POV: Liam
I've been watching through glass walls all week, and the restraint is killing me.
I've never wanted to kill my father before. The thought sits in my chest like a foreign object, sharp and uncomfortable, because I'm not built for violence. I'm the golden retriever of the family—optimistic, eager to fix things, and believes every problem has a solution if you just try hard enough.
But watching Jackson's hands on Jasmine—watching her flinch, watching her dissociate, watching her shrink smaller every day—has awakened something feral. Something that doesn't care about solutions or optimism or trying harder.
Something that just wants blood.
I saw the kiss through the glass. Saw his hand fist in her hair. Saw her body go rigid, then limp, then somewhere else entirely. Watched her walk out of his office looking like a ghost wearing Jasmine's skin.
And I did nothing. Stood there like a coward while my father violated the woman I love.
The rage builds all afternoon, compounding with every memory of every touch I've witnessed, every flinch I've cataloged, every piece of her spirit I've watched him systematically destroy. By the time she disappears into the elevator, I'm vibrating with it.
I wait until she's gone. Until the office clears out. Until it's just me and him and the violence I've been swallowing for five days.
Then I walk into his office without knocking.
"You're done." My voice comes out flat. Dangerous. Foreign to my own ears. "Whatever game you're playing with her, it ends now."
Jackson doesn't even look up from his paperwork. "I'm saving your company, Liam. Show some gratitude."
"I saw what you did to her." I move closer, hands curling into fists at my sides. "The touching. The kiss. That's not assessment, that's assault."
"She agreed to my terms." He signs a document with casual precision, sets it aside. Finally looks up with that smug smile I've hated my entire life. "Ask her yourself. She wants to prove her worth."
"You're forcing her—"
"I'm offering her a choice." He leans back in his chair—my chair—and steeples his fingers. "Stay and prove herself, or leave and watch everything collapse. She chose to stay. That tells you everything about what kind of woman she is."
The accusation burns like acid. The implication that Jasmine is complicit. Willing. A woman who trades her body for advancement instead of a woman backed into an impossible corner by a predator who calculated exactly how to trap her.
"Don't you dare—"
"She's been very cooperative." His smile widens. "Eager, even. Did you know she's coming to my apartment tomorrow evening? Her choice. Her decision. I simply made the invitation."
Something snaps.
I lunge across the desk before I can think, grabbing his collar, hauling him up until we're face to face. Papers scatter. A coffee mug crashes to the floor. My knuckles are white against the expensive fabric of his shirt.
"If you touch her again," I growl, "I will end you."
Jackson doesn't even flinch. Just looks at me with those cold eyes that have never held warmth, never held love, never held anything but calculation and contempt.
"You'll what?" His voice is almost bored. "Hit me? Kill me? Please." He laughs softly. "You don't have the spine. You never have."
My grip tightens. "Try me."
"I've been trying you for thirty years, son. You've never once surprised me." He reaches up, deliberately removes my hands from his collar like I'm a child throwing a tantrum. "You've always been weak. Your mother's son through and through."
"Don't talk about her."
"Why not?" He straightens his tie with infuriating calm. "She's dead because she was weak too. Couldn't handle the demands of this family, so she died and left me to raise you alone."
The cruelty is surgical. Designed to wound in exactly the places that never healed.
"She died of cancer," I manage through gritted teeth. "She didn't choose to leave."
"She chose to stop fighting." His eyes are empty. "Same thing in the end. Weakness is weakness, whether it kills you quickly or slowly." He smooths his jacket. "I'd hoped you'd inherited something from me. But you're just like her. Soft. Emotional. Willing to sacrifice everything for feelings that don't matter."
"Jasmine matters."
"Does she?" He moves around the desk, putting distance between us. "She's a pleasant distraction, I'll grant you that. But she's not worth destroying everything your mother worked for. Everything I've spent decades building."
"You didn't build anything. Mom did. You just took credit."
Something flickers in his expression—anger, maybe, or something older. But it's gone before I can identify it.
"You need a vacation," he says, suddenly businesslike. "The board agrees. You're too emotionally compromised to be effective right now. Two weeks minimum, starting tomorrow."
"You can't—"
"I can." He pulls a document from his desk drawer, slides it toward me. "I'm the majority shareholder, and the board has approved a temporary leave of absence for all three of you. Mandatory. Effective immediately."
I stare at the document. The signatures. The official language that means my brothers and I are being exiled from our own company.
"This is insane. You can't just—"
"I already have." His smile is triumphant. "Consider it a gift. Time to think about whether this woman is worth destroying everything your mother built. Time to gain some perspective."
"This isn't about perspective. This is about isolating her."
"This is about protecting my investment." He moves toward the door, opens it. A clear dismissal. "Go home, Liam. Pack a bag. Asher and Finn have already received their notices. The three of you can spend some quality time together, reminiscing about the company you almost ran into the ground."
I don't move. "I won't leave her alone with you."
"You don't have a choice." His voice hardens. "Security will escort you out if necessary. Is that what you want? To be dragged from the building like a common employee?"
The threat hangs between us. He would do it. Would humiliate me in front of everyone just to prove he could.
"Two weeks," I say finally. "And then we're coming back. All of us."
"We'll see." He gestures toward the door. "Now get out of my office."
I walk past him, every step feeling like defeat. At the threshold, I stop.
"If you hurt her—"
"Goodnight, Liam."
The door closes behind me.
I stand in the empty hallway, chest heaving, fists still clenched, and the realization hits me like ice water.
Jackson has maneuvered us all exactly where he wants us. The mandatory leave. The board approval. The timing.
By tomorrow, the brothers will be forced away from the company. And Jasmine will be alone with our father. Completely unprotected.