Page 184 of Rush

“Headlines and half-naked posts, that’s showbiz,mate,” I echo sweetly, twirling my wine. “And why are you punishing me for posts I didn’t even make? For headlines written by strangers who treat my life like it’s a free-for-all buffet?”

Carole shifts uncomfortably, eyes glued to her plate.

Philippa gives me a warning glance—shoulders tight, chin barely shaking.Not here. Not now.

Andrew chews. Watches us like we’re a lit match and a stick of dynamite.

Mortimer stays calm. “I’m aware.” He slices into his turkey like he’s signing off on a quarterly report. “You’re not seeing him in secret are you?” His voice drips with mirth and smugness.

His knife scrapes against the plate.

So does my spine.

I stiffen.

The question slides across the table like oil. Riley shifts. Andrew coughs into his napkin.

Does he really think so little of me that I’d chase after someone who made it clear he doesn’t want me? Or worse—stoop to his level and go behind Madison’s back with Alex? I don’t exactly like her, but I could never do to Madison what Carole did to my mom.

“No, I have values—unlike some people.” I level him with a stare.

Carole’s shoulders stiffen.

Mortimer still doesn’t look up. “Because I don’t think he understands the stakes. Your name carries weight now. He clearly doesn’t care that people are watching.”

“I didn’t realizeyoucared so much,” I say sarcastically folding my napkin tighter in my lap.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” he says. Calm.Too calm. “I’m saying the association is damaging. You’ve worked hard. I’d hate to see that dragged down by his recklessness.”

“Is that what you think happened?”

“I think he’s bad for you. And your image. If you’re serious about building something of your own, you need the right people around you.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Why your team hasn’t issued him and his people an injunction is beyond me—the incompetence.”

Carole reaches across, gently touches his wrist. “Monty—please.”

“You want me to do what?”

“Elena, it’s the practical thing to do. You need to grow up, establish stability and ownership of your career and your image.”

“Don’t,” I snap. “You don’t get to lecture me about stability. The double standard is rich, really.”

Philippa’s fork clatters against her plate.

“Daddy, please stop,” she says.

“I’m not judging you, Elena,” Mortimer says, finally meeting my eyes. His voice is level. Polished. The corporate tone he uses when he wants to sound concerned but really meansI’m disappointed, and it’s your fault. Do better.

“I’m trying to keep you from making the same mistakes your mother did.”

“What did you just say?” I spit.

He doesn’t say anything, our eyes locked on each other in a silent war.

“The only mistake she made, was marrying you.”

The table freezes. No one breathes. Not even Riley. I stand, napkin balled in my fist. No one stops me as I storm out.

And all I can see is his face—tattooed behind my eyelids, stunned, disappointed, and stubborn as an ox.