
The comparison lands strangely. I file it away, testing its edges.
"You don't sound like you approve of that quality." I watch his face carefully. "In either of us."
"Approval isn't the point." Walter adjusts his cuffs with precise movements. "Violet is family. That comes with obligations regardless of personal feelings."
"What obligations?" I press gently, sensing something beneath the surface. "She's your sister. Isn't that enough?"
His smile turns thin. Almost brittle.
"Violet has never been enough for anything." The words carry weight that feels old. Practiced. "She disappoints our mother constantly. Makes choices that embarrass the family. But keeping Victoria satisfied means tolerating Violet's existence."
The calculation beneath his words chills me more than any threat he's made.
He doesn't love his sister. He tolerates her because their mother requires it. Every kindness he's ever shown Violet was probably strategic—managing an asset rather than caring for a sibling.
"That's cold." I don't bother hiding my reaction. "She's your blood."
"Blood doesn't equal respect." Walter's expression hardens. "Respect has to be earned. Violet has never managed that particular achievement."
My phone buzzes against the table. Zachary's name appears on the screen, and relief floods through me with almost embarrassing intensity.
"I need to take this." I reach for the phone, already standing. "My assistant—"
"Of course. Zachary." Walter's voice carries that smooth edge again. "The company’s emergencies don't pause for personal revelations."
I press the phone to my ear as I move toward the door. "Zachary. What's happening?"
"I wanted to check in." His voice is steady. Professional. "The meeting has been going for a while."
"I'm finishing now." I glance back at Walter, who watches me with predatory patience. "I'll be in the office soon."
I end the call and turn to face my newly discovered half-brother.
"We'll talk again." I keep my voice neutral. "Once I've had time to think."
Walter rises from his chair, buttoning his jacket with deliberate precision.
"One week." The deadline lands like a blade sheathed in silk. "That's all the patience I can offer. After that, I begin dismantling your world myself." He pauses, something cruel flickering behind his pleasant mask. "The tabloids will love the pregnant CEO and her inappropriate cowboy. Society will feast on the scandal for months."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a timeline." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "One week is generous."
I don't respond. I simply walk out, my heels clicking against marble floors as I force myself not to run.
The elevator deposits me in the lobby, and I'm already dialing Zachary back before I reach the street.
"How did it go?" His voice carries through the phone, tight with concern I can hear even through the static.
"Not the office." I slide into the backseat, the leather cool against my back as I pull the door shut. "Victoria's apartment."
Silence stretches through the line.
"That's not advisable right now." His voice carries careful warning. "You need rest. Time to process before you—"
"I need answers." I lean forward, giving the driver Victoria's address, then press the phone harder against my ear. "She had an affair with my father. She kept Walter's paternity secret for more than twenty years. She knows things I need to understand before I can make any decisions."
"Adison, confronting her while you're exhausted and emotional—"
"I can't rest until I know the truth." The words come out harder than I intend, but I don't soften them. "But I'm done waiting for permission to ask the questions everyone's been dancing around."
He hesitates for a long moment. I can almost hear him calculating risks, weighing options. I end the call without any words.
The city blurs past the windows—Manhattan's familiar streets sliding by like a film reel of someone else's life. I watch the buildings climb toward the sky and wonder what my father knew. What he suspected. Whether he died with secrets he never shared.
Victoria has the answers. And I'm done being the last person in the room to understand my own history.