Victor steps forward. "Mr. Everett, I must insist you lower your voice and maintain appropriate distance."
My father ignores him completely, focus locked on me. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The Montgomery connection was decades in the making. Your little elopement with Blackwood has set our family back years in negotiations."
"Elopement?" I repeat, genuinely confused. "We had a wedding with three hundred guests. You were there."
"A wedding you tried to run from!" His voice rises again, spittle flying from his lips. "James Montgomery Senior approached me at the club yesterday. Said his sources confirmed you were caught trying to flee your husband at some godforsaken bus station in Indiana."
The blood drains from my face. I hadn't realized that information had spread beyond Gage and his security team.
"The Montgomerys are reconsidering the alliance with Violet," he continues, stepping closer. "Your selfishness threatens everything I've built."
"That's enough." Gage's voice cuts through the conservatory, calm but carrying unmistakable authority. He stands in the doorway, impeccable in a charcoal suit despite the early hour,his expression controlled but eyes dangerously cold. "This conversation is over, William."
My father whirls toward him. "You. You can't even control your own wife. What kind of man?—"
"My marriage is not your concern," Gage interrupts, moving to stand between us. "And you're no longer welcome on this property."
My father's face contorts with rage. "She's my daughter!"
"She's my wife," Gage counters, voice dropping to that dangerous tone I've come to recognize. "And you've just forfeited any visitation privileges you might have retained."
"You arrogant bastard." My father lunges forward suddenly, shoving past Gage to grab my arm with bruising force. "This isn't over, Penelope. Your disobedience has consequences."
Before I can react, his other hand swings up, connecting with my cheek in a stinging slap that snaps my head sideways. The shock of it freezes me in place, taste of copper flooding my mouth where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek.
What happens next blurs in my memory—Gage's controlled demeanor shattering as he grabs my father by the throat, slamming him against the nearest wall with enough force to rattle the glass panels of the conservatory. Victor and the second guard moving swiftly to restrain rather than separate, following some unspoken protocol that suggests this reaction was anticipated.
"You will never touch her again." Gage's voice is barely recognizable, a primal growl that raises the hair on my arms. His forearm presses against my father's windpipe, not quite cutting off air but making breathing a conscious effort. "You will never speak to her again. You exist in this city solely by my tolerance, William. Remember that."
My father's face purples, eyes bulging as he claws ineffectively at Gage's arm. For a terrible moment, I think Gage might actually kill him.
"Gage," I say quietly, the word emerging as barely more than a whisper.
It's enough. His head turns slightly toward me, though his grip doesn't loosen.
"Not here," I continue, voice steadier now. "Not like this."
His expression takes on a calculative look. With deliberate control, he releases my father, stepping back as Victor and the guard move in to secure him.
"Remove him from the property," Gage instructs, straightening his cuffs with precise movements. "Full restriction protocol. No exceptions."
My father, still gasping for air, manages to spit out one final threat as they drag him toward the door. "This isn't over, Penelope. You'll regret choosing him over family."
When they're gone, silence falls over the conservatory. I stand perfectly still, one hand rising unconsciously to touch my cheek where the skin still burns from the impact.
Gage crosses to me in three long strides, his fingers gentle as they tilt my face toward the light, examining the mark that's surely reddening already.
"Ice," he says, the word clipped. "And the doctor should examine you."
"It's just a slap," I reply, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "I've had worse."
His expression darkens at the implication. "That's not a comfort, Penelope."
Before I can respond, Mrs. Henderson appears with an ice pack wrapped in a soft cloth. Gage takes it, pressing it gently against my cheek.
"I've already called Dr. Fielding," she informs us. "He'll be here within the hour."
"That's not necessary," I begin, but Gage's expression silences my protest.
