Maxwell's POV
The gun in Damien's hand didn't waver.
My father was still pointing his weapon at both of us, his eyes wild and manic, his finger twitching on the trigger.
And I stood there, frozen, caught between the two of them, not knowing who was going to shoot first.
"Damien," our father said, his voice approving now. "Good. Very good. I knew you'd see reason eventually. The company should be yours. It was always meant to be yours."
"Dad's right," Damien said, and his voice was cold in a way I'd never heard before. "Maxwell, you've been running Wellington and Sons into the ground with your obsession over that woman. It's time for a change in leadership."
My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear over it.
He's playing along, I told myself desperately. He has to be playing along.
But the gun was so steady in his hand. And his eyes were so cold.
"Damien," I said quietly. "Don't do this."
