Which brings me to my next beef I have with Gerald. The weasel is misleading Ingrid by not telling her everything andforcing her into a life she never asked for. Sacrificing his daughter’s happiness and freedom for his own survival.
It’s the same trap Winifred Batista’s family tried to spring on her. Este wouldn’t allow it. Neither will I. Because he’s right—everyone deserves the chance to choose where life takes them. Ingrid’s future shouldn’t be defined by her father’s sins. She deserves more, and I refuse to sit back and watch him steal her choices from her.
It’s why I’m here. Prepared. I called for a meeting with both men. Neither dared to decline. My reputation commands respect. When I summon someone, they answer. Wealth and royal blood have a way of demanding attention. There isn’t any other option.
I’m the Duke of Falcon—enough said.
When I arrive at the private gentlemen’s club, my guests are waiting for me. The air here is thick with wealth’s perfume—dirty fortunes and backroom deals, traded by men who think secrecy can be bought.
The shadows here hold more than business. It offers a stage where its members can watch women strip bare without judgment. Most would never guess clubs like this exist. Assuming such indulgence belongs only to brothels or strip joints. They couldn’t be more wrong.
Debauchery is everywhere. Criminals rarely look the part. Here they hide behind tailored suits and polished manners. From the outside, it may look exclusive, but cross the threshold and the purpose is clear.
“You’re late.” Gerald barely looks up, his mouth full of his overpriced steak, his gaze lost on theentertainmentunfolding on stage.
It’s a little early for me to indulge, but these men seem to think sex, lunch, and drinks go well with business.
Warren takes his time, chasing down a bite with a slow sip of his wine. “Our time is precious,” he says, but his gaze never shifts to me. It lingers instead on the ladies as they walk by, their bare chests and jeweled g-strings his only focus.
Neither man looks like he’s missed a meal for a few decades. And while I don’t care about appearances, these two could have walked off the set of a cheap film—slimy, overfed villains in ill-fitting suits. At least Wilson can afford better. Gerald? Not so much these days. And the comb overs—Christ. Straight out of the 70s. Fucking embarrassing.
I don’t bother with an apology. I’m here for one reason. To give them a chance to rethink this scheme they’ve been nursing for years. To toss it in the trash where it belongs. Children aren’t pawns. Warren’s son may gladly play the role—he’s as slimy as his father—but Ingrid isn’t. And I intend to make that clear.
Slapping a folder in front of each man, I take my seat.
This is what I live for. There is no greater satisfaction than witnessing truth pierce the darkness. And these two don’t disappoint. It’s amazing how quickly men falter when their sins are revealed.
“How did you get your hands on these?” Warren flips through the pages faster than I know he can read them. Probably because he doesn’t have to study them to know what they say. He knows every detail.
“It’s what I do, Mr. Culberson.”
“Who hired you?” Gerald inquires, looking a little green.
With a thoughtful frown, I tap my chin, the skin rough against my fingertip as I consider his question. “Does it really matter? The gig is up, and if you don’t want to get caught with your hands in the cookie jar, you’ll listen very carefully.”
They exchange a quick glance, a silent agreement. Secrets—men guard them tighter than gold, which is why they make the deadliest leverage. And theirs is big enough to bury them. If itgets out, some very dangerous men will come to collect their pound of flesh.
“Mr. Lennox, let’s start with you.” My stare pins him, hard enough to make him understand I’m not fucking around. “Call your daughter. Tell her things have changed. That this thing between her and Wilson Culberson is over—unless it’s her choice to continue it.”
Mr. Culberson voices a strong objection. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
“I’ll get to you in a second.” The urge to physically pull him from his chair by his tie to emphasize my point is strong, but I refrain. “Clench those butt cheeks and sit tight. This situation is messy enough without shitting it all up and adding to the stench.”
Mr. Culberson glares at me, but wisely shuts up.
“And why would I do that?” Mr. Lennox asks, his voice steady, though the tension in his shoulders remains.
“Because if you don’t, the first person I’m calling is Viktor.” Loosening my suit jacket, the crisp fabric rustling slightly, I settle back into my chair. “I wonder what he’d think of this new adventure you two are cooking up with Rueben. I bet he’ll have a ton to say about that.”
Sweat runs down his portly face as the lies spill out. “My daughter’s always been free to make her own choices. She cares for Wilson. Calling her is pointless. Let’s be reasonable. Tell us what it is you really want, Your Grace.”
“Don’t call me that. It’s Darius or Falcon. Nothing else. And if you’re suggesting some sort of payoff, let me remind you, Gerald, you have nothing to offer me.” When his face turns a ghostly white, I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m not here to negotiate. Your money is useless to me. It’s dirty. I’ve spent years purging the stains off my owninheritance.” I sneer. “Old shit is the hardest and worst to get out. The only thing you have to offer me is this.”
Taking it one step further, I lean forward, my elbows braced against the table, my stare cutting right through his bullshit. No room for doubt or negotiation. “Call her. Now. Put her on speaker so I know it’s really her.”
Gerald sits there and stares, dragging it out, as if weighing the risk of calling my bluff. Then he surprises me by pulling out his phone.
