The house was alive with movement-staff moving discreetly through the hallways, bodyguards stationed by the entrance, the hum of last-minute travel preparations filling the space. Isabelle stood in the foyer, double-checking one of the twins' bags, her fingers smoothing over the zipper before she glanced at the clock. The car was already waiting outside, and the jet was prepped. Everything was ready.

Everything except for the one thing she couldn't control.

Her phone had been buzzing all morning-messages about schedules, reminders from assistants, updates from work-but the one message she was actually waiting for hadn't come. She had sent Kendall a quick Good luck hours ago, and the silence since then was making her uneasy.

She didn't want to make a thing out of it, didn't want to act like she was checking her phone for that specific reason. But she was. And Charles, annoyingly perceptive as always, had already noticed.

"You still waiting for the Prince of Bel-Heir to text back?" he asked casually, stepping into the room, adjusting his watch.

She shot him a look. "Not helping."

"I didn't think I was," he said, too easily. "But if you want me to lie, I can do that too. Let's see-I'm sure Kendall's just a little busy plotting a very well-thought-out and entirely successful coup against his father. That work?"

She exhaled sharply through her nose, turning her attention back to the twins' suitcase instead of responding. Charles wasn't wrong. That was the problem.

"Are we actually leaving, or are we just standing around pretending we're leaving?"

Annie's voice cut through the room, and Isabelle looked up just in time to see the twins descending the stairs. Annie, unsurprisingly, had barely bothered with her coat, the sleeves hanging off her shoulders as she pulled her suitcase behind her with the kind of carelessness that suggested she assumed someone else would deal with it. Hallie, on the other hand, had her bag properly packed, her coat zipped, already prepared to leave.

"Coat," Isabelle said, giving Annie a pointed look.

"It's on," Annie argued, making no move to fix it.

"It's falling off."

Annie sighed dramatically but shoved her arms through the sleeves properly.

Charles, watching the entire exchange, leaned toward Isabelle and murmured, "Clearly, you've got everything under control."

She ignored him, shifting her attention to the twins instead. "Bodyguards are ready. The jet's waiting. You have your iPads, books, everything?"

Hallie nodded. Annie gave a vague yeah, yeah that wasn't even remotely convincing.

Charles was already checking his watch again. "Alright, let's move. The car's outside."

One of the bodyguards took the twins' bags as they stepped outside, the autumn air crisp but not unbearable. The chauffeur was already waiting by the car, the doors held open, the security detail ensuring everything was set.

Isabelle slid into the backseat next to Charles, the twins settling in across from them. As soon as the doors shut, Annie flopped dramatically against the seat. "Why do we have to leave so early?"

Isabelle arched an eyebrow. "Because we don't do chaos. We're not sprinting to the jet like lunatics."

Hallie gave Annie a look. "Like last time."

"That was one time," Annie muttered.

"No, it was twice," Hallie corrected.

Charles let out a quiet laugh, stretching his legs as he got comfortable. "They really take after you."

"Selective memory and dramatics? Yeah, I know," Isabelle said dryly, but her mind was already drifting back to her phone, still sitting silent in her lap.

She glanced at the screen again, checking the time.

Kendall should have answered by now.

--------------------

The car rolled to a smooth stop at the foot of the jet. The bodyguards were already moving, opening doors, ensuring the path was clear. The pilot was waiting at the top of the stairs, and the twins were the first ones out. Hallie climbed up with the effortless ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. Annie, dragging her bag behind her like it was some great burden, took her time. Charles followed, adjusting his coat as he glanced back at Isabelle, expecting her to be right behind him.

She wasn't.

Her phone buzzed again, the latest in a string of vibrations she had ignored for the last hour. She exhaled, finally glancing down at the screen.

New Messages

Harriet Spencer (Waystar PR): Jesus, Izzy, tell me you knew this was coming
John Rice (legal): We should talk.
Sasha Lane (friend from Harvard): Uhhh wtf is happening?
Emily Klein (Waystar News): Call me back, seriously.
Alex Denning (finance guy she barely spoke to): Hope you're okay, let me know if you need anything.
Margo Lutz (Gerri's assistant): I don't know what to say. This is brutal.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, her breath steady, but her pulse kicked up slightly. She tapped out of the messages, opening the notifications instead.

VOTE OF NO CONFIDENCE FAILS-LOGAN ROY REMAINS CEO
KENDALL ROY LOSES POWER STRUGGLE, LOGAN FIRES MULTIPLE EXECUTIVES
WAYSTAR IN CHAOS FOLLOWING ATTEMPTED COUP

Her stomach tightened.

"Mom?"

Hallie's voice pulled her back. She looked up to see both twins standing at the entrance of the jet, Annie leaning against the doorframe, Hallie frowning slightly.

"You're not coming?" Hallie asked, reading her too well.

"Uhhh-work thing," Isabelle said, slipping her phone into her coat pocket like it wasn't burning a hole through her palm. "I have to go."

Annie groaned. "Ugh, why is it always work?"

Hallie nudged her. "She's leaving, stop whining."

