CHAPTER 239: I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU

"And who are you to dictate terms to me, Adrien?" he sneered, taking a step closer, his imposing frame filling my vision. "You think your mother’s simpering and your newfound... attachment... can change my mind? I built this empire with a clear head, not sentimentality, and I will decide its future. And the future of my son’s wife."

He paused, leaning in conspiratorially, his breath smelling of stale smoke and entitlement. "She is a means to an end, Adrien. A temporary solution. Nothing more. Do not mistake my tolerance for acceptance. This is business. And in business, sentiment is a liability. You’ll understand once that charm she did on you fades."

My mother’s grip tightened on my arm. "Henry, please," she whispered, her voice strained.

"And you, Elise," he turned to her, a dismissive wave of his hand. "You always were too eager to please. Too easily swayed by pretty faces and empty words. You’ve coddled him enough."

I felt it then, a primal urge to physically remove him, to silence the venom he spewed. But that would be a mistake. That would be playing into his hands, proving his point about sentiment. My mind shifted gears.

"Perhaps," I began, my voice cutting through his bluster, "you misunderstand the nature of this arrangement, Father."

He scoffed. "Misunderstand? I understand perfectly. A marriage of convenience that will hopefully produce an heir, and then be discarded when it suits my needs."

"No," I corrected, my gaze steady, unwavering. "You misunderstand my understanding." I let the silence stretch, the tension in the lobby palpable. My mother’s breath hitched beside me.

"Isabella," I continued, drawing out her name, letting it resonate with a weight that was entirely foreign to my father’s perception. "Is not a placeholder. She is not a calculated move on a board. She is... the anchor I have been searching for. My wife."

"And I suggest you choose your next words with extreme care. Because tonight, you have made two critical errors in judgment that I will not tolerate."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Every ear in the gilded lobby—the watchful security detail, the frozen attendants, even the distant staff—was trained on us.

"Errors?" He scoffed, though the belligerence in his voice was beginning to crack under the weight of my composure. "I am correcting your error."

"No," I stated firmly. "Your first error was forgetting your position. I am the CEO of Walton Empire. I am the head of this family. Your counsel is advisory, not mandatory. I already clarified this at the dinner table, but clearly, the message did not stick."

I took another measured step, my shadow falling across him.

"Your second, and far more egregious, error," I continued, my voice dropping, the volume unnecessary when the intent was this sharp, "was the disrespect you showed my mother."

Mother made a faint sound behind me, a silent protest perhaps, or merely the intake of a shocked breath. I ignored it, focusing solely on the man who had poisoned our lives for too long.

"Mother supported my choice, as she has every right," I explained, the emphasis on right an underlined threat. "She showed class, refinement, and loyalty tonight. And you repaid that with venomous accusations and public humiliation. I have tolerated a great deal of the inherited toxicity in this family, Father, but I will not tolerate blatant abuse directed at the people I care for."

His mouth opened, ready for a counter-attack, but I didn’t give him the chance. I moved closer, invading his personal space, forcing him to look directly into my eyes.

"Let me be perfectly clear, Henry. My capacity for organization, problem-solving, and quiet resilience—the very qualities Isabella defined tonight—these are the qualities that keep this empire stable. They are the same qualities that allow me to resolve ’issues before they escalate.’ And you, sir, are rapidly becoming an issue that needs resolving."

I leaned in just slightly, ensuring my voice was low enough that only he and Mother could hear the chilling finality of my words.

"We will have an heir when we are ready, not according to some arbitrary timetable you’ve constructed. And if you attempt to interfere—No── If you ever, ever, speak to my mother with disrespect again, or attempt to undermine Isabella’s standing in this family, you will find out precisely what my control means. It means an immediate and permanent restructuring of your remaining board appointments. It means the termination of your allowances. It means the revocation of your influence. Do you understand?"

"You threaten your own father?" he grated out.

"Do you understand, Father?" I repeated, the word Father an empty formality.

He swallowed hard, his lips tightening into a thin, white line. For the first time that evening, he faltered — a subtle step back, almost imperceptible, as if the marble itself had shifted beneath him. His gaze flicked sideways toward the guards, searching for an anchor, for backup that would not come.

He gave a sharp, jerky nod.

I took a slow step back, reclaiming my own space.

"Good," I said, dismissing him entirely. I didn’t wait for him to respond further. I turned immediately to my mother.

He turned, calling for Yvonne, and with guards surrounding him, strode out into the night.

Mother was pale but composed, her composure a testament to decades of practice. Her eyes were wide, glittering with unshed emotion that she would never dare release here.

"Mother, are you alright?" I asked, my voice instantly softening from the steel I used for him to the protective warmth I reserved for her.

She placed a hand, trembling slightly, on my arm. "Yes, darling. Quite alright. You handled that beautifully, Adrien. Truly beautifully." Her eyes flickered to father, who was now stumbling toward the exit. "You sound just like him when you’re angry," she whispered. "But you’re nothing like him." Her hand trembled against my arm, but when she drew back, she straightened her shoulders with deliberate poise. The humiliation he’d tried to heap on her earlier seemed to roll away, replaced by something steadier. For the first time tonight, she looked not diminished but restored — the woman who had once stood beside him as an equal, now standing taller because I had refused to let her fall.

I said nothing. Words would fracture under the weight in my chest. All I could think of was Isabella—her laugh, her hand in mine.