When your blood tells you you're nothing more than business, every knock on the door sounds like a sentence.
I got the call mid‑morning, a calm, collected voice on the other end saying, "Your father would like to meet you at the office." No preamble. No apology. No explanation. Just that.
I closed my laptop and stared at the blank screen for a long moment, heart hammering. The "office" was in the same building where the Evans family held court—glass walls, marble floors, gilded desks, and the kind of cold air-conditioning that made you shiver even in summer. The place of deals, of legacies, of power.
I drove there with Avery sitting beside me, silent, hands clenched. She rubbed my back every so often. When we pulled into the underground lot, I braced myself. This wouldn't be a nice meeting. It would be a reckoning.
The elevator ride up was quiet. Each floor ticked by. My reflections on the polished surfaces looked frail: pale, tense, unsteady.
Outside his office, I paused and inhaled. "I'll be fine," I told Avery. She squeezed my hand. "Don't let them gaslight you."
I stepped in. The door swung open. My father sat behind his massive desk, chairs before him, shelves lined with trophies, framed photocopies of board certifications, architectural plans, and awards. He looked almost small in that immense room.
He didn't stand up. He motioned to the chair in front of him. "Scarlett, sit."
I did, smoothing my skirt even though I knew it was pointless. My hands felt too large on my lap, the lines of my palms too visible.
"Thank you for coming," he said, voice measured, warm as iced tea.
I nodded. "You asked."
He rubbed his temples. "Look, Scarlett, I've seen the media coverage. The video. The memes. The gullible sympathy." He paused. "This has become a stain. On our name."
"My name," I said quietly. "Not yours."
He frowned slightly. "You misunderstand. The Evans name is yours."
I caught a flicker in his eyes—something like regret, or calculation, I couldn't be sure. "You stood against me today. In public." My voice trembled but I held it. "My fiancé. My dignity. My reputation."
He leaned back, arms folded. "It was a necessary sacrifice."
I blinked. "A sacrifice?"
"For the family's future." His tone was steely. "When the board meets next quarter, shareholders will talk. The press will talk. We need stability. You getting humiliated does not serve us. Ethan marrying Vanessa is… it was decided as a move to protect us."
"Protect us?" I echoed. "You made me collateral."
He pursed his lips. "It's business. Emotions are luxuries. You need to learn that."
My heart squeezed. "I was never just a luxury."
He regarded me in silence for a moment. "Do you want me to lie? To say this is painless? It's not. But the alternative is worse. Your stepmother wants to leak—rumors. Scandals. She wants to tie us to some scandal that will cost us millions. The competitors would pounce."
I swallowed. "You're saying I'm less valuable to the family than Vanessa now."
He sighed. "I'm saying what needed to be done. You were becoming a liability."
My pulse pounded. "A liability." The word echoed.
He leaned forward. "You're intelligent, Scarlett. Capable. Don't let pride blind you. This marriage move is a way to tie favorable capital, political leverage, outside investments into the Evans portfolio. Vanessa is more malleable. Easier to work with."
"Malleable? I'm not a puppet you discard when the strings tangle." My voice shook, but I got the words out.
He let me speak. Then he said, "You're emotional. Impulsive. You need someone who can be precise, strategic." He looked away. "You've always cared too much about what others think. Now that's your weakness."
I bit my lip. My throat felt raw. "You used me for image. For status. For gain. And when it became inconvenient, you tossed me aside like I was nothing."
He met my gaze, his face hard. "No. I did this for the name, for the legacy. You can understand that later. Maybe not now. But in time."
I stood abruptly. My chair scraped the floor. "I don't want to understand this. I want you to see me."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. The silence between us roared.
"I'm leaving," I said. "And when I choose to return—if ever—I will not be your instrument. I will be myself."
He didn't move. He didn't respond.
I walked to the door, my legs nearly shaky. I felt exposed, small, humiliated again… but a fire sparked in me.
Avery was waiting just outside the door. I walked out before him, shoulders stiff, eyes dry from holding back tears.
In the hallway, I paused. "He thinks I'm a liability."
She squeezed my hand. "He's mistaken."
I leaned back against the cool wall. "He said it was for the best of the family. As though I wasn't part of that family."
Avery nodded. "You are. You just need to separate your value from their lens."
I shook my head. "It hurts more than I thought it would. Knowing my own father… sided with her."
That evening, I sat on the balcony of the apartment—city lights flickering like distant stars. My phone glowed beside me. A message awaited:
"We should talk. I'll be in your life forever, no matter how you feel now. —Richard E."
I stared at it. Delete? Block? Respond? All crushed beneath the weight of dread and longing.
Avery came out to join me, wrapped in a knit shawl. I didn't look at her.
"He sent you that?" she asked quietly.
I nodded. "He didn't want to meet again. Just this." I showed her the message.
She scrolled the face he used. "He's sending emotional bullets after physical ones."
I smiled bitterly. "I'm tired of being the one who apologizes for being human."
We sat together in silence for a while. The breeze teased strands of hair across my face. The night hummed.
I thought back to how I'd grown up—smiling at dinner parties, posing in society portraits, being the "perfect daughter." I thought of the times my father praised discipline, decorum, restraint. I thought of Margot's quiet edge and protective affection she showed at just the right moments. I thought of Vanessa, the golden girl, always polished, always acceptable.
And I realized: I had always been fighting to earn my place.
But tonight, I didn't want to earn anything from them. I wanted to reclaim myself.
I turned to Avery. "I'm not asking for forgiveness from them. Not anymore. I want to build my own power… away from their shadows."
She nodded fiercely. "And I'll be here every step."
I closed my eyes, envisioning a version of me that was sharp and bold, untouchable. A version that didn't care whether my father saw me or not, because she was strong enough to see herself.
Night deepened, the city breathing around us. Pain still throbbed, but somewhere beneath it, in that quiet black space, resolve settled: I would not be forgotten. I would not be erased.
And when I returned — when they had to see me — they would not recognize the same girl they betrayed. They would see someone worthy. Someone unbreakable.