Isabelle stepped forward, wrapping an arm around each of them in a quick hug before pressing a kiss to the top of Annie's head.

"You have your iPads?"

"Yes," Hallie answered, already turning to walk inside.

"Annie?" Isabelle pressed.

"Ugh, yes, I have it," Annie muttered, stepping back toward the cabin.

Charles appeared behind them, already watching her with narrowed eyes. He motioned for her to get in.

She didn't move.

Instead, her phone rang.

Shiv.

She answered without thinking.

"Did you fucking know?" Shiv's voice came through immediately, sharp, clipped.

Isabelle exhaled, gripping the edge of the car door lightly. "No."

"Jesus Christ," Shiv muttered. "It's a fucking massacre. Dad fired Kendall, Frank, Laird, Asha. People are being dragged out of their offices-like, security is walking them out, no warning, nothing."

Isabelle's jaw tightened. She should have seen this coming. She should have known it wouldn't just end with Kendall losing.

Shiv kept going, but another call interrupted-her father.

She closed her eyes for a second before cutting Shiv off. "I have to go."

"Wait, Izzy-"

"I'll call you later."

She hung up, inhaled slowly, then answered Logan's call.

"You need to be at the office now."

No greeting. No preamble. Just the order.

"Da-"

The line went dead.

She stared at the screen for half a second before shoving the phone back into her pocket. Logan was never not direct, but something about that made her uneasy. Did Kendall sell her out? Was that why she had to be there right now?

A shadow shifted in front of her.

Charles.

"What's going on?" he asked, stepping closer.

She turned her head toward him. "The vote failed."

Charles let out a slow breath. "Fucking hell."

Before he could say anything else, she looked him straight in the eye. "And if you say I told you so, I will fuck you up."

His lips twitched, but he wisely didn't say anything.

"I need another car," she said. "I can't leave the girls alone, but I need to go. Now."

Charles studied her for a second, then nodded. "I'll wait. Go."

She turned, stepped into the waiting car, and shut the door before she could think twice.

--------------------

Isabelle stepped out of the elevator, her heels clicking against the marble floors as she made her way toward Logan's office. The air felt heavier here, the kind of silence that came after something had already been burned to the ground. She knew before she even stepped inside that this wasn't just going to be a conversation. It was a trial.

She pushed open the door and immediately stopped.

Kendall was already there.

Sitting in one of the chairs across from Logan's desk, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes distant, looking like someone had scraped whatever was left of him off the pavement. He didn't look up when she walked in.

Her stomach dropped.

Logan was behind his desk, leaning back slightly in his chair, hands resting on the arms like a king watching his latest execution. His face was unreadable, which was worse than anger. Anger was predictable. This was not.

The room stayed quiet.

Then Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "You think I believe he did this alone?"

His voice was steady, but there was something underneath, something that felt like a slow, creeping tide coming in to drown whoever was unlucky enough to be standing in its way.

She didn't move.

Logan's eyes settled on her. "You think I believe your siblings suddenly grew a fucking spine and pulled off a coup?"

She said nothing.

He leaned forward, pressing his hands against the desk. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

The words were precise, cutting.

She met his gaze. "No."

Logan's stare didn't waver. He waited, watching.

She didn't flinch.

But then, against her will, the hesitation crept in-not in her words, but in the way she swallowed a little too hard, in the way her fingers flexed slightly at her sides.

His eyes flicked over the movement. He caught everything.

"You sure about that?" His voice was softer now, which made it worse.

"I wasn't-I wasn't part of this." She hated the slight shake in her voice.

Logan let a beat pass before speaking again. "No? Not even a little?"

"No."

"You didn't help?"

"No."

"You didn't know?"

"No."

The word was coming out too fast now, and Logan knew it.

He nodded slightly, like he was considering something. Then: "You didn't find them a place to meet? Didn't make a call? Didn't-" he gave a sharp little wave of his hand, "-whisper in the wrong ear?"

Her throat felt dry. "No."

Logan just sat there, letting the air in the room settle around them. Then he shook his head slightly. "You always were a shit liar."

Her stomach turned.

And then, Kendall spoke.

"She had nothing to do with this," he said, voice quiet, rough.

Logan's head turned toward him, slow and deliberate.

Kendall straightened slightly, still looking at his father, not at her. "She wasn't involved," he repeated. "I swear on my life."

Logan stared at him, unblinking. Then, after what felt like forever, he leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Well," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his chin before waving her off. "Get out."

Isabelle exhaled, but it didn't feel like relief. She turned, making her way toward the door, already reaching for the handle-

"I hope you're telling the truth," Logan said behind her, voice still even.

She stopped.

"Because if I find out you lied," he continued, "if you were involved in so much as finding them a restaurant to talk in-"

The pause was deliberate, cruel.

"You'll regret having me as your father."

She didn't turn around. Didn't breathe. She just gripped the door handle tighter, pushed it open, and walked out.

