The black luxury car rolled smoothly through the winding roads of Beverly Hills, past grand estates hidden behind towering hedges and wrought iron gates. Claire watched as they approached a massive, almost fortress-like mansion, its pristine white exterior looming under the golden California sun.
She stole a glance at Morgan, who hadn't said a word since they landed. Her expression was unreadable, her fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against her knee.
The car slowed, and a tall, suited driver stepped out to open the door. Morgan barely acknowledged him as she stepped out, Claire following close behind.
A set of large double doors swung open before they could even knock.
Standing in the grand marble-floored entrance was Victor Pierce.
The moment Claire laid eyes on him, she understood why Morgan had been so tense.
Victor Pierce was a man who exuded control. He was older, in his late fifties, but carried himself with the authority of someone who never needed to raise his voice to command a room. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, his sharp gray eyes assessing.
But there was no warmth in them.
No welcoming embrace. No fatherly smile.
Only cold, cutting words.
"You're late."
Claire stiffened at the sheer weight of his voice. It wasn't raised, yet it filled the space as if it had been shouted.
Morgan, to her credit, didn't flinch. Didn't acknowledge his words at all. She simply strode past him, her heels clicking against the polished floors as if she owned the place.
Claire hesitated before following, but Victor's gaze flickered toward her, pinning her in place for a split second.
He was studying her. Measuring her.
Then, just as quickly, he turned away.
They walked through the mansion, and Claire took in the surroundings with quiet curiosity.
The place was immaculate, cold in its perfection. Everything was expensive—sleek black-and-white decor, marble floors, high ceilings with crystal chandeliers. But what struck Claire most was the absence of something.
No family photos.
Not a single picture of Morgan's mother. No relatives. No childhood memories displayed.
Just framed images of Victor Pierce and Morgan.
Always separate. Never together.
A chill ran through Claire.
They reached the dining room, where an absurdly long mahogany table was already set. The sheer amount of food displayed—glistening roasts, carefully plated side dishes, even a towering dessert tray—felt excessive for three people.
Victor took his seat at the head of the table. Morgan remained standing, arms crossed.
"We didn't come here for a family meal," she said flatly.
Victor didn't look up as he poured himself a glass of wine. "You will sit and eat before we get down to business."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
It was the kind of voice that filled the entire house, that left no room for argument.
Claire could feel the tension radiating from Morgan, saw the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
But then, after a long moment—
She pulled out a chair and sat down.
Claire followed suit, her heart pounding as she glanced between the two of them.
A father and daughter who might as well have been strangers.
The meal had begun, but Claire couldn't shake the feeling that she was sitting at a battlefield.
-------
The meal had been tense, a forced display of civility at best. But the moment the plates were cleared, the air shifted. The false pretense of a family dinner dissolved, leaving behind only an icy, business-like atmosphere.
Morgan pushed back her chair and stood, her movements precise and deliberate. Without a word, she pulled a thick stack of neatly prepared documents from her bag and handed them to a nearby servant.
"Give these to him," she instructed, her voice devoid of warmth.
The servant obeyed immediately, walking the papers over to Victor, who took them with an almost lazy disinterest. He barely glanced at them before chuckling—a low, condescending sound that made Claire's stomach twist.
"She won't get a dime more than I give her already," he said, flipping through the pages with practiced ease.
Claire frowned, confused. Who was he talking about?
Morgan's jaw tightened. "This isn't a negotiation, Father. You're going to sign those papers and comply with the agreement."
Victor finally looked up, his sharp gray eyes settling on her with quiet amusement. "And what makes you think you have the authority to dictate terms to me?"
Morgan didn't so much as blink. "Because I'm not the scared little girl you used to control," she said coolly. "I'm one of the most dominant forces in the legal world. And if you refuse to comply, I'll take you to court."
Victor let out a slow exhale, setting the papers down. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something assessing.
Claire could feel the tension like an electric current crackling through the room. It was a battle of wills, a silent war fought between father and daughter, neither willing to back down.
Then, Victor leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling together.
"You've certainly grown into quite the woman, Morgan," he mused. "Powerful. Fearless. Ruthless, even."
His lips curved into something that might have been a smirk.
"A shame you had to learn it the hard way."
Morgan's eyes darkened, but she didn't rise to his bait. Instead, she reached for Claire's hand, gripping it firmly as she turned on her heel.
"We're done here," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Without waiting for a response, she strode out of the dining room, Claire in tow.
Victor didn't stop her. He didn't call after her.
He simply watched, his gaze unreadable, as his daughter walked away.
And as they left the cold, sprawling mansion behind, Claire couldn't help but feel like she had just witnessed something far bigger than a legal battle.
She had seen the remnants of a war that had been waged long before she ever entered Morgan's life.
-----
Morgan didn't let go of Claire's hand, even as they climbed into the waiting black sedan that would take them back to their hotel. Her grip was firm, almost too tight, and Claire could swear she felt it trembling.
The car was silent as they pulled away from the towering Pierce estate, the city lights of Beverly Hills flickering through the tinted windows.
Claire stole a glance at Morgan, whose face was turned toward the window, her expression carefully guarded.
But Claire knew better.
Morgan was never this quiet.
After several minutes of strained silence, Claire couldn't take it anymore. She reached out, gently tugging Morgan's hand to get her attention.
"Morgan, stop," Claire said softly.
Morgan blinked, as if pulled from a trance. "What?"
Claire squeezed her fingers. "Tell me what's going on. Who was he talking about? Who was the woman from the documents?"
Morgan tensed. She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line.
Claire wasn't going to let her shut down.
"If you're serious about us," Claire continued, her voice firm but gentle, "then you have to trust me. No more secrets."
Morgan let out a slow breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment before finally turning to face Claire. The hardness in her emerald gaze wavered, replaced by something almost… vulnerable.
"…It's my mother," she admitted at last. "I was trying to get her the settlement she—and my siblings—deserve."
Claire's brows furrowed. "Your mother?"
Morgan gave a slow nod, exhaling as if the words physically hurt to say.
"My parents divorced when I was young," she began, her voice quieter than Claire had ever heard it. "But it wasn't just any divorce. It was a war."
Claire listened intently, watching as Morgan's usual unshakable confidence cracked, just slightly.
"My father…" Morgan's lips curled into something bitter. "He left my mother with nothing. No money. No assets. Not even custody."
Claire's breath caught in her throat.
"He took everything," Morgan continued, voice thick with restrained anger. "The house. The company stocks. The properties. But worst of all? He took us—me, my younger sister, and my brother."
Claire's heart clenched.
Morgan's grip on her hand tightened.
"My mother fought for us. She tried. But my father was… is a ruthless, calculating man. He dragged her through the courts until she had nothing left. No money for attorneys. No resources. Nothing."
Claire could hear the raw pain in her voice now, the kind of hurt that never truly heals.
"That's why I became a divorce attorney," Morgan admitted, her gaze distant. "To make sure no one else—no woman, no mother—ever had to go through what she did. To get justice for people like her."
Claire swallowed the lump in her throat.
This wasn't just about legal battles or settlements. This was about Morgan's entire life. About her mother. Her siblings. About fighting for something her father had stolen from them all those years ago.
"And your mother?" Claire asked softly. "Have you… spoken to her?"
Morgan hesitated, then shook her head. "Not in years," she confessed. "My father made sure of that. He poisoned everything. Turned us against her."
Claire felt a pang in her chest.
"Now," Morgan continued, her voice a whisper, "I'm trying to make things right."