“Do you think I’m going to hit her?” he asks.
A muscle jumps in Leo’s jaw.
“No, sir,” he says.
“Then get out,” Vince says.
Ava’s heart kicks.
“Leo,” she says quickly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
His eyes flick to hers.
There’s a universe of argument in that look.
He swallows it.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says quietly.
He leaves.
The door shuts.
Now it’s just her and Vince and the careful, curated echoes of a hundred expensive objects.
“I have given you more freedom than most daughters in this world will ever see,” he says. “You run numbers. You sit in on calls. You mouth off in meetings, and I let you because I thought, perhaps, it would make you feel… included.”
“Like a person?” she suggests.
“Like part of the machine,” he corrects. “And now you think that entitles you to veto strategy.”
