CHAPTER 222: YOU SOUND LIKE TOM

Evans inhaled sharply. Pain flickered across his expression. "When you talk like that... you know who you sound like? You sound like Tom. I shouldn’t have let her come back to you. You cannot make her happy. I should have known this. You will never change."

The accusation hit Winn harder than the punch had.

"You’re right. You shouldn’t have let her come back to me."

Evans shot back immediately. "Consider it finished then!" His pupils were blown wide, fury and protectiveness merging into a single lethal instinct.

Winn’s nostrils flared, and he stepped forward again, chest rising, shoulders stiffening. "You don’t speak for her!" he growled.

"Evans!"

Sam’s voice cut the tension. He stood behind them. "Go take care of your niece."

Evans glared at Winn once more, his eyes sharp enough to slice through steel.

"Go! Evans!" Sam urged.

Irene moved closer to her husband, fingers slipping around his arm, her touch warm and grounding. "Come, babe." Her presence softened him instantly—just a little.

Enough to tug him away from violence.

Evans walked back into the house in anger, muttering curses under his breath that only Irene could hear. The heavy estate doors swallowed him up, closing behind him. Meanwhile, Sam moved closer to Winn.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Winn blinked. Shock flashed across his face, a rare vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his violent resolve.

He had fully expected Sam to pick up Evans’ fury, to dress him down, to condemn him with the authority only the oldest Everest male could wield. But instead—gentleness. Concern. The shift in tone unsettled him more than Evans’ punch had.

Sam nodded toward Winn’s hands. It was only then Winn looked down and realized one of them trembled violently, as if the ghost of the gunshot was still vibrating through bone and sinew.

He curled his fingers into a fist, trying to steady them, but the shake persisted—a reminder that he wasn’t as numb as he tried to be.

"Come on. I’ll pour you a stiff drink." Sam gestured for him to follow, turning with the confidence of someone used to being obeyed.

"I really don’t think I should." Winn hesitated, looking toward the house.

Sam snorted. "I have a pad in the back of the house. You need that drink."

Both men walked together down the stone pathway behind the estate. The back property sprawled endlessly: a lush expanse of garden beds.

Eventually, they reached the back lounge—a massive open-air living space bordered by pillars, cushioned leather recliners, a bar.

Sam poured two glasses of liquor, the bottle thick and dark with age. He handed one glass to Winn, who accepted with a nod, the tremor in his fingers subtle now but still present.

"So you found one of the men already." Sam said casually. "Evans has been looking for over a year. I must say, I am impressed."

Winn took a slow breath before downing half the liquor in one swallow.

"I’m not sure what my response to that should be." Winn said. His fingers tightened around the glass. He stared at the swirl at the bottom, as if answers might rise from the liquor.

But his mind was still replaying Ivy’s face—the shock, the way her body had gone cold against him. Nothing felt stable anymore. Not even the ground beneath his feet.

"My family is my life, Winn. They are all I have got. I am not young anymore and some things I cannot do anymore, so I need you to hear me when I say this..." he paused, locking eyes with Winn, "I would have done the same thing."

Winn’s head lifted. Relief and confusion flickered through his expression. He wasn’t used to approval from father figures. He nodded slowly, the gesture stiff.

"So thank you." Sam continued, and just when Winn’s chest loosened a fraction—

SMACK.

The slap to the back of his head came out of nowhere.

"But in front of her?!" Sam barked.

Winn winced, rubbing the spot. "I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry." The apology fell out in a rush. "I knew if I stopped to look at her, she would make me change my mind and I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to."

He had needed to be that monster, but the price was her eyes. And that cost felt impossibly high now.

Sam exhaled through his nose. "You’re still looking for the second man?"

"Yes." Winn answered. The tremor in his hand had lessened. That man—Peter—was still breathing somewhere, still walking, still unpunished. And Winn’s entire body rejected that reality.

Sam clapped him on the back, firm enough to wobble Winn’s glass. "Whatever you need, I’ve got you. Need to go check on Ivy."

Ivy. His Ivy. The woman whose softness could stop him mid-breath. The woman whose nightmares haunted him more than his own bloody hands. The woman he’d both protected and scarred today.

Sam pointed a finger at him. "Take as long as you need. Just make sure that tremor is gone before you leave."

He wasn’t asking.

He was telling Winn to pull himself together.

Winn nodded once more and watched Sam leave.

He dealt silently with the man he had become. A man who without hesitation, had executed someone in cold blood. A man Ivy had looked at with fear.

The image sliced him open—her eyes wide, frozen, her breath stuttering as if she didn’t recognize him. As if she wasn’t sure she was safe with him.

Ivy, who could call him names, tug his hair, kiss him breathless, fight him tooth and nail, fuck him hard—she had shrunk back from him today. And the part that wrecked him most was that she feared him.

He dragged a shaky hand across his face. Somewhere deep down, where the boy version of him still lived—broken, beaten, desperate to be seen—Winn knew one horrible truth:

Tom was at the top of that totem pole.

Tom, the monster who raised him.

Tom, the man who taught him that fists were the only language of authority.

Winn wondered—truly wondered—if he would ever be able to look Tom in the face and pull the trigger. Would he freeze? Would he hesitate? Or would all the years of pain boil over until the bullet became mercy?

The thought didn’t scare him.

The fact that it didn’t scare him... did.

*****

"Mr. Kane." Sharona slid smoothly into the booth seat across from Tom at the Emperor’s Room. She crossed her legs slowly, the slit of her dress revealing just enough thigh to signal power. "Been a while you needed to speak with me."

Tom didn’t bother hiding the irritation etched into his face.

"Yeah, still working on an outline for you to realise I am not a man that you can fuck with." Tom drawled.

"Mr. Kane, I told you from the very beginning. I don’t do things halfway. When the mission is complete, then we figure out how to split the inheritance. It’s that simple."

"So you say. You got 50 million... fifty... you whore."

Tom spat the words. His face contorted.

"I am going to walk out of here." she announced calmly.

"Then it will be your downfall."

Sharona’s brow lifted ever so slightly. Danger glimmered in her eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Ivy is coming after you."

A beat.

A flicker.

The soft tightening of Sharona’s jaw.

Tom noticed.

He savored it.

"I believe she knows everything about you up until before you married Winn." Tom continued. "She will use that to take you down. I’m afraid you will have no choice but to divorce Winn with what she has."

"She has nothing. You are just trying to scare me. I don’t scare easily, Mr. Kane. No one I work for can afford to let any details of the job I did for them slip out. Every single one of them have a lot to lose."

Tom held her stare for a long moment, lips twisting.

Then, with a wave of his hand—dismissive, he said,

"Fine! I will take your word for it. You may go."

"I think what you should worry more about is getting rid of her." she said quietly.

Tom let out a bitter scoff. "Why would I do that? I have no more play here. You don’t either. You think Winn will stay married to you for ten years? Or are you still hoping to drug him again so he can fuck you and get you pregnant?"

He laughed—a jagged, humorless sound. "He hasn’t spoken to me since the day he found out I am not his father. And my daughter—who can help us—hates my guts so much, she moved to another country." He threw his hands up. "I have no play. I give up. All I am doing now is self-preservation."

"Then I will take care of her myself," she spat.

Tom arched a brow, unfazed. "Like you did before?" he drawled. "Look how well that turned out." His smirk was slow, taunting.