Chapter 169

Noah

We moved through the club like people in a play, exchanging polite nods and soft smiles as if the world outside the glass didn’t contain the thing I feared most.

William’s hand rested light but possessive at the small of my back. My legs felt like paper. The noise of the dining room thinned away until it was a distant hum.

By the time we reached the security gate, two of the club staff had the man held back. I heard him before I saw him—my father’s voice, loud and sprawling, announcing himself the way men who have nothing to lose do: “There he is! That’s my son! Don’t you dare keep him from me! Tell them who I am—tell them I’m your father!”

The guards held him at the threshold and William didn’t let them go any farther. He stepped forward and addressed him politely, almost clinical. “Mr. Blake?”

My father sneered when he saw William, as if the sight of him made him smaller. “I don't want trouble, sir. I’m here for my boy.” He tried to move forward but the club people were efficient. The guards kept him back until William signaled, cool and composed.

“Would you come with us to the side office?” William asked, voice soft enough to be courteous, sharp enough that there was denying him.

Moments after we were in the elegant, private room—two of William’s men at the door—before my father could get through the niceties. William closed the door behind us and the click of the lock sounded like a verdict.

“Now,” William said, folding his hands as if settling into a meeting, “to what do we owe this visit, Mr. Blake?”

My father opened his mouth and for a beat he played the part of the gentleman—something about wanting to introduce himself, to share this special day with his son, to be included in family celebrations. His voice was oily, practiced, the same way men smooth over the past with platitudes. He looked at me while he spoke, like he expected me to smile, to be grateful for the show of attention.

William didn’t let him finish. He moved in, the interruption a blade. “Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?”

My dad blinked. “Excuse me?”

William stepped closer, close enough that the room seemed to shrink. His voice dropped until it was dangerous, a careful, predatory hush that left nowhere to hide. “We all know why you’re here. Noah didn’t have to tell me for me to know you’ve been threatening him. I’ve done my homework, Mr. Blake. I know the kind of man you are.”

For the first time, my father’s posture faltered; there was a flicker of something like calculation behind his eyes. He tried to regain the upper hand with a smile that didn’t reach his face. “But, you see? I've done my homework too, and I know where Noah's interests lie,” he said, voice coiled with menace. “I know what sort of favors he’s been offering himself to. I know things about his…affinities. I know he’s not exactly into the sort of girl you’d parade him around with. Or any girl at all for that matter… Now, that's juicy news.”

My stomach dropped. The room narrowed to the sound of my own breath. I could feel my hands splitting at the seams. My father was circling, insinuating, trying to turn whatever power he had into currency. The bruise of panic spread through me.

William’s jaw went tight. He didn’t let my father keep speaking. He crossed the distance in two strides and shoved him against the far wall as if the movement itself were a message. “If one word of that leaves this room,” William said, every syllable coiled, “you’re a dead man.”

My father’s jaw set; he tried to laugh it off, to make it a joke, but his voice came out thin. “You think you can shut me up?”

William took a single step back, produced a check from his inside pocket, and held it out flat, his face unreadable. “This is my one-time offer. Take it, fly away, and stay away. You come near anyone in my family again and there won’t be an offer next time.”

My father’s face twisted with contempt and hunger both. “My son is worth millions, do you think a few thousand will buy me off? Put me in the press and we’ll see who wins. They'll surely pay more for what I have to say!”

William’s eyes narrowed to slits; the room chilled. He leaned in, voice a low, lethal hiss. “No, Mr. Blake. If you as much as think of interfering with this family again, I will make sure you’re gone. Permanently.”

The words landed with a weight that made the air thud. My father’s bravado faltered; the muscles in his face tightened like rope pulled taut.

The guards moved without a word. Gentle at first, then firmer. They took hold of him and guided him to the door. At the threshold he spat one last line, something meant to wound, and then he was gone.

We stood in the room with the door closed. My father had not said a word to me, yet I was shaking so hard I could feel it down in my bones.

William watched me with eyes that didn’t leave my face. There was no triumph in them—only a cold, practical concern. “Are you alright?” he asked once, carefully.

For a second I only trembled. Then a new fear—older and sharper—snapped through me: my father wouldn’t stop at threats. He would go home and drink, and when he drank he hurt the people who were still tied to him. My mother. My sister. I could almost see it—glass and anger, the house folding into itself, the small things being smashed because one man wanted to prove he still mattered. The thought made bile rise in my throat.

“I should go after him,” I said, the words raw and sudden. “I should— I can stop him before he hurts my family. I can—”

William’s hand came down on mine, steady and decisive, and it felt like being held in place by iron. His eyes were hard but not unkind. “No,” he said, quietly. “You do not go after him. If you do, you hand him what he wants—attention, leverage, chaos. Let me handle it.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say he didn't know what my dad could do if I didn't try to stop him. But the truth was smaller and meaner: I didn’t know if I could protect them. I never could before. The shame of that nearly undid me.

William’s voice lowered further, the words wrapped in an offer as old as power. “Listen to me. I told you once. Reject me, betray me, and I will make you pay for it. I will make your life hell. But join me, honor me, and I will take care of you as my own. I will keep your family safe. I give you my word.”

William’s look was patient but final. “You have nothing to worry about… Son.”

For a beat the words calmed me down. But then a colder thought cut through the flicker of relief: what did I have left to worry about? My life had already been hollowed out. I had no future I could honestly call my own anymore; no freedom, and I had lost the man I loved to someone else.William’s look was patient but final. “You have nothing to worry about… Son.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe there really wasn’t anything left to worry about. My life wasn’t mine anymore. My future was already decided. I had already lost the only person I had ever loved. So what was there left to protect except the people back home?

Maybe I should finally confront my father—once and for all. Go back. Stand in front of him. Fight him. End it. Let him do what he always wanted to do. Let him kill me and go to prison for life. At least then my mother and sister would be free. At least then someone would be safe.

Maybe that was the only thing I had left to give anybody.