Chapter 167
Alex's POV
We went inside through the garage, and I sent Ethan upstairs while I headed to the downstairs bathroom to clean up properly. My knuckles were split, bruises already forming across my hands, and I scrubbed the blood away methodically, watching the water run red down the drain.
I'd beaten a man within an inch of his life. I'd threatened him. I'd used my family's connections to make sure he'd rot in a cell for the rest of his miserable existence.
And I felt nothing but grim satisfaction.
I dried my hands, examined the damage in the mirror—nothing I couldn't explain away if necessary—and headed back upstairs. The bedroom door was half-open, and I could see Mason sitting in the chair by the window, Ethan climbing carefully into bed beside Emily's sleeping form.
Mason looked up as I approached, took in my split knuckles and the cold expression I hadn't quite managed to wipe away, and his eyes went wide.
"Is he—"
"In custody," I confirmed quietly. "It's done."
Mason's whole body sagged with relief. "Is she—"
"Still asleep." I moved past him to the bed, settling in on Emily's other side, careful not to wake her. "And she's going to stay that way. She's safe now."
Mason nodded, his throat working as he swallowed hard, and quietly left the room.
I lay there in the growing dawn light, Emily warm and peaceful between Ethan and me, and let myself feel the weight of what we'd done settle into my bones.
I'd crossed a line tonight. Multiple lines. Lines I'd spent my entire life being taught were sacred and inviolable.
And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
My phone buzzed in my pocket—once, twice, three times in rapid succession—and I carefully extracted myself from the bed, slipping out into the hallway before pulling it out.
Seven missed calls. All from the same number.
My father.
I stared at the screen, ice flooding my veins, and the phone buzzed again in my hand. I answered it this time, keeping my voice low.
"Father."
"Don't you 'Father' me." His voice was cold, clipped, vibrating with barely controlled fury. "I've been calling you for the past hour. Where the hell have you been?"
"I was—" I started, but he cut me off.
"I don't care. What I care about is the phone call I just received from Judge Morrison, informing me that my son was involved in some kind of altercation with an escaped convict in the early hours of the morning. Care to explain that?"
My mind raced, calculating angles, weighing responses. "It was nothing. Ethan and I were out running, we heard—"
"I don't care about your cover story," he snapped. "I care about the other phone call I received. The one from Detective Brown, who thought I should know that the escaped convict in question is Jack Grey. Father of one Emily Grey." His voice dropped, each word precisely enunciated, deadly quiet. "Your girlfriend."
I said nothing, my jaw clenched tight, and he continued.
"I told myself I wasn't going to interfere. That your relationship with this girl—this nobody from nowhere—was your business. A phase. Something you'd grow out of once you realized what she'd cost you." He paused, and I could hear him breathing, controlled but furious. "But you didn't, did you? You doubled down. And now I find out she's the daughter of a convict? A violent criminal who just tried to extort money from her?"
"That's not—"
"Do you have any idea what this could do to our family? To the business? To everything your grandfather and I have built?" His voice rose, the careful control fracturing. "The Monroe name associated with criminals? With trash?"
Something white-hot and vicious flared in my chest. "Don't call her that."
"I'll call her whatever I damn well please," he shot back. "You want to throw your life away on some damaged girl with a criminal father? Fine. But you will not drag this family's reputation through the mud in the process."
"I'm not—"
"You are. Right now. Every second you continue this relationship, you are making a choice to prioritize her over your family. Over your legacy. Over everything you were raised to be." He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was ice. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to end this. Today. You're going to cut ties with Emily Grey, and you're going to come home and start cleaning up this mess before it destroys everything."
I stared at the wall, my father's words still echoing in my ears, and felt something inside me solidify into absolute, unshakeable resolve.
"No," I said quietly.
Silence on the other end of the line. Then, dangerously soft: "What did you just say to me?"
"I said no." I kept my voice level, matter-of-fact, the same tone I'd used with Carter under that overpass. "I'm not ending anything. I'm not coming home. And if you try to interfere with Emily or her family in any way, you'll regret it."
"Alex—"
"I have a meeting in an hour," I lied smoothly. "We'll discuss this later."
I ended the call before he could respond, silenced the phone, and stood there in the hallway, staring at the dark screen.
My father was furious. Our family's reputation was at stake. Everything I'd been raised to protect, to prioritize, to sacrifice for—hanging in the balance.
And I didn't care.
I turned to head back to the bedroom, and froze.
Emily was standing in the doorway, barefoot, wearing one of Ethan's oversized shirts, her hair sleep-mussed and her eyes clear and steady as they met mine.
How long had she been there? How much had she heard?
"You're awake," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
"It's light out," she said softly, and there was something in her expression I couldn't quite read—concern, maybe, or curiosity, or something deeper. "Who was that?"