Alexander was behind the long ss table, sleeves rolled, the file spread open between us like an usation. My file. My name stamped across page after page in tinum emboss.


    EMILIA V. ADAMS XII


    “You stole it.” His anger clear without raising his voice. Fury in dynasty men never needed volume — it lived in restraint, in the pause.


    “I didn’t?—”


    “You stole my inheritance. My corridor. My heirs’ birthright.” He pushed the folder once, hard enough that it slid across ss. It hit the edge, pages going everywhere. “The ord was supposed to be mine.”


    I forced myself to hold his stare. “I didn’t ask for it.”


    “That doesn’t matter.” His jaw flexed once, twice. “The dynasty doesn’t care who asks. They care who holds. And right now the spine of our family, the Dynasty is in your hands instead of mine.”


    The weight of it pressed down on me — not just his fury, but the truth in it. The Liria ord wasn’t just a trade route. It was the lifeblood of the Adams Dynasty.


    I swallowed hard. “Maybe Father?—”<fn7c22> ??? ????? ???????s ??? ?????s??? ?? find?novel</fn7c22>


    “Don’t,” Alexander eyes sharpened. “Don’t try to sanctify this with his memory. He blindsided me. Blindsided the dynasty. Handed twelve generations of power to a girl who can’t hold her wine without fainting.”


    That was one time and it wasn’t the wine it was the micro-dosed lip balm. Charlotte was still experimenting with the doses.


    “You think this is some…pliment? It isn’t. It’s a fracture. And fractures get exploited until they shatter.”


    “What if I keep it?” I asked.


    His eyes narrowed. A silence, sharp as ss, stretched between us.


    Then heughed. Cold without humor.


    “If you keep it, you’ll be dead within a year.” He leaned forward, palms t on ss. “And when you die, it passes back into the dynasty anyway. That’s thew. You think you’ll outmaneuver dynasties older than Viin itself? You think the syndicates won’t gut you just to make a point? You’re not untouchable, Emilia. You’re bait.”


    The words hollowed me.


    But I refused to look away.


    “Then maybe I’ll learn.”


    “No. You’ll be used. That’s the difference. You’ve never run manifests through Estalia in winter. Never bribed a syndicate port with blood instead of money. Never stared down Captains who’d slit your throat just to check if Adams blood runs red like theirs.”


    “Don’t be na?ve.” He red at the folder for a moment. “This isn’t about you. It’s about us. About the Adams line. Our father’s corridor is our spine, and I will not let you turn it into a personal experiment in rebellion.”


    “So that’s it?” I asked. “You’re already nning to take it back?”


    “I don’t have to n,” he said coldly. “If you’re married, the corridor transfers to your husband. That’s how it works. I’ll find the right man, and through him the ord wille home.”


    I stared at my name across the table.


    “But I don’t want to fight you, Emmy.”


    The childhood name gutted me. He hadn’t called me that in years.


    “I don’t want to hurt you,” he went on. “Father left you something too big. Too dangerous. I’m the only one who can carry it without getting us both killed. That doesn’t mean you lose everything. It means you survive.”


    My chest tightened.


    He saw it.


    “One heir,” he said carefully. “That’s all it takes. One contract. One child registered into the Codex. And then? You’re done. Retired. I’ll make sure the man knows his ce. He takes a fraction, not the whole. You keep your safety. Your freedom. No dynasty stage, no endless tours. By twenty-five, you’re out. You get to vanish. That’s better than Father ever gave Mother.”


    I went still. Because part of me wanted to believe him.


    And he knew it.


    “It’s not punishment,” Alexander said. “It’s protection. I’ll find someone who doesn’t humiliate you. Who understands you’re an Adams, not a pawn. Better I choose than leave you to men who’ll take it all.”


    His eyes held mine. But there was something else underneath — conviction. The kind that made him sound almost merciful.


    “You think I’m the enemy. I’m not. I’m the one standing between you and the wolves.”


    I wanted to scream again. Wanted to call him liar. Maniptor. Dynasty first, brother second.


    But the words stayed stuck in my throat.


    Because he wasn’t wrong.


    And that was the worst part.


    Alexander’s voice smoothed as though fury could be reced with strategy.


    “I’ll cancel the parade,” he said.


    The words stopped me.


    He watched me carefully, letting them hang in the air, calcted mercy dressed as concession. “The tour after your twenty-first was supposed to be staged. Contracts paraded, heirs lined up like auctioneers. That was before the will. Before the ord. I’ll cancel it. No showcases.”


    I blinked. Slowly. My pulse was a drum against my ribs.


    He leaned back in his chair, steady, controlled. “You’re not for sale. I’ll prove that. The Adams name won’t stand you beneath chandeliers like an ornament to be bartered. I’ll shield you from it.”


    My throat tightened.


    Because part of me wanted to believe him. To believe there was mercy hidden beneath all the dynasty sharpness. That my brother — myst anchor — would step into the role Father left behind and protect me, not trade me.


    But the other part — the part still raw from years of rehearsed smiles, from every etiquette drill, from being told one day you’ll be leverage — knew better.


    The fact was, father had made sure Alexander would have to.


    I looked at the paper across the table.


    Our father didn’t agree with a lot of what the Dynasty said. That was the reason I sat on hisp for most meeting


    “Wasn’t that always your job?” I asked softly.


    His eyes flicked sharp.


    “You were supposed to be shielding me already. When they paraded me through Ascension Hall at fourteen. When they made me bow in dresses to men who measured my waist like it was livestock stocktaking. When they sat me beside cousins twice my age and whispered dowry numbers under the table. Weren’t you meant to be stopping that then?”


    The silence cut colder than his fury had.


    He exhaled through his nose, “I was protecting what I could. But I didn’t have the ord then to leverage the Dynasty. Now I do. Through you.”


    “Through me,” I repeated bitterly.


    “Yes. And that makes me dangerous enough to pull you out of the parade. To tell the Sovereign Council that you won’t be auctioned. That we’ll find the right person, not the highest bidder.”


    His voice dropped, almost kind. “You want control? This is how it starts. I’ll choose with you, not for you. I’ll make sure he understands. That he knows you’re not just a name to absorb. That the ord isn’t his to bleed.”


    The way he said it almost sounded like love.


    But I could see the truth beneath it — the same truth I had seen when he folded the folder shut. His promise wasn’t for me. It was for the dynasty. The corridor.


    And yet… a part of me still wanted to hold the words close.


    Because when he said you’re not for sale, it almost felt like he meant it. Almost.