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Charles approaches me, and Hayden immediately steps closer, clearly protective. I squeeze his arm reassuringly—I think I can handle this.

“I’ll make some hot chocolate,” Hayden offers, although his eyes stay on Charles.

Charles studies me for a long moment. “You’re a remarkable young woman.”

That’s definitely not what I expected. “Thank you.”

“I have to admit, I’m curious what it is about you that has four men so captivated.”

“In love,” I correct gently. “Ford, Hayden, and Gabriel, anyway. You have to understand, sir—Liam doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even want me, not really. He just can’t stand the thought of his brother having something he doesn’t. I was with him first, which makes it especially galling to his ego.”

Charles makes a thoughtful sound. “It seems I don’t know my children as well as I thought.”

I bite my lip. Usually this is where I’d try to smooth things over, avoid saying anything potentially hurtful. But after everything that just happened, I think honesty is what’s needed right now.

“Maybe that’s true,” I say quietly. “But that doesn’t make you a bad father. I would have given anything to have a parent who cared as much as you do. From what I’ve observed during my time here, though… you seem to think Ford doesn’t care about family, that he’s all about business. But from Ford’s perspective, I think he feels like you don’t care about him, so he had to make business his priority because his family wasn’t in his corner.”

“He does love you. He just didn’t want to depend on your money. He wanted to prove himself, to build something with his own hands. I think you saw that as rejection—of your support, your guidance, your judgment as his father. But it wasn’t. He just needed to discover who he could become on his own. Liam was the one who didn’t respect you. He only wanted your wallet.”

“You’re saying I had it backward all these years.”

“I think so, yes.”

Charles sighs heavily. “The thing is, I suspect you’re right. No son of mine should treat a woman the way Liam treated you. If I’ve been that blind about one thing… makes a man wonder what else he’s been missing.”

“You should be proud that Ford wanted independence. He didn’t want to be a parasite. And I think if you showed him that pride, he wouldn’t keep himself at such a distance.”

I glance down at my bare ring finger—naked now, but not for long. “Hayden’s been through hell in his life. So have I. But sometimes the deepest wounds aren’t as dramatic as losing a parent young or having your mother destroy your credit before you’re even an adult, or bouncing between terrible foster homes. Sometimes it’s just years and years of feeling like your father doesn’t love you.”

Charles looks stricken. “I love all my children.”

“I believe that, and I’m sure it’s true. But… I’ve only known you for a few days. It’s different when you’re family. Maybe you need to make sure Ford really knows that.” I feel heat creep up my neck. “I actually used to have him saved in my phone as Mr. Freeze—you know, the Batman villain? The one who’s literally made of ice?”

Charles raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my confession.

I clear my throat. “My point is, I thought he was cold. And he’s not. He’s incredibly kind, generous, thoughtful. He just doesn’t show that side to everyone. I think he feels like he can’t show it to you. But he does love deeply, sir. He loves you. He just needs to know it’s safe to let you see it.”

Charles watches the others as they set up the game and Hayden returns with mugs of steaming hot chocolate. “I think my son and I might be more alike than I realized. Liam isn’t much like me at all. There’s an old saying about how what we dislike in others often reflects what we see in ourselves. Perhaps I need to consider that.”

“I hope you will.”

I join the others for the game, although I do have to inform Hayden that I’ll be teaching him the proper way to make hot chocolate from now on—this watery excuse won’t cut it.

“I’m looking forward to those lessons,” he says, his eyes warm with promise.

We keep the physical affection subtle—partly because I don’t want to scandalize Ford’s parents any more than necessary, and partly because we know this is a major adjustment for everyone. But all three men find ways to touch me throughout the evening: a hand on my shoulder, fingers brushing mine as we reach for game pieces, a warm palm against my back. Small gestures that feel monumental.

And the best part? I never have to get used to living without those touches again.

As we head upstairs for the night, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe this is all some elaborate dream. I was sick a few days ago—maybe it’s returning, or maybe I’ve been hallucinating this entire time, some fever-induced fantasy. For all I know, I could be in a hospital bed right now, lost in a coma.

Ridiculous? Probably. But I’ve spent so long just surviving, just scraping by. Getting everything I never even dared to want feels surreal. Like I’m Clara in the Nutcracker, and any moment I’ll wake up to find the magic was never real.

“Everything okay?” Gabriel asks as we reach the bedroom.

“Everything’s perfect,” I say. “That’s what worries me.”

“What do you mean?”