Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Summer
The tension wrapped around me like a vice, pressing down on my chest as I pushed through the front doors of Ridgeview Foster Home.
My hands clenched at my sides, every step heavier than the last, my pulse hammering so violently it made my vision blur at the edges.
Malcolm was right beside me, his presence solid, unwavering, his stride perfectly in sync with mine.
Neither of us spoke. There was nothing left to say.
The receptionist barely glanced up from her desk, her expression tight, uneasy.
She knew why we were here. Everyone did.
Without a word, she motioned toward the office at the end of the hall, her fingers fidgeting with the papers in front of her.
That small tell—nervousness, discomfort—only fueled the fire already burning inside of me.
This wasn’t just another meeting. This was a battle. And I was ready to fight.
The second we stepped inside the office, I felt it.
The oppressive weight of power. The cold, smug presence of men who thought they controlled everything, including the lives of those they deemed lesser.
Peter Hale sat comfortably in one of the office chairs, legs crossed, looking as if he had already won.
His father, a man whose reputation alone sent fear through half the city, sat beside him, his posture composed, polished, exuding quiet intimidation.
His suit was perfectly pressed, his cufflinks gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and the subtle, patient smile on his lips sent a sharp, nauseating wave of anger curling in my stomach.
Carrie sat stiffly behind her desk, hands folded, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes flickering with unease. And the worst part—Jake was nowhere to be seen.
That realization sent a fresh wave of fury coursing through me. They hadn’t even given him a chance to speak for himself. Of course, they hadn’t.
I didn’t sit down. I didn’t hesitate. I planted my hands on the desk and leaned forward, locking eyes with Peter’s father.
"You can’t take him," I said, my voice sharp, unwavering. "I’ll fight you in court if I have to."
Peter let out a slow, amused chuckle, shaking his head. "Predictable."
His father didn’t react. He simply tilted his head slightly, watching me like I was an inconvenience. Like I was some naive girl throwing a tantrum instead of a woman ready to burn this place to the ground if I had to.
"And what exactly can you provide for him?" his father asked, his voice smooth, condescending. "You’re just a woman with a modest paycheck and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility."
I clenched my jaw so tightly my teeth ached. The audacity. The arrogance.
Peter smirked beside him, his expression dripping with satisfaction. "He doesn’t belong to you, Summer. You need to accept that."
I was two seconds away from losing it. My body shook with the need to scream, to fight, to throw everything I had at them. But before I could even open my mouth?—
The office door swung open.
The air shifted.
The smugness on Peter’s face flickered.
And the moment Malcolm stepped inside, the entire dynamic changed.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t storm in. He moved with purpose, control, every step carrying a quiet kind of danger that made the room go still.
He barely spared Peter a glance before focusing directly on his father. And without missing a beat, he slipped his fingers through mine.
Warm. Solid. Undeniable.
"That’s where you’re wrong," Malcolm said, voice smooth as steel.
The entire office froze.
Peter’s father blinked, clearly caught off guard.
Carrie’s head jerked up slightly, her lips parting in surprise.
Peter sat straighter in his chair, his smirk tightening, his fingers tapping against his knee like he was barely holding onto his composure.
Malcolm tilted his head slightly, his grip on my hand firm, possessive, reassuring. "Because my girlfriend, Summer," he continued, voice perfectly even, so natural, so effortless that even I almost believed it, "is more than capable of giving Jake a better future than either of you ever could."
My breath hitched.
Girlfriend.
He said it like it was fact. Like it wasn’t shaking my entire world to its core.
Peter’s father’s gaze darkened slightly, his expression shifting into something colder, sharper. He wasn’t just looking at Malcolm as some businessman anymore. He was reassessing.
Malcolm Sinclair wasn’t just a name in a headline.
He was an empire. A force. Someone who could crush their influence without lifting a finger.
Peter scowled, his posture stiffening. "This isn’t about money," he said tightly. "This is about what’s best for Jake."
Malcolm let out a low, slow chuckle, condescending, lethal. "And you think you’re what’s best for him?" He arched an eyebrow, his smirk turning sharp. "That’s cute."
Peter’s face flushed red, his composure fracturing.
I squeezed Malcolm’s hand, not even realizing I had done it until I felt the answering pressure of his fingers tightening around mine.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I wasn’t scared.
Peter’s father exhaled slowly, his gaze locked onto Malcolm like he was trying to find a way to regain control of the situation.
Malcolm didn’t give him the chance.
"The truth is, Mr. Hale," Malcolm said smoothly, his tone never shifting, never breaking, "you’re not fighting for Jake. You’re fighting to prove a point." His lips curled slightly, his smirk almost amused. "And I don’t think you’re ready for the kind of fight you just walked into."
Silence.
A cold, suffocating silence.
Peter’s father didn’t speak. Didn’t argue.
He simply sat there, studying Malcolm like a man who had just realized he’d made a mistake.
Because Malcolm had just flipped the entire chessboard.
And Peter Hale knew it.
I held my breath, waiting, watching, my heart pounding too loud, too fast.
Then, finally—Peter’s father exhaled.
Slow. Calculated.
And then he said, "We’ll see about that."
But even as he said it, I knew.
He had already lost.