When the waiter brings the check, I pay it without looking at the total.
"Ready?" I ask, standing up and offering her my hand.
"Ready." She takes it, standing up smoothly.
We walk out of the dining room, moving through the opulent lobby of the hotel. The paparazzi are waiting outside the revolving doors, their cameras raised.
I place my hand on the small of Audrey’s back, guiding her through the glass doors and into the freezing Chicago air.
The flashes start immediately. A chaotic, blinding barrage of white light.
"Malcolm! Over here!"
"Audrey, is the wedding date set?"
"Is it true Preston Vance opposes the marriage?"
I ignore the shouts. I keep my arm firmly around Audrey, shielding her from the aggressive push of a photographer who steps too close to the curb. Grant is already there, his massive frame blocking the man, his hand resting casually near the holster under his coat.
I open the door of the SUV, helping Audrey inside.
Before I can follow her, a voice cuts through the noise of the paparazzi.
"Malcolm!"
I stop. I don't turn around immediately. I know that voice. I have spent my entire life cleaning up the messes made by that voice.
I slowly turn my head.
Simon is standing on the sidewalk, ten feet away. He is wearing a camel-colored overcoat, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looks frantic. The polished, arrogant golden boy is completely gone, replaced by a desperate man who is realizing the ground is crumbling beneath his feet.
The paparazzi instantly shift their cameras toward him. The narrative just became infinitely more profitable. Two brothers, one ex-fiancée, standing on the street in front of the Peninsula.
"Simon," I say. My voice is flat. Dead.
"You need to stop this," Simon says, taking a step forward. He ignores the cameras, his eyes darting frantically between me and the open door of the SUV where Audrey is sitting. "Father is losing his mind. He’s threatening to freeze my trust if I don't fix this."
"Then you should fix it," I reply coldly.
"How?" Simon’s voice cracks. "You bought Russo. You paid off her mother’s debt. You’re parading her around the city like a trophy just to punish me. I get it, Malcolm. You won. Now let her go."
I stare at my younger brother.
He still doesn't understand. He still thinks this is a game of corporate leverage. He thinks Audrey is an object that can be passed back and forth, a pawn to be sacrificed for the sake of the family name.
I take a step toward him.
The paparazzi go silent. The only sound is the rapid clicking of camera shutters.
I stop exactly one foot in front of Simon. He is taller than me by an inch, but he shrinks back, his shoulders hunching defensively.
"You think this is about punishing you," I say, my voice dropping to a harsh, lethal whisper that the microphones won't pick up. "You think you are important enough to warrant this level of coordination."
Simon swallows hard. "Malcolm—"
"You are a footnote, Simon," I interrupt. "You were the catalyst, but you are no longer the objective."
I lean in slightly, the absolute, violent truth bleeding into my words.
