I look at Audrey. She is staring at the intercom panel, her face pale.
"Is Simon going to be there?" I ask Grant, though I already know the answer.
"The invitation specifies that the entire immediate family will be in attendance, sir. Including Simon."
I release the comm button, cutting the connection.
Preston is not a man who throws celebratory dinners. He is a man who orchestrates public executions. The gala was a skirmish. This invitation is a declaration of war. He wants to drag Audrey into his territory, surround her with the family that destroyed her, and remind her exactly how insignificant she is.
"He wants to see if we break," Audrey says, her voice breaking the silence.
I turn around. She is out of the bed, standing on the hardwood floor. The oversized sweater swallows her frame, but her posture is rigid. The vulnerability from five minutes ago is gone, replaced by the sharp, defensive architect who walked into the hotel bar three days ago.
"He wants to intimidate you," I correct her. "He expects you to refuse the invitation. When you refuse, he will tell the board of directors that my fiancée is unstable and unfit for the Vance family circle. He will use it to challenge my position as CEO."
"So, it’s a trap."
"It is a highly coordinated ambush." I walk toward her, stopping a few feet away. "You do not have to go, Audrey. I can handle Preston."
"If you go alone, he wins the narrative," she says, her mind already working through the logistics. She presses her thumbagainst the side of her index finger, calculating the risks. "He’ll tell everyone I was too cowardly to face them. He’ll make Simon look like the victim."
"I don't care what Simon looks like. I care about your safety."
"I am safe," she says, looking up at me. The golden flecks in her eyes are burning with a sudden, fierce determination. "I am standing in your bedroom. I am wearing your ring. You told me last night that I am not a liability."
"You aren't."
"Then let me prove it." She takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. She doesn't reach for me, but her presence demands my full attention. "Preston wants to see if I’ll break. Let’s go to his house and show him exactly what happens when you corner a woman who has nothing left to lose."
I stare at her.
I expected panic. I expected her to ask me to fix it.
Instead, she is standing in my bedroom, looking at me like a soldier asking for a weapon.
The cold, violent possessiveness I felt in the parking lot yesterday returns, but this time, it is mixed with a profound, terrifying surge of pride. She isn't just surviving my world. She is adapting to it.
"Tomorrow night," I say, my voice dropping to a rough murmur. "Seven o'clock."
"Seven o'clock," she confirms.
I reach out, my hand wrapping around the back of her neck. I pull her forward and press my mouth hard against hers. It is a fast, bruising kiss, a seal on the promise we just made.
When I pull back, her breathing is uneven, her eyes dark.
"I'll get your coffee," I tell her, turning toward the door. "We have a dinner to prepare for."
CHAPTER 13
AUDREY
I am staring at a closet full of clothes I didn't buy.
When I woke up this morning, after Malcolm left for his office, I found three massive garment bags hanging on the rack in the guest suite. They were delivered by a personal shopper from a boutique on Oak Street. Inside were tailored trousers, silk blouses, cashmere coats, and five different evening dresses. None of them had price tags. All of them were exactly my size.
It is a terrifying level of logistical competence. He didn't just buy me a wardrobe; he analyzed my aesthetic, identified my measurements, and procured an entirely new armor for me to wear into battle.
I pull a dark charcoal pantsuit off the rack. It’s structured, sharp, and completely unforgiving.
