Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“And until then?” I ask.
“We stay quiet,” he replies. “We stay composed. And we stay in control.”
Grant nods like this is all a business seminar. “We’ll handle the PR. You handle being cooperative.”
I stiffen. “I’m not your puppet.”
Grant’s eyes gleam. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s where you’re wrong.”
My father gives him a sharp look. But not sharp enough. I inhale slowly, pushing the air deep into my chest.
If I speak now, I’ll explode.
So I don’t respond.
I turn and walk out.
Close the office door softly behind me, even though I want to rip it off the hinges.
Once I’m in the hallway, the breath I’ve been holding slips out in a tremor.
The fire. The insurance lapse. The fear in my father’s voice . . . How is this the same man who once bragged he could buy God if the price was right?
Something is wrong. I don’t know what, but I can feel that a change is coming, and I’m not sure what that means.
I force myself to breathe, then for my legs to move, and as I head down the hallway, I try to silence my thoughts.
But as I walk through the steel corridors of my family’s empire—shaking, pretending not to be afraid—one truth curls cold and certain in my chest.
If this is just the beginning . . .
We are not ready for the storm that’s coming.
25
Lorenzo
The report hits my desk with a thud.
I don’t look up at first. Because if I do, and it has anything to do with Victoria, I might put someone through the drywall.
Then Dom, the head of my private household security, clears his throat.
My jaw tightens. “If you’re coughing like that, you’d better be dying.”
Dom shifts his weight. “You need to see this.”
He slides the file closer. I flip it open. The first page is a still image from a security camera—time-stamped ten minutes ago. It’s taken inside Danforth Steel’s executive conference room.
And there she is.
Victoria.
Standing at the end of a long conference table like she’s made of glass and fury. Hair twisted back. Jacket thrown over one arm. The look on her face? Pure steel.
The look I remember.
The look that ruined me the first time.
My pulse spikes in my throat.
She’s talking. Arguing probably. Her father’s across from her, looking like he swallowed a grenade. Grant Jameson sits beside him wearing that smug, oily confidence I’d like to beat off his face with a chair.
I flip the page so hard it tears.
Another angle.
Another shot of her.
Eyes sharp. Chin up. Tension in every line of her body like she’s holding herself together with sheer force of will. Something hot and ugly twists in my chest.
He shifts again, carefully keeping his distance. “She was at the office today. From my intel, they were discussing the fire. Thought you’d want to know.”
I tap two fingers on the photo, slow, controlled . . . deadly. “She looks tired.”
Dom stays quiet.
Smart man.
I slam the file shut. “Get me every detail from that meeting. Verbatim. I want the audio. I want the minutes. I don’t care who you have to blow to get it, get it.”
“Already on it,” Dom replies before heading out.
Smart move since I’m clearly unhinged with my obsession.
The moment the door clicks shut, I stand so fast my chair skids back.
She looks tired.
Good.
Let her feel a fraction—a sliver—of what I felt when I woke up one morning to find her gone, replaced by a note.
Fuck.
Even now, five years later, it still feels like I’ve been stabbed in the chest.
I push the file aside and grab the next stack waiting for me.
Financial analysis.
Market reports.
Risk evaluations.
The kind of data you could build a war out of, and I will.
I drag my finger down the first column.
Danforth cash flow.
Bleeding.
Hard.
Laughing under my breath, I flip another page. A graph shows a sharp downward drop. The kind that ends careers. The kind that destroys dynasties.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I trace the line. “Your castle is cracking.”
The fire at the steel plant was the first domino.
And now the reports show exactly what I expected.
They are hemorrhaging money, and the investors are panicking.
The downfall will be delicious.
I take my time reading every page, savoring the numbers, and when the door bursts open without a knock, I don’t flinch. I know who it is. Only one person in this house would enter without permission.
Rafe strolls in like he owns the place.
He glances around the room, eyes landing on the open bottle of tequila, then the half-shredded report on the floor.
“Jesus.” Rafe whistles, leaning against the doorframe. “Did you lose a fight with your office again, or is this part of the aesthetic you’re curating? I thought you only destroyed the warehouse, but this is making me think you need anger management classes.”
“Get out,” I mutter, not bothering to look up.
He ignores me.
“Rude,” he says, stepping farther inside and helping himself to the whiskey on my shelf. “Is this about business or the girl?”