28.0 #2
"Then stop talking about her like she's not a person."
He exhaled through his nose, calm and controlled — the kind of calm that meant danger. "Brooks, son, this woman's been playing you from the start. It's been years now. You don't think she doesn't know what your last name's worth?"
"You think she wouldn't love to be the secret scandal that tanks a presidential ticket? Come on, you're smarter than this. You've been careless, and now—"
He picked up a photo — this one from the park. Monte's car was parked at the curb, window rolled down, him leaning out mid-conversation with Amira and I. A quiet, normal moment — turned into something filthy in their hands.
"You knew," he said, turning his attention toward the door where Monte stood. "You work for me, and you knew."
Monte stiffened. "Sir—"
"You had every opportunity to tell me," my father cut in. "Instead, you chauffeured him to her house, stood there smiling while this circus went on."
"That's not—" Monte started.
"You're done," my father said. "You're fired."
Monte's jaw worked, but he didn't move. I did.
"Like hell he is."
My father's head snapped toward me. "Excuse me?"
"You don't fire him," I said, stepping forward. "Not for doing his job. Not for knowing when to keep his mouth shut."
My father held the photo up again between two fingers. "You think we wouldn't find out? You think we're idiots?"
My jaw flexed. "This is ridiculous."
"She's part of this," he said picking up a photo of Alina sleeping while I carried her into Amira's house. "That little girl—Alina, right? You really believe that's a coincidence? She just happens to come back into your life when things start going well?"
I stared at him, pulse pounding. "Don't."
He ignored me. "She knew exactly what she was doing. Women like that always do."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
That got his attention. He looked at me like I'd grown another head. "Your daughter," he said slowly, testing the word. "So that's what this is now. That was her plan all along."
I laughed — one sharp, broken sound. "You think she planned this? You think she's sitting somewhere calculating how to get a piece of your name? She doesn't want anything from you."
"She's using you," my mother said coldly. "She always has. That child is leverage—"
"Stop." The word came out low, almost calm, but the kind of calm that means danger. "You don't know her. You don't know anything."
Margot shifted beside them — blonde hair immaculate, blue eyes cool, every inch of her built to look expensive and untouchable. She'd been silent the whole time, but her expression said enough: she was proud of this.
"She told us," my father added, nodding toward her. "Margot's been patient through all of this. She thought you'd eventually come to your senses, but then she started seeing the same patterns. You disappearing, sneaking off to—"
Margot's voice cut in, smooth and poisonous. "I tried to protect you, Brooks. To protect your reputation. If it gets out that you're seeing her again—"
"Protect me?" I said. "You mean control me."
Her lips curved. "Someone has to. God knows you're not going to protect yourself."
Something inside me snapped. "You hired someone to stalk me. To photograph me and you're sitting here pretending it's noble?"
"Those photos were necessary," she said. "You're not exactly discreet. The press would've—"
"Shut the hell up, Margot."
Her smile faltered for the first time.
My father interjected, voice clipped. "You're out of line."
"No," I said. "I'm done playing the quiet son while you treat people like property."
My father's composure cracked, just slightly. "You need to calm down."
"Calm down?" I laughed. "You had me followed. You printed out pictures of the people I love and called it concern and now you're firing Monte—"
"I should've fired him already," my father snapped, seizing the photo again, the one with Monte's car in it. "He knew. He's been enabling this. You work for me, Monte," he said toward the door. "And you're done."
Monte looked blindsided. "Sir, I—"
"He stays," I cut in.
My father's brows lifted.
"He stays. He's done nothing wrong except be loyal to me."
The silence that followed was heavy and electric. Then I turned to Margot.
"You," I said, taking a step closer. "Pack your shit and get out of my penthouse."
She blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
Her composure fractured, just barely — a flicker of panic behind her eyes. "You can't be serious. Brooks, our arrangement—"
"Is over," I said flatly. "You want to keep up appearances, do it with someone else."
Her voice rose, sharp and brittle. "You'd throw everything away for her?"
I laughed once — dry, disbelieving. "Do you really think this was supposed to change something? I don't know what you thought was coming out of this in that fucked up little brain of yours — if this was supposed to suddenly make me want you, or not see you for what you are.
