I put my hand over his knee for one second.
He looks at me then, and the brightness in his face softens into something real.
Victor speaks again, careful now because there are too many listeners for open threat. "I think emotions are running high. Perhaps we should table the discussion until everyone's had achance to review the actual document rather than reacting to shorthand."
"The document's on my screen," Blake says. "The shorthand's the problem."
Luca's hand tightens around Blake's beneath the table. His voice comes out softer than mine, but it carries. "My history's not shorthand."
No one speaks for a moment after that.
Dorian's the one who tries to repair the silence. "Luca, I apologize if anything we said made you feel personally exposed. That wasn't the intention."
Luca looks at the speaker, and I can see what it costs him to keep his voice steady. "You keep saying intention like that changes the thing you're doing."
Blake turns his hand fully around Luca's under the table and holds on.
I end the call before Victor can answer him. Not because Luca can't handle another sentence, but because he shouldn't have to. I reach forward, press the button, and watch the screen go dark one square at a time. The silence afterward isn't relief. It's the sound of everyone in the room realizing the polite version of the deal's ended.
No one moves first.
Then the junior marketing lead at the end of the table says, very carefully, "Should we suspend all Ember House-adjacent workstreams?"
"Yes," Blake says.
"Immediately," Maceo adds, and his tone makes it clear that the word's not a suggestion.
I stand and button my jacket because my hands need something ordinary to do. "Circulate a written hold. No assets, no copy, no internal brainstorming, no exploratory decks.Anything already drafted comes to Blake and Maceo, unread by anyone else."
The staff clear out quickly after that. I don't blame them. The room still feels too full even after the door closes behind the last person.
Luca stays seated.
Blake turns toward him at once, the CEO gone from his face so quickly it hurts to see. He keeps their hands linked and brings Luca's knuckles to his mouth, pressing one kiss there, then another. "They don't have permission," Blake says, low and fierce. "I don't care what draft they write. I don't care how they phrase it. They don't have permission."
"I know." Luca nods, but his eyes are too bright. "I know that. I just hate that they know where to press. They didn't say anything explicit, and it still felt like they were touching every locked door."
Grayson's already out of his chair. He doesn't crowd Luca. He comes around the table and sits on Luca's other side, shoulder against his, one hand settling on the back of Luca's neck the way he does when words are too much. Luca leans into him immediately, still holding Blake with one hand and catching Grayson's shirt with the other.
Maceo passes the corrected clause fully to Blake, then sets a second page beside it. "They left three openings. Visibility pathway, public engagement, and mission-aligned narrative. I removed all of them and added a separate approval requirement for any reference to connected philanthropic work, regardless of name."
Blake reads the first paragraph, then pushes his glasses up with the heel of his hand. He looks pale. Too pale. "Good. Send it to Quentin too. I want another set of eyes before Victor's counsel tries to pretend this is standard language."
"We need more than Quentin," Maceo says.
I look at him because he says it without emphasis, and that usually means he's been thinking it for longer than the rest of us.
Maceo's gaze meets mine over Luca's bowed head. "They're creating public pressure around a private exclusion. That's not a misunderstanding. They're testing which term makes us react in front of witnesses."
Blake lets out a thin breath. "Luca."
Luca's fingers tighten in Grayson's shirt.
"Yes," Maceo says. "And you."
I want to argue with the second part. I want to say Blake's protected by role, ownership, counsel, contract, me. The words don't make it to my mouth because Blake's face has gone still again, and because every reason I want to list is exactly the kind of reason Victor and Dorian are already trying to turn against us.
The ride home happens in pieces. Blake on the phone with Quentin, voice level and too controlled. Maceo sending marked-up language from the passenger seat. Grayson holding Luca's hand in the back, murmuring quiet nonsense about Rosalie's cupcakes until Luca's scent eases from sharp fear into something closer to exhaustion. I drive because I need both hands on something, and because every mile between the office and the house feels like a negotiation with myself.
