Page 160 of Mexico Can Choke On It
SteppingintotheCasaCashmere cigar lounge feels like walking into the devil’s lair—dark, smoky, and laden with power. Mahogany walls climb from marble floor to vaulted ceiling, glowing under a haze of amber light. The mounted heads of long-dead exotic animals track me from the shadows—trophies from men who killed not to survive, but to dominate. Their glass eyes lock on to me, unblinking, daring me to make a wrong move.
I sink into the bloodred leather armchair across from my father, the cushions molding around me like quicksand. He takes a long pull from his Cuban cigar, the ember glowing menacingly. The smoke coils like fingers in my lungs, but I don’t cough. That would be weakness. I force myself to breathe through it, one shallow inhale at a time.
He reaches for the crystal decanter beside him, pouring three fingers of scotch. He doesn’t offer me a drink. The message is unmistakable: Thisis no social call.
“You defied me again, Bryce. I instructed you to call Amanda. You did not. Do you think this is a game?”
I keep my voice steady. “You shouldn't have ambushed me like that. I was handling it.”
He swirls the scotch in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “From what I hear, there was only one thing you were handling.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you really believe I don’t monitor your every move? You’re Sterling Industries' most valuable asset, son. Every second of your life is under surveillance. I know about the closet, the midnight trysts, the carnival getaway. Don’t ever think you can pull one over on me.”
“You had me watched?”
“I had you protected.” He puffs the cigar like it’s a punctuation mark. “From catastrophic missteps. Like the one you’ve been making with Gavin’s trashy little sister.”
My spine goes cold, hands clenched into fists at my sides. When I speak, my voice comes out deadly quiet. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Call out the fact that your priorities are fucked? That your dick’s doing all your thinking for you? I handed you a strategic alliance, and you chose a bartender with a dirty mouth.”
Heat explodes behind my ribs. “Her name is Petra. And she’s not—”
“She’s a distraction. She’s insignificant. I’m here to stop you from pissing away everything this family has built for some working-class delusion. Snap out of it.”
“It’s not delusional. She’s the only authentic thing in my life.”
“Then why is she slinking home like a scolded dog?”
His smug satisfaction makes my stomach plummet. He’s studying my face, cataloging every expression.
“Oh, you don’t know,” he says with fake sympathy. “She saw Amanda and made the choice for you. Commercial flight. Coach class. Back to the shitty life where she belongs.”
My throat constricts. “She left?”
“Twenty-three minutes ago, to be precise. Even tattooed troublemakers recognize when they’re beaten. Smart girl. Saves us both the mess of a direct conversation.”
My father reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, black velvet box—a dark omen with one meaning. One message. He places it on the mahogany coffee table.
“Focus on what’s important—your future with Amanda.”
The ring glints, even in the low light. Thirty-five carats of flawless diamond, emerald cut, surrounded by a halo of smaller stones.It’s the same ring my grandfather used to propose to my grandmother in 1924, sealing the Sterling-Vanderbilt merger that turned two fortunes into an empire.
“Tomorrow night at the wedding reception, you’ll use that ring to propose to Amanda. Just like your grandfather did. Just like every Sterling man before you.”
“That’s… sudden. I haven’t even spoken to Amanda since our breakup.”
“I’ve handled the preliminaries.” He pours himself another scotch. “Told her you’ve been under considerable stress, making stupid mistakes, but that you’re ready to honor your commitments. She’s beside herself, of course. What woman wouldn’t be?”
I stare at the ring like it might grow teeth. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll discover what defying me costs. Not just you, but the people who depend on you. Starting with sixty million Heartvest users.”
The threat is a surgeon’s blade, twisting with cruel precision.
He’s not just threatening me—he’ll hurt every person whose financial future depends on our company going public. Every single mom working double shifts to send her kid to college, every blue-collar herotrying to build a nest egg, every hopeful soul who thought we’d help them climb the ladder to a better life.
