CHAPTER 220: A CHANGED GAME

Joanne was laughing now—soft, sweet laughter that mingled with the low hum of conversation around the living room. Robert V had drawn her into a lighthearted exchange, recounting an old family story about how Philip I, his great-great-great-grandfather once punched a Viscount in Oxford over a misaddressed invitation.

She was in her element—curious, gracious, quick to laugh, but never losing that quiet edge of intelligence in her eyes. And more importantly, she was being seen, truly seen by the Winchesters, not as the outsider farm girl, but as a woman who had held her own ground with dignity and fire.

Jeffrey watched from where he stood near the fireplace, nursing a glass of red wine and nodding at something Christina whispered to him. But his eyes, as always, kept drifting to her.

Meanwhile, across the room, Brianna’s voice had dropped into that low, pointed tone only women with a certain kind of upbringing could perfect—sharp-edged, hushed enough to avoid attention, but just loud enough to punish.

Robert VI’s jaw was tight as she spoke, his hand rising once in a small, silencing gesture, then falling uselessly to his lap. It wasn’t going well.

Jeffrey sipped his wine, amused despite himself.

Yes, Robert had ambition—but ambition meant nothing if you didn’t have someone beside you who could see past themselves. Someone who wouldn’t cut your foundation to build their own spotlight.

He watched Joanne again as she tilted her head, listening to a joke Robert V made, and chuckled lightly. Her hair shifted, catching the light. Her smile was real. Her ease in this room, even after the confrontation, was graceful.

He exhaled.

She was the opposite of a nag. No tantrums, no scenes. Joanne was the kind of woman who’d keep swallowing until the last straw snapped her patience in half—and then, Lord help the man who thought she was soft.

Sam Smith was the perfect example.

A chill ran up Jeffrey’s spine.

He’d hurt her once. He would never survive doing it again.

Take care of her heart, he reminded himself. You fool, you don’t get another heart like hers in ten lifetimes.

Jeffrey was just about to make his way toward Joanne when Robert intercepted him, a glass of whiskey dangling effortlessly in one hand.

"Since when did you start drinking red wine like a girl?" Robert asked, tone lazy, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Jeffrey glanced at his glass, then gave a cool smile. "Since I got my girl pregnant," he replied lightly, the jest wrapped in quiet sincerity. He wasn’t particularly fond of wine, but he didn’t have the heart to drink whiskey in front of Joanne—not when she couldn’t. She loved the stuff. And honestly, he didn’t trust himself to enjoy it without feeling her eyes on the glass.

Robert chuckled, but his gaze followed Jeffrey’s across the room—landing squarely on Brianna, who was now deep in conversation with Greta. He noticed the shift in Jeffrey’s jaw, the quiet disapproval.

"It looks like your woman won this round," Robert said, swirling his drink. "I applaud."

Jeffrey arched a brow, his expression unreadable. "You think there was a competition?"

Robert leaned casually against the panelled wall, his tone still airy. "Come on. Let’s not pretend. This past year’s been... illuminating. For all of us. I’ll admit—when you took over Logistics, I braced for a crash. What you pulled off was... well, it was impressive."

He sipped again, letting the compliment settle before adding, "And now, with the added bonus of marrying the woman who speaks Grandpa’s language better than any of us... you’re not just in the running. You’re a contender."

Jeffrey’s smile was measured. "Joanne doesn’t perform, Robert. She doesn’t play games. What you see is exactly who she is. Strong. Principled. And for reasons I still don’t fully understand, Grandpa seems to see something of himself in her."

He paused, letting that implication sink in.

"But I was curious. You agreeing with Brianna earlier—that wasn’t for show, was it? You know full well Grandpa’s never been the kind to chase trends or profit margins. Legacy has always come before leverage."

Robert lifted his brow, then gave a short nod, conceding the point. "Brianna... sees it differently. She thinks the board is already set, and the pieces fixed. She tries to fit in by being bold. But you and I—maybe we can find common ground, Jeffrey."

"I’d suggest not letting Brianna chart the course," Jeffrey said, a touch drier now. He didn’t like her even though Robert seemed to love her. "As for me, I’m not here to fight anyone. I’m not playing to win something. I’ll do what Grandpa asks of me, stay in my lane, and protect what matters."

His eyes shifted back to Joanne, who was laughing softly with Christina, her hand resting gently on her belly.

"But cross that line," he added, almost absently, "and I won’t be so polite."

Robert registered the words for what they were: not a threat, but a boundary. A clearly marked line drawn in the sand, not out of ambition, but love.

He should have resented Jeffrey. Years of work, presence, grooming—threatened by a man who had seemingly stumbled back into the game and taken the lead. But in this moment, with Jeffrey standing there, entirely unbothered and impossible to rattle, Robert couldn’t summon the hate he once felt.

Fighting him would be like barking at a passing train. Loud. And utterly useless.

Also... What else could the disciplined first son do when the ever graceful father accepts the prodigal son? Ruin everything with jealousy? No. He too should accept him. In the end, they were family.

Robert exhaled slowly, letting the warmth of the whiskey burn down the tension. "You’ve changed," he said, not quite a compliment, but not an accusation either.

"I had time," Jeffrey replied, his tone lighter than the weight behind the words.

There was a pause between them, quiet, but thick with unspoken history. They weren’t just cousins. They were both grandsons of Philip Winchester. That came with expectation. With scrutiny. With a crown that didn’t glitter but weighed.

Robert sipped again and glanced at his glass. "Still, sometimes I think about how we ended up on such different roads."

"Maybe we were meant to," Jeffrey answered, unfazed. "You walked the paved road. I took a machete to the thorns. Doesn’t mean one’s better. But I know my way now. And I know what I want."

Robert tilted his head, watching him. "You sound like Grandpa."

Jeffrey chuckled. "Well, if I’ve become him, then God help us all."

That actually made Robert laugh, a low genuine sound. But his eyes betrayed the flicker of something else—maybe regret, maybe envy, maybe simple recognition.

"I don’t hate you, Jeffrey," he said suddenly. "I did, once. When you disappeared. When the company started whispering your name again. But now... I get it. You’re not here to take anything from me."

"I’m not," Jeffrey affirmed. "But don’t get me wrong, Robert... I will protect what’s mine. I won’t play games. But I won’t back down either."

Robert gave a small, rueful smile. "Fair enough."

They clinked glasses—whiskey against wine.

"By the way," Robert said, glancing toward Joanne, who was chatting with Christina and laughing softly. "She’s... terrifying."

Jeffrey grinned. "Yeah. I know. Isn’t she perfect?"

Robert shook his head, but there was a smile on his face.

Behind them, Philip observed the two men from a distance, his fingers laced on the cane he didn’t really need but liked to carry. He didn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw enough.

Two boys who were no longer boys.

One with fire.

One with discipline.

And, for the first time, perhaps... both worthy.

Philip smiled to himself.

Let them think they were playing the game.

In truth, the game had already changed.