--------------------

The drive home felt longer than it was. Isabelle sat in the backseat, her elbow resting against the door, fingers absently touching her temple. She wasn't thinking about the route or the car or even the fact that she hadn't eaten all day. Her mind was circling back, looping through her father's words, Kendall's silence, the way Logan had looked at her like he was waiting for the moment she would crack.

Her phone was silent now, but she knew the world wasn't. People were talking. Probably about her, about the boardroom massacre, about what came next. She just wasn't ready to look at it yet.

When the car finally pulled up to the townhouse, the driver opened her door. She stepped out, adjusting the sleeve of her coat before heading inside.

Charles was already home, standing by the bar with a glass of water, sleeves rolled up, a subtle crease between his brows when he looked up at her.

"How was it?" he asked, setting the glass down.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, kicking off her heels as she walked past him toward the couch. "How was it?" she repeated, dragging a hand through her hair. "Do you want the version where my father made me feel like I was already guilty? Or the one where my brother had to swear on his life that I wasn't?"

Charles followed her, watching as she sat down. "How about the version where you tell me how you feel about it?"

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I don't know."

"Don't know how to say it, or don't know what you feel?"

She looked at him, tilting her head slightly. "Both."

He didn't press. He just sat down across from her, studying her for a moment before speaking again. "Let's work backwards. You don't feel nothing, because you don't check your phone this much when you don't care."

She exhaled sharply, looking away. "I wasn't checking-"

"You were." His voice was even, not accusing, just stating the obvious. "So, if you're checking for something, that means there's something you're looking for. A reaction? An outcome? Validation?"

She didn't answer.

Charles leaned back slightly, watching her. "If it's guilt, you could apologize."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "No. It's too far."

He nodded, waiting. "Too far to apologize or too far to fix?"

Her jaw tightened slightly. "I didn't force him to do it."

"No. But you did help him."

"Not really," She let out a slow breath, her gaze flicking toward the window. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Charles was quiet for a moment, then said, "Yeah, well, most things don't."

She glanced back at him, but he just lifted his hands in surrender. "Look, I'm not here to lecture you. I'm just saying... If you don't know how you feel, maybe start there. You don't have to fix it. But don't pretend you're fine either."

She didn't say anything right away. Just sat there, breathing. Then, after a moment, she shifted slightly. "Are you not going to work?"

"Took the day off."

She nodded, the smallest hint of relief washing over her. "Thanks."

Charles gave her a small smile. "You don't have to thank me for that."

She still did. Leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips, lingering for half a second longer than she needed to before pulling away.

A knock at the door made them both glance up.

Charles' assistant stepped in, a sleek tablet in hand. "Sir, this just came in. Thought you'd want to see it."

Charles frowned slightly but took the tablet, adjusting his glasses as he scrolled through the email. His expression shifted almost immediately. His brows furrowed. His mouth pressed into a tight line. Then he did something he almost never did-he removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What the fuck?"

Isabelle frowned. "What?"

Charles glanced up at her, then back at the screen, as if rereading to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "It's an invitation."

"To what?"

"To a family therapy retreat at Connor's ranch." He looked at her, dead serious. "From your father."

She stared at him. Then, after a beat, she let out a short, breathy laugh. Not because it was funny, but because it was so insane that she didn't know what else to do.

Charles held the tablet out toward her. "Tell me I'm having a stroke and this isn't real."

She took it, scanning the email, her lips parting slightly as she read the details. Logan. Family. Retreat. Connor's ranch.

She hadn't even begun to process it when her phone started ringing.

She glanced down. Connor.

She sighed, rubbing her temple before answering.

"Hey, Jessica," Connor's voice came through, hesitant, like even he wasn't sure how to open this conversation.

"Uh, Connor."

"So, uh, did you get the email?"

"Yes."

A pause.

"Okay, good, because I wanted to make sure it wasn't a scam."

She exhaled, letting her head fall back against the couch. "No, no it's real."

Another pause. Then Connor let out a quiet, breathy laugh. "Jesus."

"Yeah."

"So...?"

"So what?"

Connor made a vague noise. "Are we actually doing this? Like, is Dad suddenly into emotional reconciliation or is this just a new way to fuck with us?"

Isabelle rubbed her forehead. "Do you really need me to answer that?"

"No. No, I do not."

A beat of silence.

Then, quieter, he asked, "Are you okay?"

She closed her eyes for a second before answering. "I don't know."

Connor didn't push. Just let the silence settle for a moment before sighing. "Yeah. Me neither."

She opened her eyes again, glancing toward Charles, who was still sitting across from her, watching, waiting.

"I'll talk to you later," she muttered.

"Yeah, okay." A beat. Then: "Good luck."

She ended the call, dropping the phone onto her lap, pressing her fingers against her temple again.

Charles arched an eyebrow. "So?"

She sighed. "He wanted to make sure the email wasn't a scam."

Charles let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Honestly? Fair question."

She exhaled, glancing at the tablet again, the words family therapy retreat practically taunting her.

"What the hell is this?" she muttered.

Charles leaned back, stretching slightly. "I don't know, but it's definitely not therapy."