She’d realized in that moment that Daniel saw her the same way her father did:
a stabilizing variable, a long-term asset, a strategic junction between empires.
Her father interrupted the memory. “The Lis own the most advanced chip fabrication facilities outside of Korea and Taiwan. Their hardware forms the backbone of our encrypted global storage systems. This alliance is not optional.”
“I shouldn’t be a merger,” Morgan said softly.
“You are the eldest,” he replied. “Your siblings have already honored their obligations. Daniel is COO. Elise is CFO. Caroline is a surgeon—useful, respectable, predictable. You alone seem determined to reject the opportunities afforded to you.”
“Opportunities,” she repeated under her breath.
Her application to an intelligence agency—her one attempt to carve out something meaningful—hung unspoken between them.
Richard’s gaze sharpened. “That stunt cost you credibility. You cannot afford more reckless decisions.”
“It wasn’t reckless,” Morgan said. “It was the first thing I wanted for myself.”
“And it was inappropriate. Dangerous. You risked exposing the family to unacceptable scrutiny.”
“I wasn’t going to tell them anything about the business.”
“You wouldn’t have needed to,” he said. “Your presence alone would have drawn attention. Our government contracts cannot tolerate that.”
He lifted his hand slightly, signaling her to stop speaking. “You will accept the Li marriage proposal.”
She stared at him.
“This is my life,” she said.
“It’s your future,” he corrected. “And your inheritance depends on you treating it responsibly.”
Something shifted inside her, pushing against the weight she had carried for years. It was small, but it was still alive: a refusal to keep shrinking to fit a life she didn’t choose.
“I’d rather be abducted by aliens,” she said quietly.
The words surprised even her.
Her father stilled, a cold, assessing pause, as if measuring how far she intended to stray from the blueprint he had spent her entire life drafting.
“Morgan,” he said at last, voice flat, “this is beneath you. And immature.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t—not without saying more than she meant to. So she picked up her chopsticks, lifted a piece of fish, and forced herself through the remainder of the meal in weighted silence.
When she finally rose, he didn’t stop her.
She walked out past the minimalist artwork, the quiet security staff, the perfectly terraced gardens he curated as ruthlessly as he curated his family.
Her Tesla was already waiting near the circular drive, the house’s charging port disengaging with a soft click as it detected her approach. The car’s clean, electric hum felt strangely comforting in its simplicity—predictable, neutral, hers.
She slid in, the door sealing with a muted hiss, and let the autopilot handle the first turns down the narrow hillside road. The silence inside the cabin pressed close, but it was hers, not his.
She drove toward Los Altos Hills, winding through the darkening streets until the skyline opened below her.
Her apartment, sleek and serene behind floor-to-ceiling windows, greeted her with silence.
She set her keys on the counter and let her shoulders sag.
Richard Halden wanted her life decided.
