Genius Kids' Scheme: Claiming Daddy's Billionaire Empire Chapter 212: Choose Your Battles

The Haven car sliced through downtown traffic, streetlights flashing across Sophia's face. She'd barely spoken since leaving the family dinner, her mind stuck on Adam's reaction when Victor mentioned Irene.

"Our son's in trouble," she finally blurted, turning to Marcus. "Did you catch how he tensed up when that doctor's name came up? Like someone flipped a switch."

Marcus kept his eyes on the passing buildings, his silence saying more than words.

"He's actually falling for her," Sophia pressed, voice rising. "This is a nightmare."

She drummed her fingers against the window. "If she were just some random girl with no baggage, fine, whatever. But this woman?" She let out a huff. "Three kids, Marcus. She's dragging three kids into this."

The thought made her stomach knot. Her brilliant son—her perfect Adam—playing daddy to some other man's children? The image felt wrong on every level.

"And what exactly do you plan to do?" Marcus finally asked, voice weary. "The Wright girl ticks all your boxes, yet Adam barely notices her."

He shot his wife a sideways glance. "Face it, he's not twenty anymore. We don't get to pick who he dates."

"So we just roll over?" Sophia's eyes flashed. "While he ruins his life?"

Marcus wisely closed his mouth, recognizing the storm brewing beside him.

"We need a different approach," Sophia continued, her voice shifting from frustrated to calculating. Her eyes lit up as pieces clicked into place. "We introduce him to the right girls in casual settings. No pressure." Her lips curved into a smile. "And we find another doctor—someone better qualified. Once his legs heal, he won't need Dr. Sterling anymore."

She straightened in her seat, energy buzzing through her. "This connection will fade naturally—problem solved."

Marcus glanced at his wife's suddenly animated face. "If that makes you happy."

"It'll make our *son* happy," she corrected, already plotting her next move. "He just doesn't know it yet."

Later that evening, Irene glanced at her watch again, arranging her equipment for the third time. Adam was late—unusual for a man who treated punctuality like a religion.

When he finally wheeled through the door, she caught the shadows under his eyes, the tight line of his mouth.

"Sorry," he said, the word clipped.

"No big." She gathered her supplies and headed for the stairs. "Let's get started."

Upstairs, as she positioned electrodes along his leg, she noticed his attention drifting. His responses came delayed, his eyes fixed on some middle distance.

"Earth to Adam," she said, tapping his knee. "Everything okay in there?"

His focus snapped back, eyes settling on her face. For a moment, something raw flickered in his expression before he masked it.

"Work stuff," he said with practiced casualness. "Some components went missing. We got them back."

"That's it?" She adjusted an electrode, not buying his explanation. "You look like someone stole your lunch money."

He almost smiled at that. "Just tired."

Irene's hands moved with practiced precision across his leg. "Well, dial it back. Stress screws with nerve regeneration." She glanced up. "All this recovery work gets wasted if you're running yourself into the ground."

She caught his eyes lingering on her hands, her face. Something had shifted between them lately—something neither acknowledged out loud.

"I'll try," he said, voice softer than usual.

"You better," she replied, focusing on the equipment readings. "I hate repeating myself."

Adam watched her work, silently grateful she couldn't see the thoughts racing through his mind—Victor's thinly veiled threats, his own growing need to keep her separate from Haven's darker corners.

Three days later, Adam found himself trapped in Luxury Vista's most exclusive dining room, regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

His father's "important client meeting" had materialized as an obvious setup the moment he arrived. The client's daughter—perfectly polished, expertly trained in the art of high-society courtship—had claimed the seat beside him with practiced casualness.

"I've followed Haven Enterprise for years," she said, leaning just close enough for her perfume to reach him. "Your acquisition strategy is fascinating."

Throughout dinner, she hit every mark in the wealthy-wife-applicant playbook—laughing at his driest comments, dropping just enough business knowledge to seem informed without threatening, touching his arm at carefully calculated intervals.

Adam responded with textbook politeness and ice-cold emotional distance. He discussed quarterly projections like reading a phone book, answered questions efficiently, and ignored every opening she offered.

By dessert, even her father looked ready to call it a night, clearly realizing the matchmaking attempt had crashed and burned.

The second they escaped the restaurant, Adam turned to Thomas. "Cancel anything my father schedules that isn't explicitly labeled as work. No exceptions."

"Already on it," Thomas replied, fingers flying across his phone screen.

Adam stared out the window, jaw working. "Is he home?"

Thomas glanced up. "Yes."

"Take me there. Now."

Twenty minutes later, Marcus barely glanced up from his newspaper when Adam wheeled into the study, his entrance deliberately forceful enough to announce his mood.

"How was dinner?" Marcus asked with feigned innocence.

"Cut the crap," Adam replied, his voice carrying that quiet intensity that made boardroom opponents sweat. "What game are you and mom playing?"

Marcus carefully folded his paper, buying time. "It was just a business dinner."

"With a daughter who happens to be single, ambitious, and conveniently seated next to me?" Adam's eyes narrowed. "I'm not stupid, and I'm not a pawn in whatever scheme you two are running."

Marcus sighed, mask slipping. "Your mother worries. She only wants—"

"What she wants," Adam cut in. "Not what I need."

A heavy silence filled the room before Marcus spoke again. "She found a specialist. Someone she believes could speed up your recovery."

Adam's expression hardened. "My medical decisions are mine. Dr. Sterling stays."

"Your mother has already arranged for this doctor to meet you tomorrow."

"Cancel it."

Marcus spread his hands. "She's quite determined."

Something cold settled in Adam's chest. His mother had always been stubborn, but this level of interference felt different—more desperate, more calculated.

"This stops now," he said, voice deadly quiet. "Or things will get uncomfortable for everyone."

Hours later, Adam's office hummed with tension as he tried to defuse the crisis Victor's theft had triggered. The security breach had spooked investors, and now Lee—one of their biggest clients—was threatening to walk.

"Sir," Thomas pushed through the door, expression tight. "Lee's demanding an emergency call. Says he's heard about our missing components and is pulling all contracts unless you explain personally."

"Set it up," Adam replied, pulling out his phone. "Tell Irene I'll be late."

Before Thomas could move, Adam's phone lit up with a message from Irene:

"Your mom's here. With another woman."

Those few words hit like a punch to the gut. His mother had moved faster than anticipated, bringing her replacement doctor directly to his home—to Irene.

Adam's grip tightened on his armrest until his knuckles blanched white. The two crises pulled him in opposite directions. Lee's contracts represented billions in revenue, thousands of jobs, and market stability. But Irene was facing his mother completely unprepared for Sophia Haven's particular brand of elegant destruction.

For the first time in his career, Adam found himself genuinely torn about which fire to extinguish first. His business instincts screamed to handle Lee immediately. But something deeper—something he'd only recently begun to recognize—pulled him toward Emerald Garden with unexpected force.

*Time to choose, Haven.* The thought echoed as his phone lit up with another message—this one from Lee's assistant, confirming the emergency call was connecting in two minutes.