The house is warm when we walk in.
The children are in the den with Anna, who takes one look at us and quietly says she'll start dinner unless we need her elsewhere. I thank her with more gentleness than I feel capable of, and she leaves us to the room that's never understood how to stay tidy for longer than ten minutes.
Rosalie's already half-asleep on the sofa, curled under a blanket with her crown crooked on her head and a stuffed bear tucked under her arm. She wakes enough to see me and lifts both arms without opening her eyes. I sit because I've got no defense against that, and she climbs onto my chest with the bonelesstrust of a child who's never wondered whether my arms'll catch her. Her cheek lands against my shirt. Her little hand grips my collar, then loosens as sleep takes her again.
This is the image they'd use first.
The thought comes so clearly that I go cold under her warmth. A sleeping child on her father's chest. A soft room. A family gathered after a hard day. They'd crop out the exhaustion, brighten the blanket, soften the shadows, and write something about safety made visible. They'd make strangers feel tender about a moment they had no right to see.
James sits on the rug beside Blake's feet, building with blocks in careful rows. He's got a system I don't understand, but Blake does. Even drained, Blake notices when James hesitates over a blue piece and nudges the correct one closer with his sock. James takes it without looking up. The tiny exchange is so familiar and quiet that it aches.
Samuel's got Maceo trapped in a card game on the other side of the coffee table. The rules change every turn and appear to favor Samuel in all circumstances. Maceo listens with the same grave attention he brings to hostile contract review.
"You have to pick up two because this one's a moon," Samuel explains, slapping a card down. "And moons beat numbers unless it's a dragon round."
Maceo studies his cards. "Was this a dragon round before or after I drew the moon?"
Samuel thinks about it, then smiles. "After."
"That's convenient."
"It's a rule."
"I see."
Samuel leans closer, whispering with great seriousness. "Also, if you win too much, you have to give some cards back because I'm small."
Maceo nods once. "A compelling equity provision."
Blake's mouth moves like he almost smiles. Luca sits near Grayson on the loveseat, their shoulders pressed together, Grayson's hand moving slowly up and down Luca's arm. None of this looks important to anyone who doesn't understand what it costs to keep a room safe. That's what makes it dangerous. A camera would flatten it into softness. A campaign would call it proof.
I keep one hand on Rosalie's back and let her breathing count time against my ribs.
The deal's poisoned. There's no cleaner way to name it. We've been trying to manage a merger while Victor and Dorian study the places where our private life touches our public one. We've got exclusions, marked clauses, written objections, counsel, ownership protections, and enough leverage to keep them from simply taking what they want today. We don't have enough proof to cut the deal cleanly without handing them a new angle of attack. If we walk away too fast, Victor'll frame it as instability. If we stay too long, Dorian'll keep building doors around words like dignity and consent until one of them opens where Luca lives.
Blake looks up from James's blocks, and I know he's arrived at the same place. His face is drawn, his glasses pushed into his hair, his hand resting near James's shoulder as if he needs contact with something uncomplicated. "We can't keep reading this as contract language," he says quietly enough that the children don't look up. "It's strategy. They're using the deal to map us."
Maceo sets down a card. "Yes."
Grayson looks over from the loveseat. "Quentin can help with the contract side, but this is bigger than clauses."
Luca's eyes lower to Rosalie asleep against me. "They want us to look unreasonable for saying no to being used."
That's it exactly.
I rub my palm once over Rosalie's back and feel the decision settle somewhere cold and steady. I've spent too long trying to keep this contained inside the official channels because official channels are supposed to reward precision. Victor and Dorian are using precision too. They're only aiming it at the parts of us that don't belong in documents.
"We need outside eyes," I say.
Blake looks at me.
"Not just Quentin," I continue. "Wilson's dealt with men who hide predatory language inside philanthropy. Lorenzo'll see the contract rot faster than anyone on Victor's side can rephrase it. Nicholas'll know where the money pressure's coming from and what they expect to gain if they turn Ember House into public conscience for the merger."
Maceo's expression changes by almost nothing, which means he agrees. "We should send the draft, the call notes, the campaign language, and the internal references to family-forward assets."
Grayson's hand stills on Luca's arm. "Family-forward assets," he says, and the disgust in his voice is soft enough that it hurts more than if he'd raised it.
Samuel looks up from his cards. "What's assets?"
