He lunged toward me, reaching for my uninjured arm, his eyes silently screaming at me to play along and save the empire he’d built on lies.

He never made it.

Before his fingers could brush my sleeve, Sterling intercepted him — one hand at my father’s collar, not crushing, just absolute, stopping him dead.

He leaned in until his face was inches from Robert’s sweating forehead.

“Do not touch her,” Sterling said, and shoved him backward. My father stumbled and fell hard into a velvet chair.

“Marcus, please, we’re family—”