Chapter 21 Coco
TWENTY-ONE
Coco
Sunlight cuts through the tall windows of my father’s formal dining room in long, pale stripes. It should warm the space. Instead, it sharpens it.
The room is cavernous in daylight, all polished wood and distance, the kind of place designed to remind you where you stand.
My father sits at the far end of the table, posture relaxed in a way that’s obviously deliberate. The illusion doesn’t fool me.
A cup of chicory coffee steams in front of him, untouched. He has been waiting.
“You said you had something to tell me,” Laurent says. His voice is clipped, impatient. “Well?”
I asked for this meeting, thinking I might finally say the thing I’ve been carrying around in my chest. About Ridge, about how impossible it is to keep sneaking around. About the risk of my father finding out on his own and deciding to make an example of someone.
That plan dissolves the moment he looks at me.
I draw in a measured breath and lift my chin. “I heard something about who’s behind Robert Stone’s murder.”
That gets his attention. He straightens, his gaze narrowing, all pretense of relaxation gone. “What did you hear?”
We are both silent for a moment that stretches much longer than reality. I want to be taken seriously, and I also don’t want to be part of this world.
“And I told you to stay out of this,” he follows before I can answer.
“I know it wasn’t you,” I say. I keep my voice even, deliberate. “And it wasn’t anyone connected to you.”
“That isn’t news to me, Corinne.”
“I know who did it.” I let the words hang between us, long enough to register. Long enough to watch his reaction.
His eyes never leave mine. I’m sure this isn’t news to him, either, but I can tell he wants to know what I know. “So tell me.”
“Duvall.” I don’t rush it. “Iggy saw guys he knows work for him standing outside that warehouse around the time Robert was killed. They tried to lure Vin and Robert there together that night. Vin showed up and left, and then Robert was found dead the next day.”
His expression hardens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“And how exactly did you come by this information?” he asks finally. His tone sharpens, controlled and dangerous. “Iggy told you all of this?”
I didn’t expect the scrutiny to turn this quickly. I keep my composure anyway.
“Yes. After I was taken, he started putting things together on his own, but kept it to himself because he didn’t want to insert himself. It started with the men he saw that night, then when he talked to Ridge, he connected some of the guys.”
My father’s jaw tightens. He says nothing.
I continue, because silence is a test. “The motive fits. The Duvalls wanted control of the shipping lanes, and Robert refused to negotiate. So they escalated.”
Laurent leans back, steepling his fingers. The room seems to hold its breath with him. Seconds pass. I don’t fill them.
“Do you think you’re equipped to be digging into something like this? How do you have all of this? And why are you going into all of this?”
God, he can be such a condescending asshole sometimes. Most of the time.
“Iggy just mentioned it to me. I wasn’t looking for it. And, no, I don’t think I’m some investigator. I just thought you would want to know.”
“The Duvalls,” he says slowly, the name losing weight as he turns it over. “They’re not powerful enough for something like this, which tells me they didn’t move out of ambition. They moved because they were desperate, and desperation at that level rarely acts alone.”
His gaze lifts to mine. “So what does Ridge Stone intend to do with the information?”
My chest tightens at Ridge’s name, but I keep my voice steady. “From what I understand, he intends to act on it.”
“How do you know, Corinne?”
I swallow hard and try not to show how much that question shakes me. “Just what I heard.”
A slow curl touches my father’s mouth. It is not a smile.
“Of course he is. Reckless boy. Always has been.” His voice hardens. “Just like his father.”
Then his attention snaps back to me. “But do not confuse grief with justification, Corinne. What Ridge Stone did to you is not excused by any of this.”
“Papa—”
“He let you go,” Laurent cuts in, raising a hand. “That is the only reason things are civil. For now.”
My pulse jumps. “He didn’t hurt me,” I say carefully. “I told you that. It was a mistake, and when he realized it, he fixed it.”
“Enough.” His voice drops, final. “I knew the truth would surface eventually, and I knew I would be vindicated.”
His eyes bore into mine. “He took you and thought he could use you, my only daughter, as a bargaining position. That’s not a misunderstanding. That is a line crossed that no man forgets.”
I swallow, but I don’t look away. “I understand. But if his focus is on the Duvalls, maybe this can end without this turning into something permanent.”
Laurent lets out a low, humorless sound.
