"I am not parading her around the city to punish you. I am parading her around the city because she is mine. And if you ever approach my vehicle again, if you ever speak her name in public again, I will not just freeze your trust fund. I will break your jaw."
Simon’s face turns the color of ash. He takes a clumsy step backward, his heel catching on the edge of the curb. He doesn't say another word. He just stares at me, genuine terror finally breaking through his arrogance.
I turn my back on him.
I get into the SUV, pulling the heavy door shut behind me.
The car pulls away from the curb instantly, leaving Simon standing alone on the sidewalk, surrounded by photographers capturing his humiliation in high definition.
I lean back against the leather seat, exhaling a slow, controlled breath.
Audrey is looking at me. Her eyes are wide, the golden flecks burning with a mixture of shock and awe. She heard the threat. She saw the absolute dismantling of the man who ruined her life.
"You broke him," she whispers.
"He was already broken," I correct her, reaching across the seat to take her hand. "I just showed him the pieces."
She doesn't say anything else. She slides across the leather seat, pressing her side against my chest, and rests her head on my shoulder.
The war is escalating. Preston will retaliate. Simon will panic. The media will dissect every move we make.
But as I rest my chin against the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her perfume, I realize I don't care.
Let them burn. I have exactly what I want.
CHAPTER 17
AUDREY
I am staring at a floor plan for a boutique hotel in the West Loop, trying to figure out how to fit a functional lobby bar into three hundred square feet of usable space.
My pencil hovers over the drafting paper. The graphite leaves a faint, gray smudge where my hand rests. I erase it, brush the shavings away, and try again.
It is two o'clock on a Thursday afternoon. Two days have passed since the lunch at the Peninsula Hotel. Two days since Malcolm threatened to break his brother’s jaw on a public sidewalk.
And for forty-eight hours, absolutely nothing has happened.
The silence is making me paranoid.
I drop the pencil and lean back in the ergonomic chair, rolling my shoulders to release the tension knotting at the base of my neck. The office Malcolm set up for me is perfect. It is quiet, the natural light from the massive windows is ideal for drafting, and the dual monitors are currently displaying the three freelance contracts Vivian helped me secure yesterday.
I am working. I am rebuilding. I am doing exactly what I set out to do when I signed the contract.
But my brain refuses to focus on the hotel lobby.
I look down at my left hand. The vintage diamond catches the afternoon light. It doesn't feel heavy anymore. I’ve stopped noticing the weight of it, which is terrifying in its own right.
A soft knock on the open doorframe pulls me out of my thoughts.
I turn my chair around.
Malcolm is standing in the doorway. He is wearing dark trousers and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He is holding two ceramic mugs.
"You've been staring at the same blueprint for forty minutes," he says, walking into the room and setting one of the mugs on my desk. "You are either designing a masterpiece, or you are spiraling."
"I am spiraling," I admit, taking the mug. The coffee is hot, black, and loaded with exactly the right amount of sugar. "The lobby is too small for a bar, but the client insists they need a revenue stream on the ground floor. If I put the bar where they want it, it blocks the fire exit."
"Tell them no." Malcolm leans his hip against the edge of my desk, crossing his arms.
