"Apologize to Margaux right now. If you screw up this alliance, I swear, I won't let you walk away from it."
Gerard's words hit like a hammer, full of that smug authority he always carried like a badge. My older brother, the new head of the family, is cold-blooded and calculated, always thinking about the long game and never about the people caught in it.
I looked him straight in the eye with no fear and just a dull weight in my chest.
"Gerard," I said flatly, "is marriage just another business deal to you? Do you really think you get to decide who I stay with and who I sleep next to at night? How long do you expect me to keep selling myself for the Davidson name?"
As I spoke, my gaze shifted toward Archie, who hadn't said a word, just stood there like the smirking parasite he was.
"Now that her shining white knight's back in town," I added, "you're not really planning on keeping him in the shadows forever, are you?"
Smack.
The slap came quickly and deliberately. Gerard didn't hesitate.
"Troy," he snapped, "when did you get so bitter? So damn petty?"
"Margaux is an extraordinary woman. She has two people she trusts. And what, huh? That makes you jealous? Insecure? Small-minded? Clearly, I didn't raise you right."
I didn't flinch. I didn't touch my cheek.
I just stared back at him, the sting crawling across my skin, but not my pride.
"I'm twenty-eight, Gerard," I said. "If you think you messed up raising me, it's a little late to fix it now."
His jaw tightened, and he scoffed like I'd spit on the family crest.
"So, a few days playing house as Mr. Haywood, and suddenly you've grown a spine? Margaux must've spoiled you rotten."
Then his expression turned meaner, colder. I knew that look too well.
"Well then," he said, "since you're done being reasonable, maybe it's time to let your aunt step in."
I froze mid-breath.
The words spilled out before I could stop them. "What are you planning to do?"
Gerard's voice dropped. Quiet, sharp, deadly. "What do you think? I'll dig her up. Let her remind you what it means to stay in your lane. To understand your place in the bigger picture."
My heart stopped for a second.
He wasn't bluffing. That bastard would really do it.
"Apologize to Margaux," Gerard said again, tone tightening. "Promise her you won't get jealous again. That you'll never upset her."
My fists clenched. I knew then and there that I couldn't let this marriage end as they wanted it to.
I turned toward Margaux. My arms felt heavy, my chest hollow.
"… I'm sorry," I said, dead inside. "I was petty. I didn't see the bigger picture."
Her lips curled, just slightly.
Her voice was light, as if none of this even mattered. "Alright, alright. Go home. Don't throw tantrums like this again."
I nodded once and turned to leave.
But Gerard wasn't done.
"You hit Mr. Branson," he said. "Apologize to him too."
I stopped cold. My blood boiled. But I held it down.
So this was what "family" meant to them.
I laughed, just once. Dry, bitter.
"Sure," I said. "Whatever you say, Gerard."
I turned toward Archie, forcing my voice into something even. "Archie, I'm sorry. I lost my temper. If you want to hit me back, go ahead."
Archie lit up like he'd just won the lottery. He grinned and reached out like we were old college buddies.
"Troy, come on now," he said with that fake charm. "We're classmates, right? Just a misunderstanding. Why would I ever hit you?"
He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing my ear—his breath stank of smug.
"What a weakling!" he sneered, "You even brought your brother, Gerard, just to put on a little show for me? If you don't want the divorce, just say it."
He chuckled softly.
"Let me make it real simple for you. Margaux told me, clear as day, that if I'm willing to take her back, she'll never lay a hand on you again. You were just a warm body—a bed-warmer. You're useless now. You want to know why she never spent a dime on you? Because she promised me her money would only go to the man she loves. And you? You don't even come close."
It hit like a gut punch.
My lungs tightened, and for a second I couldn't breathe. My chest burned and my hands trembled, but I kept still.
Just like that, Archie straightened up. Replacing his sneer, he let out a radiant smile.
"Troy, that's all settled then," he chirped. "Margaux's throwing me a homecoming party. Big one. All the top names in Metropolis will be there. You should come. I've got a gift just for you."
I glanced past him toward Gerard, who was now laughing with Margaux as if none of this had happened and as if they hadn't just cheered while my dignity was stomped into the floor.
Holding myself back, I forced myself to nod. "Sure."
We stepped outside, and the evening air felt too cold for the season.
Kenneth followed close behind, his voice tight with anger. "Troy, they've crossed every line. You're really going to let them walk all over you like that?"
I gave her a small smile, patting the back of his hand.
"Kenneth," I said quietly, "I spent ten years on the street. You think I'm the kind of guy who lets things slide? They said they've got a gift for me. That's fine. But at Archie's homecoming party?"
I met her eyes.
"I'll bring one of my own."
...
Later that week, the night of the homecoming party finally arrived.
Starlight Heights was overflowing with people. The estate's driveway was packed with luxury cars—Bentleys, Maybachs, and Rolls-Royces lined up like a damn auto show.
Inside, the grand hall buzzed with high society chatter, champagne clinks, and fake laughs.
An eighteen-meter crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, glimmering like a spiral galaxy. The polished marble floors looked like still water beneath them. Satin banners swayed from the tall walls, catching the breeze from open glass doors leading to a candlelit terrace.
And right in the center of it all, bold and gaudy as hell, a wide red banner stretched across the hall:
[Welcome Home, Mr. Archie Branson. Congratulations on Your Triumphant Return!]
