Chapter Seven #2
Ivy's lips press together, and though she doesn't say a word, she doesn't need to. Her slight nod is answer enough.
"You know, we should make this a nightly thing," Lillianna says, eyes gleaming. "And on Sundays, have Sebastian and Rosalia over for family dinners. We could even start new Blackstone traditions."
“And what about Mom? Should we invite her as well?” My words are harsh, but it’s going to gut her when she learns Madison is living with us.
“Good point,” my sister mutters.
I set down my fork and pushed my plate away.
Anger rushes at me unexpectedly, but with force.
“Seriously, enough with this bullshit, like we’re an actual family.
” My family is broken, has been for years.
And my dad’s daughter with his mistress isn’t going to fix us.
“I called this dinner to state the rules.”
I need a moment to collect myself, to remember why I'm doing this. Control. Boundaries. Self-preservation. I lean back in my chair, both hands wrapped around my glass.
"Rule one: This is my house. My schedule, my routines remain undisturbed."
Ivy sits back in her chair, arms crossed. “How democratic of you.”
I ignore her. "Rule two: The top floor is off-limits. My office, my bedroom—”
“Even for Ivy?” my sister quips.
“I swear to God, Lillianna,” I grate. Taking a deep breath, I continue. “Rule three: Staff answers to me. You need something, you ask me first.”
Madison's chin trembles slightly, but she stays quiet.
"Rule four—"
"Let me guess," Ivy interrupts. "Don't breathe too loudly?"
“Rule four: My approval on anything that affects this household. Guests—” I look at Ivy. “That means your friend Dave isn’t welcome here.”
“Why? Jealous?” she spits back.
I don't dignify that with an answer, because fuck if she isn't right. “And rule five..." I meet Madison's eyes directly. "This arrangement ends the day your three months are up. Not a day longer. Don't get comfortable."
No one moves. No one speaks. Even Lillianna is quiet.
Then Madison speaks. "So basically we don't exist. Don't be seen, don't be heard, don't be a burden." She swallows hard. “You are just like Dad."
My last thread of patience snaps. “Yet, here I am letting you live in my house. He tucked you and your mother away, his dirty little secrets across town. Neither she nor you were ever important enough to him to be more.”
She sucks in a breath, then pushes back from the table and flees. Her retreating footsteps echo down the hallway.
I stare at the empty doorway, unable to look at either of them.
Fuck. I drag a hand down my face. The little bit of bourbon I drank turns sour in my stomach.
Ivy stands, her hand tightening on the back of her chair. “You know what scares me about you, Thorne?” she asks rhetorically. “It’s not that you’re cruel. It’s that somewhere underneath all that armor, you actually understand pain and you still choose to inflict it.” She takes off after Madison.
“She’s right, you know.” Lillianna taps her fork against her plate. “Dad’s hurt us all, but in high school, something changed. You went from protecting others from his pain to inflicting it. Why?”
I don't answer. Because I don’t want to admit that I was stupid enough to believe honesty mattered, that doing the right thing would be rewarded instead of punished. That's a humiliation I'm not ready to share. Not with her. Not even after all this time.
My senior year, I discovered Dad was cooking the books.
Fraud on a massive scale, funneling money through shell companies, putting everyone—employees, investors, our family name—at risk.
I thought I was protecting the company. Thought if I quietly went to the right people, we could fix it before it destroyed us.
I was seventeen and stupid enough to believe doing the right thing mattered.
Instead, those I told went to my father. Sure, he cleaned up the fraud. He couldn’t risk me going public I suppose, but he made sure I paid for my disloyalty.
Sebastian became the heir. I got acquisitions, important, sure, but safely away from the legacy. Away from real power.
And Dad? He just found new crimes. Moved from financial fraud to environmental violations.
Which I should have caught. I should have known. Should have kept watching. But my anger made me blind.
Lillianna sets down her fork and stands. The mischief has drained from her eyes, replaced by a look I like even less. Quiet understanding. She doesn't push. Doesn't joke. Just leaves me with it.
The dining room is silent. Just me, the remains of a dinner nobody finished, and the empty chair where Ivy had been sitting. I reach for my glass, then stop. Set it back down.
But none of this has anything to do with how I'm treating Ivy.
Sure, Madison's blackmail brought this mess to my door, but Ivy's caught in the crossfire.
And I've been making it worse. Not because of Madison, not because of the situation.
But because every time I look at Ivy, I remember that train compartment.
Her soft skin and heavy moans. The way she came apart, shaking and clinging to me.
I don't know how to be around her without wanting more. So yeah, I've been a bastard. Because apparently that's easier than dealing with whatever the hell this is. But making her miserable isn't going to make me want her any less.
Time to find another strategy.