Before I can verbally dismantle my father, Audrey speaks.
"If Simon had written the check, Preston, it would have bounced," she says. Her voice is incredibly calm, lacking the defensive panic she had in the SUV an hour ago. "Or he would have used a shell corporation to hide the transaction, and then claimed he owned my mother’s house as collateral."
Simon flinches. "Audrey, that’s not fair."
"It’s a matter of public record," she fires back, not even looking at him. She keeps her eyes locked on Preston. "I didn't come herefor a payout. I came here because I am marrying your son. And unlike Simon, Malcolm actually reads the contracts he signs."
A dark, heavy surge of pride settles right in the center of my chest.
She isn't hiding behind me. She is using the shield I gave her, but she is swinging the sword herself.
Preston’s smile vanishes. He is not used to being spoken to with anything other than absolute deference. He looks at Audrey, really looks at her, as if trying to figure out how the quiet, accommodating girl his son brought to dinner a year ago grew fangs.
"You have a sharp tongue, Miss Jennings," Preston murmurs.
"I have a good memory," she corrects him.
The dining room doors open. The household staff enters, moving with silent, practiced efficiency. They clear the soup bowls and replace them with plates of roasted lamb and asparagus.
No one speaks while the staff is in the room. It is a Vance family rule. We do not air our grievances in front of the help. We wait until they leave, and then we aim for the throat.
The moment the heavy wooden doors click shut, Simon leans forward.
"This is insane," Simon says, his voice pitching higher than normal. He looks at me, desperation bleeding into his features. "You don't even know her, Malcolm. You met her three days ago. You’re doing this just to humiliate me."
"I am doing this because she is mine," I say.
The words are a weapon, designed to inflict maximum psychological damage, but as they leave my mouth, I realize they are also the absolute truth.
"She’s using you!" Simon insists, gesturing wildly toward Audrey. "She’s broke. She lost her firm. She’s just trying to get back at me by latching onto your bank account."
"Simon," Preston warns quietly.
"No, Father, listen to me." Simon ignores the warning, his panic overriding his instinct for self-preservation. "She doesn't love him. She’s terrified of him. Everyone is terrified of him. Look at her."
Simon points at Audrey.
"She’s wearing a suit that looks like armor," Simon sneers, his fear morphing into a pathetic, desperate cruelty. "She’s sitting there pretending she’s not shaking. She knows exactly what you are, Malcolm. She knows you’re a monster. And the second she gets her company back, she’s going to run as far away from you as she can."
The silence that follows is absolute.
I don't look at Audrey. I don't need to. I can feel the sudden, rigid tension in her body.
Simon’s words are clumsy and desperate, but they hit the exact, precise nerve I have been trying to ignore since I carried her into my bedroom last night.
She is terrified of me. She is using me for protection. The moment the threat is neutralized, the moment she has her life back, the logical, rational choice will be to leave the penthouse and never look back.
I reach for my water glass, my expression completely blank. I am preparing to issue a threat that will ensure Simon never speaks in my presence again.
"I am not terrified of him," Audrey says.
I stop. My hand hovers over the glass.
I turn my head slowly to look at her.
Audrey is staring at Simon. The anger in her eyes is gone, replaced by a cold, devastating pity.
"I was terrified of you," Audrey tells him, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "I was terrified of saying the wrong thing. I was terrified of wearing the wrong dress. I was terrified of bruising your ego, because every time I did, you punished me by making me feel small."
