Her photo.
Victoria in white, smiling at a man whose hand shouldn’t be there. I drag my thumb across her image—slow, almost tender.
Then I lean back in my chair. “She’ll come back to me.” My jaw tightens. “One way or another. And then she will pay.”
This is war.
And I’ve already won.
24
Victoria
I walkthrough the hallway of Danforth Steel headquarters, tablet pressed to my chest, hoping I don’t see my father when his yell echoes from behind the closed door to his office.
I freeze.
What the hell is going on?
And why is he so mad?
I inch closer, not wanting to be seen but needing to find out what’s happening at the same time.
“If you weren’t so damn busy trying to marry my damn daughter, none of this would have happened.”
“What the hell does that mean? I have nothing to do with this.”
“Sure, you do. If you had just agreed to the merger . . .”
“Victoria or nothing,” Grant Jameson fires back.
My stomach drops so fast I nearly sway.
“It’s not my problem you couldn’t seal the deal, Grant.”
“Well, she shouldn’t have been a problem. She was promised to me years ago.” There is a low growl, clipped by irritation.
Promised.
I grip the tablet harder.
“It’s not my fault she’s stubborn.”
“You could have forced her—”
I don’t wait for the rest. I shove the door open so hard it slams into the wall. Papers jump on the desk. Both men freeze like I just pulled a gun.
“Forced me?” I snap, stepping inside with the kind of righteous fury I didn’t know I still had. “News flash, gentlemen—I couldn’t have been forced to do anything.”
My father’s face tightens. Grant’s eyes narrow with that calculating, smug tilt I’ve hated since I was seventeen.
I walk in farther, heels clicking against the marble. “And while we’re making declarations, I already lost everything. The one thing I cared about was taken away. So did you really think I’d marry Grant because you said so?”
Grant adjusts his cufflinks, his smirk sharpening. “It wasn’t exactly a suggestion, sweetheart.” He tilts his head like he’s analyzing something. “It’s happening. It’s still the plan.”
My jaw locks so tight I could crack teeth. “You can take your plan,” I say, voice soft like silk, “and choke on it.”
My father slams his hand on the desk, rattling the pen set. “Enough. None of this matters right now.”