“You think I care about sparing him?” He shakes his head. “Let him deal with the Duvalls. If they destroy each other in the process, that’s not my concern. If Ridge Stone wants revenge, he can drown in it.”
The words land heavier than I expect. I lace my fingers together in my lap to keep from reacting.
“And you?” I ask. “What will you do?”
“I’ll do what any smart businessman does,” he replies, calm again. “I’ll wait until all of this finishes, and when the dust settles, the Boudreauxs will be stronger for it.”
His gaze sharpens. “What I want to know is why this mattered enough for you to bring it to me.”
My stomach tightens. “Because you deserved the truth. And because I want this resolved before it gets worse. I wanted you and our family cleared of this, and I want us to make peace with the Stones.”
He studies me in silence, weighing something I can’t see. Then he nods once. “You’ve done your part. Leave the rest to me.”
That’s the dismissal.
I rise, my legs unsteady beneath the table. I thought he might be more receptive, that maybe I could find a way to tell him about Ridge. About the care he shows in quiet, inconvenient ways.
That conversation isn’t possible here. And I realize now it likely never will be.
“Coco,” he says as I reach the door.
I stop.
“If you’re keeping anything from me,” Laurent says evenly, “now would be the time to say it.”
My breath catches, but I answer without hesitation. “I’m not keeping anything from you, Papa.”
He watches me for another long moment, then nods. “Good.”
I leave the room with my heart hammering. Lying to my father is a careful balance, one misstep from disaster. But telling him the truth about Ridge would be something else entirely.
That wouldn’t just disappoint him. It would end whatever fragile peace still exists between us. And for the first time, I understand with absolute clarity that no amount of patience or explanation will ever make him accept the man I love.
Which means, sooner or later, I won’t be able to have both.
Ridge is already at the Creston House when I walk in after ten.
The outer door unlocks as I reach it, the mechanism disengaging with a soft click that tells me he saw me pull up.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, phone in his hand, attention fixed on the screen. He doesn’t look up until the heavy door locks behind me with a final, unmistakable click.
His presence fills the room immediately. When his eyes lift to mine, my knees threaten to give out. My body reacts before I can remind myself that this is dangerous, complicated, and not something I can afford to want.
“You’re later than you said,” he says.
There’s no anger in it. Just that familiar edge that belongs to him alone. Control threaded through heat.
“My father was extra chatty tonight.” I set my bag on the chair, needing the motion to ground me. “I stopped by again on my way here to drop something off, and he insisted on a rare drink. I couldn’t exactly refuse without explaining that I had plans with my kidnapper.”
Ridge’s expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens.
“And what did he have to say?” he asks.
His voice is quieter now, which is unexpectedly more dangerous. He pushes off the island and moves closer.
“He went on about our family name. It’s the same speech he’s been giving for days. But tonight was different. It was almost like he was watching me instead of talking, waiting for me to slip.” I exhale. “He keeps asking if I have something to tell him.”
“There’s no way he knows about this place,” Ridge says evenly. “This house isn’t on his radar.”
“Probably.” I nod. “I just hate lying. But I also know timing matters.”
I cross the room and drop onto the sofa. Ridge doesn’t follow right away. He watches me instead, his gaze steady and intent, like he’s cataloging every shift in my posture.
The attention sends heat pooling low in my body, fast and unwelcome. My thighs press together without my permission.
His jaw tightens. He says nothing.
The silence stretches. Deliberate, chosen. It unnerves me more than sharp words ever could.
“It’s not lying if he hasn’t asked you directly,” Ridge says finally, stepping closer. “You’re being careful, just like Laurent Boudreaux.”
Now he’s close enough that I can see the thick line of his beard framing his jaw, the way his lips press together like he’s holding something back.
“Your father’s smart,” he adds. “Self-preservation is in his blood.”
“He has so much anger toward you,” I say. “More than I expected. Sometimes it sounds like he’s already decided how this ends. The way he talks, it’s like he’s certain Duvall will take you out.”
I hesitate, the words backing up in my throat.
I don’t say that this is what I’ve been afraid of all along.
Not losing Ridge specifically, but losing the structure that kept everything contained.
The routines, the unspoken agreements, the way the uglier parts stayed buried beneath paperwork and process, where no one had to look at them too closely.
This is different. It’s messier, and now that all of this has surfaced, I fear it won’t stop cleanly.
Ridge’s mouth curves faintly.