But you need to pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house."
The color drained from her face. "You're out of your mind."
"No," I said, quiet but final. "I've never been clearer."
My mother's voice came out thin and scandalized. "You're going to humiliate yourself."
I looked at my father one last time — his expression hard and unreadable, the same mask he wore on debate stages. "Monte stays. Amira stays. Alina stays. You? You can keep your cameras and your paranoia."
Then I left. Didn't wait for a response, didn't look back. The chair legs scraped the stone as I pushed away, the sound sharp and final.
The drive back to the city was silent. Monte's hands stayed locked on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Neither of us said a word.
The sound of the tires on the road filled the car, steady and low, the kind of noise that made you realize how much you were holding in.
When we pulled into the garage under the building, Monte finally spoke. "Are you okay?"
I huffed out a laugh that didn't sound like one. "Do I look okay?"
He hesitated. "No. You look like you're about to do something stupid."
"I probably am."
"Want me to come up?"
"No," I said, already reaching for the door handle. "If I don't come back down, just make sure she's gone by morning."
Monte didn't argue. Just nodded once, jaw tight. "Got it."
The elevator ride felt longer than usual. By the time I reached the penthouse, my pulse was a drumbeat in my throat.
When I opened the door, Margot was already there I didn't know how she got here so fast— pacing the living room.
"Don't start," I said, shutting the door behind me.
She turned sharply. "Don't start? You humiliated me in front of your parents."
I dropped my phone on the counter. "You humiliated yourself."
"I was trying to protect you!" she snapped. "Protect us."
"There is no us, Margot."
She laughed — too loud, too bright. "Of course there isn't. There never was, right? Just you and your perfect little fantasy of that woman who ruined your life."
I turned, finally facing her. "You really think this is about her ruining anything?"
"She did ruin it!" Her voice broke on the word.
"Do you have any idea what it's been like? Waiting for you to finally come around? To finally see me? I've done everything right, Brooks. Every event, every interview, every fake smile. I've been the perfect wife while you keep chasing something that doesn't even want you!"
I stared at her for a beat — stunned, furious, almost pitying. "You're fucking insane."
She moved closer, eyes blazing. "I loved you!"
"No, you loved what I looked like standing next to you," I said. "You loved the cameras, the spotlight, the applause. You don't even know me."
Her jaw clenched. "And she does?"
"She knows me better than you ever tried to."
Something dark flashed across her face. "You think she wants you, Brooks? You're her way out. That's all it's ever been."
"You need to go."
"Or what?" she said, smiling now, mean and beautiful. "You'll hit me?"
"I'm not gonna say it again."
"God, listen to yourself," she said, laughing again — unhinged this time. "You're everything your father made you to be."
That did it. I grabbed her suitcase from the hall closet, yanked it open, and started throwing her clothes inside — handfuls at a time.
"Brooks—"
"You're leaving."
"I'm not going anywhere!"
"Then I'll make you."
She followed me into the bedroom, still shouting, still trying to get under my skin. "You're not thinking straight! You need me! You always have!"
I turned, hard. "The only thing I need right now is for you to get the fuck away from me."
For a second, neither of us moved. The air between us was heavy, poisonous. Then she muttered something under her breath — low, cruel, something about Amira and "that little girl."
Something in me snapped—not at her, but at the whole damn thing. The lies. The cameras. The years of being handled like property.
Before I could stop myself, my fist slammed into the wall beside her head. The sound cracked through the room, drywall splintering under my knuckles.
She jumped back, eyes wide.
I exhaled hard, stepping away before I did something worse. My hand throbbed, blood running down my wrist.
For a second, I didn't even recognize the sound that had come out of me—or the man standing there.
"Brooks."
Not her voice—Monte's.
He stood in the doorway, taking it all in with one slow exhale.
Whatever was left of the anger drained fast, leaving only the ache beneath it.
I dragged a hand down my face. "I gotta get out of here," I muttered, dropping the bag on the floor. "Make sure she's gone by the time I'm back."
Monte nodded once, steady, like he already knew what needed to be done.
Margot called after me, her voice sharp, pleading—something between fury and disbelief.
I didn't look back. I just kept walking, the sound of my footsteps swallowing whatever she said next.