Chapter 7 #2
I just shake my head. “You were Lydia’s hero.
She would have done anything for you to take her seriously, to involve her in Beaufort’s, but you had that one, fixed idea in your head, and your daughter didn’t fit into it.
You never took any interest in her. You didn’t give a damn what happened to her so long as your company didn’t suffer.
You were blind to Lydia’s pain. And now you’re trying to interfere in her life like this, which just proves, yet again, that you don’t know a thing about your daughter. ”
Mr. Beaufort stands up so abruptly that his chair slams into the plate glass behind him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I get to my feet, too, so that I can stay eye to eye with him. “You know nothing about what she’s been through.”
“I would do anything for my children, whether or not that fits into your plans. In the end, the choices I make for them are for their own protection. If you were a father, you would understand that.”
The door opens behind me, but I don’t care who hears our argument, or if I’m about to be escorted out by security. I don’t intend ever to set foot here again.
“When I’m a father, I will listen to my children,” I growl. “I’ll care for them and support them in whatever they want to do. And I will never, never get in the way of their goals.”
Mr. Beaufort presses his lips together. He’s no longer looking at me, but staring at the doorway to his office. Confused, I turn around.
The person standing there is James. He looks between me and his father; then his eyes come to rest on the briefcase that’s still open on the desk in front of me.
James
I feel all the color drain from my face.
It’s so quiet in Dad’s office that every one of my ragged breaths sounds earsplitting. I can’t describe my feelings in this moment—I only know that it’s something that’s been growing inside me for years and is at the point of bursting out.
“You can’t be serious, Dad!” I exclaim, taking a step into the room.
Dad keeps looking at me, not an eyelid flickering.
I nod toward the briefcase. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve sent Lydia away to Ophelia’s? Would you actually do this to her as well?”
My cheeks are burning. Heat spreads to my stomach.
My veins. Everywhere. I feel like everything around me is spinning—everything except my father.
As I clench my fists, I can feel that my hands are shaking.
I can feel the trembling deep in my bones.
There is so much pent-up rage flowing through my body that I can hardly stand upright.
“Do you really think you can lob a load of banknotes on the table and cut him out of Lydia’s life forever? Do you really think that kind of stuff still works in this day and age?”
“Kindly cut out the melodrama and shut the door behind you.” Dad doesn’t take his eyes off me as he slams the briefcase shut. Then he turns back to Sutton.
“Think it over carefully.”
“There’s nothing to think about. If you invited me over here to bribe or bully me, you picked the wrong man.” Sutton nods to my dad. “Goodbye.”
He turns on his heel and marches across the office. His steps slow as he comes closer to me, and for a moment, I get the feeling he’d like to say something. But then he exhales loudly and leaves the office without another word. The door slams behind him.
I’m rooted to the spot.
Meanwhile, Dad takes the case off the desk and puts it back on the floor beside him, then turns to his computer.
Like nothing ever happened.
The anger is growing inside me, overwhelming me. I can’t hold it back any longer, and after what I’ve just seen, I don’t even want to.
Do you think he’ll ever change? Ruby’s words echo in my head.
I know the answer. I’ve always known it. I just didn’t want it to be true.
And suddenly, I understand what the fire inside me is all about.
I’ve spent years working my arse off to please my father. I just accepted the idea of a future that was all his. That ends now.
I don’t want to be the kind of man who gets his own way at all costs, who goes through life without a backward glance at the damage.
I never thought I had a choice. But the last few months have shown me how unpredictable life is.
They’ve shown me that there is something out there for me that’s worth fighting for.
And they’ve woken something in me that I’ve never had before: courage.
The courage to do something for myself.
The courage to take control of my own life.
The courage to stand up to my father.
“That’s it.” I can hardly believe how calm I sound.
“What?” Dad says absently. He’s typing away, not even looking at me properly.
I stride across the office, a few steps bringing me to his desk. Now, finally, Dad looks up from his monitor.
I lift my hand to touch the signet ring on my left hand.
The ring I wear to all Beaufort’s meetings.
As a symbol of being part of this family.
But all it really symbolizes is the united front that Dad and I fake to them all.
It isn’t heavy, yet it feels as though I’m holding all the weight that’s been pressing down on me for the last eighteen years.
“I’ve tried, Dad,” I say. “I’ve really tried to be a good son. To make you and Mum proud. But…” I shake my head. Thinking of Mum is painful. I don’t know if she’d be disappointed in me if she could see me now, like this. “I can’t go on like this any longer.”
I put the ring down on the desk in front of Dad, not taking my eyes off his face.
“I’m going to sell my stake in Beaufort’s.” When I pull my hand away, I realize that I feel lighter than I have my whole life. As though a single gust of wind could blow me out of here, because I’ve put down everything that was binding me to this company and this man.
My father says nothing. The only hint that he is unhappy with the situation comes from the bitter, downward curl of his lips. After a second or two, he turns back to his computer. I exhale and turn away.
“If you mean that, then don’t bother coming home,” Dad says quietly as I reach the door.
I glance over my shoulder at him. I remember my sister, and the fact that I’m probably blowing her last chance of getting back from Beckdale. I remember my mum’s smile. Everything that no longer exists in my life.
“What home?” I retort.
Without waiting for him to respond, I push open the door.
In this second, I know one thing for certain: This is the last time I’m ever walking through it.