Chapter 14
Luther
My phone vibrates against the surface of my desk just as the house begins to settle into the softer part of the afternoon.
For several seconds, I let it ring. The office is dim except for the lamp beside the contract files, and the rest of the house has gone quiet in the particular way it does when the children are somewhere between play and sleep.
Beyond the door, Luca's voice moves through the living room in a low rhythm, reading something Rosalie's requested often enough that he no longer needs to look at every page.
Blake's upstairs, where he promised Grayson he'd rest for half an hour before opening another screen.
Whether he's keeping that promise is a different question, but for now no one's calling my name, no one's crying, and the thin layer of peace in the house feels almost possible.
The phone continues to vibrate.
Victor Hale's name sits on the screen.
I answer on the fourth ring. "Victor."
"Luther," he says, with the measured warmth of a man who's already decided irritation would make him look less reasonable. "Thank you for taking the call. I know the last several days have been demanding on everyone involved."
I keep my hand flat on the desk. "What do you need?"
"I wanted to speak with you directly about the climate in the meetings. There've been moments where the conversation's become less productive than it could be, and I think, given your role, you may be better positioned than anyone to help stabilize that."
The word stabilize lands exactly where he intends it to.
I look down at the revised packet spread in front of me. Blake's already marked half of it with comments sharp enough that I heard his voice in every margin. He was right in all of them. "If this is about Blake, speak plainly."
A faint pause moves through the line. "Blake's obviously gifted. No one's questioning his intelligence or his value to the process."
"Good."
"But brilliance and meeting discipline aren't the same thing.
" Victor's voice stays even, careful, groomed into something he can defend later if he needs to.
"His responses to Dorian have become increasingly personal.
I understand there are sensitivities around Ember House and around Luca's history, but we can't build a partnership if every difficult question's treated as an act of aggression. "
"Dorian cornered Luca in a hallway while the children were with him," I say. "He asked about survivor stories and donor response. That wasn't a difficult question. That was a boundary test."
"That's one interpretation."
"It's the one I'm using."
Victor exhales softly, as if disappointed by my unwillingness to help him make this easier.
"Dorian asked about visibility. Perhaps the timing was poor.
Perhaps he misjudged the setting. But the reaction from your household has elevated a communications issue into something far more adversarial.
Blake's barely let him finish a sentence since. "
"Blake doesn't owe politeness to a man who frightened his mate and children."
"Blake is your mate as well as your business partner, Luther.
And he's legally married to your Omega. I understand the complexity when that many personal bonds share a boardroom table.
But I'm asking for proportionality. You understand the value of that.
You know what happens when a room's allowed to follow emotional impulse instead of strategy.
The merger affects hundreds of employees, multiple development teams, future funding channels, and the long-term position of Keller Industries.
Blake's letting one incident define the entire relationship. "
"One incident," I repeat.
Victor doesn't take the warning in my tone. Or he hears it and chooses to continue anyway. "A poorly handled conversation, yes. Not a pattern of corporate misconduct. Not a legal breach. Not a reason to derail months of work."
I lean back slowly in my chair. The leather gives under my shoulders, but nothing in me relaxes. "You're making the mistake of thinking the absence of a legal breach means the absence of a threat."
"I'm making the distinction between discomfort and harm."
The heat begins low in my spine. I keep my voice even because Luca's beyond the door with my daughter asleep against him, and I know exactly how far my scent can carry when I let anger have too much room. "You don't get to decide that for Luca."
"I'm not trying to decide anything for Luca.
I'm trying to make sure the adults in the room can still have a necessary conversation.
" Victor's voice softens, and that softness is more calculated than his frustration.
"Ember House is separate on paper. I understand that.
But public perception doesn't honor the walls lawyers draw.
Your family, your history, your recovery work, Blake's platform, Luca's sanctuary.
To investors and partners, those things are already connected.
Ignoring that reality doesn't protect anyone. "
"Ember House isn't a brand asset."
"Of course not."
"Then stop speaking about it like one."
Another pause. Longer this time. "You've always understood legacy better than Blake does."
The room seems to narrow around that sentence.
Victor continues before I answer. "That's not an insult to him.
Blake built something extraordinary, but he's reactive where you're measured.
He hears any mention of visibility and assumes exploitation.
He hears donor strategy and assumes someone's reaching for Luca with a knife.
I understand why, given what your family's survived.
But you and I both know leadership sometimes requires separating what feels threatening from what's actually useful. "
There it is, dressed well enough to pass through a boardroom without leaving fingerprints.
"You want me to control his reaction."
"I want you to help him keep the meetings functional."
"You want me to make Blake easier for Dorian."
"I want you to help your mate see that Dorian's not the enemy here."
My hand closes around the edge of the desk. "Don't tell me what my mate needs to see."
Victor's tone hardens by a degree. "Then let me tell you what everyone else sees.
They see a brilliant but volatile Delta interrupting discussions, an Omega whose history makes every communications question impossible, and an Alpha who appears increasingly unwilling to moderate the emotional temperature of his own side of the table.
That perception will matter, Luther. Whether you like it or not. "
My scent spikes before I can stop it.
The sharpness moves through the office, cedar turned bitter, smoke edged with something too close to warning. I feel it leave me. I know the exact moment it slips under the door because Luca's voice stops in the living room.
Victor's still speaking. "You're the one they'll listen to. If you can't bring your own people back to the table in good faith, then perhaps we need to reconsider whether Keller's prepared for the scale of this partnership."
I hang up.
For a moment, the phone remains in my hand, the screen already dark.
Victor's voice is gone, but the shape of what he wants stays behind.
He wants me to translate violation into process.
He wants Blake quiet enough to be useful.
He wants Luca's pain turned into language polite enough to circulate.
He wants the children's fear treated as unfortunate atmosphere.
He wants me to reach inside my own family and rearrange them for his comfort.
From the living room, Rosalie whimpers.
The sound's small, confused, still half inside sleep. It cuts through the last of my anger so cleanly that I'm standing before I know I've moved. I open the office door and stop at the threshold.
Luca's on the couch with Rosalie curled against him, the book closed in his lap.
Her cheeks are flushed from her nap, one hand fisted in his shirt, her face tucked against his ribs.
Luca looks up at me quickly. He's not afraid in the way he might've been years ago, not shrinking, not trying to make himself small, but his body's already responded to the sharpness in mine.
His shoulders are tense. His eyes search my face before his mind can soften what instinct's told him.
Rosalie makes another broken sound and buries herself deeper into Luca's side.
The anger drains so fast it leaves shame in its place.
"I'm sorry," I say, too roughly at first. Rosalie flinches, and I force my voice lower. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
Luca's hand moves over her back. "Lu, it's okay. She was half asleep."
It's not okay. He says it because he loves me, because he understands Victor's spent days pressing on every bruise he can find, because Luca knows better than almost anyone what it means for the body to answer before the mind's ready.
But my scent woke my daughter. My anger reached a room where she was safe and told her something was wrong.
I step back before Luca can forgive me too quickly.
The hall's cooler than the living room. I turn toward the library because it's the nearest place with a door, and I make it three steps before Grayson catches up to me.
His hand closes around my forearm, firm enough to stop me without making the hold into restraint.
For a moment neither of us moves. The house is quiet behind him except for Luca's low murmur to Rosalie, soothing her back down.
"Luther," Grayson says, and the gentleness in his voice makes the shame worse.
"I need a minute."
"Take it with me."