Hearing Bret say that Alexandrea was "not a suitable match" ignited a dangerous glint in Ace's eyes.
"Not suitable?" he repeated, his voice deceptively calm, like the air before a violent storm.
Bret, mistaking the quiet tone for consideration, pressed his advantage. "Ace, you know as well as I do what kind of pedigree the wife of a Griffith needs. Alexandrea... she will only be a liability."
He added, "Her reputation is already in tatters. Once word of today's events gets out, it will be a stain on your reputation as well."
"My reputation," Ace cut him off, "is not your concern."
He shifted the phone slightly, his voice taking on a tone of final, indisputable proclamation. "Listen to me very carefully, Bret."
The switch from "Mr. Terry" to the man's first name was a deliberate dismissal of respect, a claiming of equal, if not superior, footing.
"First, her past, whatever you've molded it into, is irrelevant to me."
"Second, her reputation, from this day forward, is mine to give. If I say she is blameless, then no one will dare to say otherwise."
The sheer, unadulterated power in his words was breathtaking.
"And third, and most importantly," Ace's gaze fell again to the sleeping girl in his care, his voice hardening with an unshakable conviction.
"She is my woman now."
The possessive, absolute declaration traveled through the phone, a direct strike against Bret's authority.
"Her future, her life, everything about her is now my sole responsibility. It has nothing to do with you, or the Terry family, ever again."
It was a verbal severing of all ties, a complete nullification of Bret's parental claim.
On the other end of the line, Bret's breathing grew heavy and ragged. He was clearly losing control.
"You're overstepping, Ace," Bret's voice was low and cold, the conciliatory tone gone, replaced by steel. "She is my daughter. I am her father. That is a legal and biological reality." It was his last weapon-the legal claim of a parent.
But it was a claim that triggered a flicker of doubt that had been sitting in the back of Ace's mind.
He pictured Ivette's face, twisted with a sick, jealous rage. He pictured Alexandrea's, so full of a quiet, resilient strength. There was no resemblance between them, not in looks, not in spirit.
A mother who tortured her daughter. A father who was indifferent to her humiliation. Was this how real parents behaved?
A bold, startling thought surfaced.
He held the phone to his lips, his voice light, almost mocking, as he asked the question that would change everything.
"Is that so? Are you really her father?"
The question landed like a perfectly aimed dagger, striking the most vulnerable, hidden part of Bret Terry.
The other end of the line went dead silent.
Bret didn't answer. He didn't deny it. He said nothing at all.
And that silence was more damning than any confession.
A cold, triumphant smile touched Ace's lips. He knew. He had hit a nerve. He was right.
He didn't wait for Bret to recover.
"This conversation is over."
With that, Ace ended the call, plunging the car back into a peaceful quiet.
He looked down at Alexandrea, his expression growing more intense. There were far more secrets surrounding this girl than he had ever imagined.
---
