Page 281 of Power Play

He ignored her. His gaze stayed fixed on mine, sharp and cold, the real man standing fully in the room now. “My daughter is talented. She has a future in design that people would kill for. Internships. Connections. A name that opens doors before she ever touches a sketchbook. You think I’m going to watch her risk all of that for a hockey player with a reputation and no foundation?”

I stepped closer to the desk, slow enough that he had time to feel each inch of it.

“I built myself out of nothing,” I said. “No father with a checkbook. No mother smoothing my path. No family name. No safety net. No one opening doors unless I kicked hard enough to make them unlock.”

Lance’s mouth tightened. “You have no foundation.”

Something in me snapped hot and ugly.

“No foundation? ¡Yo soy la puta base!” I roared. “I am the fucking foundation.”

Charm’s breath shook.

Lance stared at me for a long second, and something close to hate moved behind his eyes. I could work with hate. Hate told the truth faster than manners ever did.

“You’re proving my point,” he said.

“No.” I pushed off the desk and straightened, rolling my shoulders once to keep the worst of my temper from climbing my throat. “I’m proving mine.”

Lance turned his attention to Charm then, and the shift pissed me off more than anything he’d said to me because he didn’t look at her like she was a person. He looked at her like she was territory he needed to reclaim.

“Charm,” he said, his voice softening into something patient and poisonous. “Sweetheart, you need to think very carefully about what you’re allowing into your life.”

She stared at him.

Her fingers still gripped the door. Her face was too pale. Her eyes were wet, furious, scared, torn so wide open I could see every invisible string this house had tied around her ribs.

I waited like an idiot, and that was the worst part. I didn’t need her to throw herself between us, scream, burn down her family, or choose me in some dramatic speech that fixed everything. I just needed one sentence. One honest sentence in a room where her father had just stripped me down to everything he thought made me unworthy.

“Dile que importo. Dile que soy algo para ti.” I said the words softly, to her but also to myself.

Tell him I matter. Tell him I’m something to you. Tell him I’m yours. Tell him he doesn’t get to talk about me like that. Tell him anything, mi hada.

Charm’s mouth opened as Lance’s gaze sharpened on her.

Her mother reached for her arm from the hallway. “Darling, let’s not make this worse.”

Charm looked at her mother, then at her father, and finally at me.

The fight in her face flickered. It was there. Holy fuck, it was there. I could see it trying to claw its way out from under every lesson this house had beaten into her without ever lifting a hand. Her chin lifted. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach for me. Her breath came in shaky and fast.

I held still and gave her the space to do it.

Lance watched her with calm certainty, like he already knew which way she’d bend, and the first real crack opened in me when she looked down toward the rug between us.

The room didn’t explode. The lights didn’t flicker. Lance didn’t smile, not fully. He didn’t have to.

I saw the satisfaction move through his face anyway. I saw it, and I understood with a clarity that hurt worse than his words ever could that this was trained into her.

I stepped back from the desk.

Charm’s eyes snapped up. “Ryan.”

I hated the panic in her voice and that some part of me still wanted to answer it.

I dragged my thumb along my bottom lip and laughed once, low and empty. “Right.”

She took one step into the study. “Wait.”