Chapter Seventy-Three: Deep Talk

Dominic's POV

“Then you're more damaged by her influence than I thought."

The disappointment in her voice hit harder than anger would have. This was the same tone she'd used when I was eight and failed to negotiate the proper price for a lemonade stand. The same cold disapproval that had shaped every decision I'd made for the first thirty years of my life.

"I'm going to ask you once," I said, "and I want a straight answer. Are you behind the threat Scarlett received last night?"

"What threat?"

"The text message. The death threat."

"I don't send text messages, darling. Far too traceable." She returned to her chair, settling back into it like a queen on her throne. "Though I can't say I'm surprised someone did. Your wife has made a lot of enemies recently."

"By destroying criminals."

"By disrupting the natural order of things. By taking power that doesn't belong to her and using it to interfere with systems that have worked perfectly well for decades."

I stared at her, understanding dawning like a cold sunrise.

"You don't care about the Blackwood legacy," I said slowly. "You care about control. About being the power behind the throne."

"I care about protecting what matters."

"And Scarlett threatens that because she can't be controlled."

"Scarlett threatens that because she's turning you into someone I don't recognize."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"Maybe it's the thing that destroys everything we've worked for."

The silence that followed felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that whatever I said next would determine whether I jumped or stepped back to safety.

"I love her," I said finally.

"I know."

"I'm not going to divorce her."

"I know that too."

"I'm not going to choose the family business over my wife."

"Yes," Lydia said with a smile that chilled my blood, "you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She stood up again, moving to an antique desk that had belonged to my grandfather. From the top drawer, she pulled out a manila envelope thick with documents.

"Do you know what this is?"

"I have no idea."

"Evidence. Photographs. Financial records. Communications between your wife and several very questionable individuals during her marriage to Blake Reynolds."

My stomach dropped. "What kind of evidence?"

"The kind that could be very damaging if it fell into the wrong hands. The kind that could make people question whether the new Van Alston heiress is really the victim she claims to be."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" She opened the envelope and spread several photographs across the desk. "These were taken six months before Scarlett's dramatic fall from grace. Interesting how someone planning to fake their own victimization might arrange certain... collaborations."

I moved closer, dreading what I might see. The photographs showed Scarlett in what looked like clandestine meetings with people I didn't recognize. Expensive restaurants, private offices, handshakes that looked suspiciously like business transactions.

"These could be anything," I said. "Innocent meetings. Business discussions."

"They could be. Or they could be evidence that your wife orchestrated her own downfall to gain sympathy and position herself for a profitable divorce."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Think about it, Dominic. A failing marriage to a wealthy man. A convenient push through a window that generates massive public sympathy. A mysterious benefactor who swoops in to save her. And then, surprise, she turns out to be the heiress to an even larger fortune."

The timeline she was suggesting was impossible. Insane. But looking at the photographs, I could see how someone might construct that narrative.

"You're trying to frame her."

"I'm trying to save you from making the biggest mistake of your life."

"By destroying the woman I love."

"By showing you who she really is before it's too late."

I swept the photographs back into the envelope, my hands shaking with rage. "This is bullshit, and you know it."

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove that these photographs don't show what they appear to show. Prove that your wife is the innocent victim she pretends to be. Prove that she didn't orchestrate everything from the beginning."

"I don't have to prove anything to you."

"No, but you'll have to prove it to the media. To the Van Alston board. To the federal prosecutors who are suddenly very interested in corporate fraud cases."

The threat was clear. Unmistakable.

"You're blackmailing me."

"I'm offering you a choice." Lydia's voice was calm, reasonable, like she was discussing dinner plans instead of destroying lives. "Divorce her now, quietly, and these photographs disappear forever. Continue this marriage, and they become very public very quickly."

"And if I choose her?"

"Then you'll watch everything she's built crumble around her. Her reputation, her inheritance, her freedom. All of it gone because you were too stubborn to make the smart choice."

I looked at the woman who'd raised me, searching for any trace of the mother I'd thought I knew. The one who'd taught me that family loyalty was sacred, that love was the only thing that mattered, that power without compassion was just sophisticated cruelty.

But all I saw was a stranger wearing my mother's face.

"You know what the funny thing is?" I said.

"What?"

"You're right about one thing. Scarlett has changed me."

"I know she has."

"She's made me realize that everything you taught me about power and control and family loyalty was wrong."

Lydia's expression didn't change, but I caught the slight tightening around her eyes.

"She's shown me what it looks like to fight for something bigger than yourself. To use power to protect people instead of using people to gain power."

"How noble."

"She's taught me that real strength isn't about controlling the people you love. It's about loving them enough to let them be strong."

"And what has that taught you about me?"

I looked at her for a long moment, memorizing the face that had shaped my entire understanding of what family was supposed to mean.

"That you never loved me at all. You loved the idea of controlling me."

"Dominic—"

"That everything you taught me about loyalty and family was just training me to be your weapon instead of your son."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" I moved toward the door, feeling lighter with every step. "You just offered to destroy the woman I love to maintain control over me. What part of that sounds like maternal love to you?"

"I'm protecting you from making a mistake that will ruin your life."

"No," I said, my hand on the doorknob. "You're trying to ruin my life because I made a choice you can't control."

"If you walk out that door, you're not my son anymore."

I paused, feeling the weight of thirty years of conditioning trying to pull me back into the patterns she'd trained into me since childhood.

Then I thought about Scarlett. About the way she'd looked when she stood up to the Van Alston board. About her determination to save fifty thousand jobs. About the quiet strength she'd shown in every crisis we'd faced together.

About the way she'd chosen to trust me even when she had every reason not to.

"Good," I said, opening the door. "Because I don't want to be the son of a woman who tried to murder my wife."

"You'll regret this."

"The only thing I regret is that it took me this long to see who you really are."

"This isn't over, Dominic. I'll destroy her, and when I do, you'll come crawling back."

I turned to look at her one last time, this woman who'd shaped every decision I'd made until I met Scarlett.

"No," I said. "I won't. Because I finally learned the difference between love and control. And I choose love."

The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded like the end of everything I'd thought I knew about family.

And the beginning of everything that actually mattered.