Then she stopped in front of Laura, cool eyes raking her over like she was something unpleasant smeared on an expensive rug.
"You know," Jeanine began, her voice deceptively soft, laced with venom, "I used to think maybe you were different. That maybe you were the one who meant something to him. That you were the one he actually cared for."
Laura's lips parted, her eyes wide with confusion. She took a half-step back.
"But you weren't," Jeanine continued, ice in her tone now. "You're not special. You're not clever. You're just one in a long, tired line of cheap replacements—disposable distractions he used until they were used up. You think you are the only one he promised to make CEO? please, you're just another body he draped over his ego like a suit that never quite fit."
Laura's face crumpled, her mascara smudging as tears welled up. Then she straightened, turned on her heel without another glance, and walked away—leaving silence and shame in her wake.
"I—I didn't do anything!" Laura stammered, voice cracking. "This wasn't my fault, James, tell them! I didn't know—"
"I will destroy both of you idiots!" he roared, his voice cracking like a whip through the room. Then he turned on me, lip curling in disgust. "My God, you are a forever disappointment."
I flinched—couldn't help it—but it didn't surprise me. The venom in his voice was familiar, a tune he'd played for years. The words still stung, but they didn't penetrate like they used to.
Then I felt it—a steady, grounding pressure. A manly hand on my shoulder. Warm. Certain.
Joseph leaned in and whispered, quiet but fierce, "I've got you."
Then he straightened, voice rising like a slow burn into the room's cold silence.
"Wow," Joseph said, clapping slowly, deliberately, every smack of palm against palm echoing with contempt. "The Devil and his demonic muse—how touching. I didn't realize we were doing a costume party tonight. Should I grab pitchforks, or just burn this whole place down for ambiance?" He took a step forward, eyes locked on them both. "well, it is Hell's hottest couple. Come on, did you bring marshmallows? Or just the flames of generational trauma?"
My father's face darkened, jaw twitching with fury, but Joseph didn't flinch. He stood tall beside me, defiant, his sarcasm cutting through years of fear like a blade. And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe.
"Go to hell, Joseph," my dad said coldly, his voice slicing through the tension in the room like a blade.
Joseph raised an eyebrow, smirking as if he'd been waiting for the invitation. "No, thanks, Satan. Appreciate the offer, really—but I've got brunch later. Somewhere with actual flavor and fewer morally bankrupt ex-heroes lurking in the corners."
He brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve, eyes flashing with the kind of arrogant charm that had always made my skin crawl.
"But you," he added with a venom-laced grin, "you go ahead. Take that flavorless, pathologically repressed, patchouli-scented witch with you. God, You two have the charisma of a cold omelette and the ethics of a malware pop-up. It's honestly impressive."
My dad's jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides.  " Call my lawyers!" My father screamed.
"Yeah, it won't do you much good, no one would answer if they want to keep their jobs," I said, voice steady.
The old man sneered, his eyes full of venom. "Don't be stupid as usual. I will destroy you all."
Before I could answer, Joseph stepped forward like a showman taking center stage. He clapped his hands once, mock-enthusiastically. "Oh, please. Destroy? You've been trying to play god with the emotional toolkit of a broken Roomba. All you will do is spin in circles and bump into your own failures." He turned to face him fully, arms wide, grin wicked. "It takes a real masterpiece of failure—a father and a man—to make his entire family look at him and feel nothing but disgust. Congratulations, that's not disappointment anymore, that's legacy-level loathing. You're like a fine wine—bitter, overestimated, and best forgotten in a cellar."