Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Knox
Of all the people I’ve ever known to dig their own graves, I am by far the worst offender.
I set myself up for this disaster.
Buried myself so deep in the Zurich chaos that it came back to bite me in the ass.
A week ago, I thought I was buying myself time by insisting on handling the final closure of the deal.
It was supposed to be space to get my head straight and focus on something else besides Isla.
Then I married her, slept with her, and realized I couldn’t get enough of her. I was officially done resisting her.
But it was too late.
My plans blew up in my fucking face.
Disaster number one hit before the sun even rose yesterday.
Isla was asleep in my arms, her head on my chest, soft and warm and right where I wanted her. Then the first call came through.
Tony, our head of compliance, called to tell me a cross-border regulatory flag stalled the Zurich wire transfer, so the ten-million deposit we were expecting never cleared.
The moment Tony said the words, I knew I wasn’t getting on that jet with Isla and I’d be tied up in New York.
The block triggered an anti–money laundering review and a full verification check on the funds. All of it landed on my shoulders because the money was frozen and my name was stamped across every page of the Zurich deal.
Legal and Compliance demanded my presence, as no one else could authorize the override.
My father tried to step in, but this one belonged to me.
And sorting it out ate up the entire damn day.
Disaster number two hit an hour later.
I was finally ready to head to Italy when Claude Deville, one of the Zurich partners, claimed he’d found a discrepancy—in his fucking humble opinion—in the closing documents.
I was scheduled to meet him in Italy tomorrow, but instead, he emailed demanding a “personal clarification” on the projected 4.6% variance in the Q3 return schedule.
And he wanted to see me the moment I landed.
Any of my analysts could’ve answered his questions with their eyes closed.
Hell, the explanation was already in the spreadsheet—highlighted.
But that wasn’t the point.
He wanted me.
He wanted to watch me jump through his bureaucratic hoops because of a scandal I paid for years ago.
A petty power play wrapped in polite corporate language.
I wanted nothing more than to see Isla, but I played nice and danced to his tune because the final sign-offs and settlement verifications still needed to be handled correctly.
I didn’t want to make my father look bad. There are already whispers on the grapevine that I’ll be taking over soon, so every move I make has eyes on it.
Clients need to trust me the way they trust him.
But it cost me.
Now I’m in Italy, in the boardroom of our Tuscany office, and Claude Deville is sitting across from me, talking shit that could’ve waited.
My only saving grace is that Dorian flew out with me.
Since he’s the accounts manager for the Zurich deal, he figured his presence would take the edge off.
It has… but only to some degree.
The worst part is, every second spent in this boardroom has felt like someone tightening a noose around my neck.
I should have called Isla. Or even messaged. But neither felt like it was enough because I knew she’d be mad at me for sending her ahead by herself.
But at least some contact would have been something
I haven’t stopped thinking about getting to her.
Claude taps a finger on the printed spreadsheet, his bushy gray brows pulled together in a frown. “You see, this line here.” His accent is crisp. “The 4.6 percent variance raises questions. Questions, I might add, that your team should have anticipated.”
Dorian’s jaw ticks. “We did anticipate it. It’s addressed in sections fourteen and fifteen of the model.”
Claude waves him off, and Dorian looks like he’s going to rip out his jugular. “Models only tell me so much. I prefer to hear the rationale aloud. Numbers can be manipulated, after all.”
“There’s no manipulation.” I lean forward, letting the steel edge of my voice bleed through. “The variance is tied to the reallocation cycle we disclosed to your advisors three months ago.”
Claude hums noncommittally. “Mm. Perhaps. But with everything that happened in New York years ago, I’m sure you understand why Zurich prefers caution.”
There it is again. The accusation. The fucking past that will always follow me no matter where I go. Or what I do.
A muscle jumps in my jaw. I inhale slowly, letting the anger lodge in my ribs instead of detonating.
“I understand caution.” My tone is razor-edged but steady.
“What I don’t understand is resurrecting a matter the SEC cleared four years ago.
Zurich signed off on my compliance reforms. Your board did, too.
So, unless you’d like to contradict your own due diligence, we need to move forward. Or perhaps rethink this partnership.”
Claude’s mouth snaps shut, and the motherfucker goes still, the fake confidence draining from his eyes. Good.
I’m bluffing, but he doesn’t know that. And he won’t test me.
He won’t take that risk.
The truth is, I could pull the deal, and Vale Global would be fine. We’d still run the world the way we always have. But Zurich? They’d lose the chance to level up in ways they can’t even quantify yet.
No matter what Claude thinks of me, he’s not stupid enough to let that slip through his fingers.
“Let us move forward with the deal,” he mutters, giving me a stiff nod.
I flick a glance at Dorian, who looks like he’s barely restraining a smirk. Then I return my attention to Claude. “Wonderful. I’ll have my assistant set up our next meeting.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to argue, then apparently thinks better of it. “Of course.”
He stands. We rise, too, exchanging a brief, perfunctory handshake.
Claude leaves without a backwards glance.
The door clicks shut behind him, and the second it does, the mask I’ve been wearing all damn day cracks.
My jaw locks. My pulse spikes.
Every inch of me is fucking done.
I didn’t fly across an ocean to babysit a man’s insecurities.
I came here for her. And every minute Claude kept me trapped in this boardroom was another Isla spent alone.
I know her. She’ll be hurt, confused, and hating me more than she already does.
I drag a hand over my face, fighting the urge to tear the whole damn table in half.
“Nice move, bro,” Dorian says with a smirk. “He looked like he was about to shit himself.”
“Fucking bastard. I wish we didn’t have to work with him.”
“You and me both. I’m the one who has to correspond with him weekly. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see his ugly mug until at least Christmas.”
I give Dorian a sidelong stare. “I appreciate you for coming.”
“Don’t mention it. Go on, get out of here. I’ll pack up.”
“When are you heading back to New York?”
Dorian smiles. “Not sure. I may make use of the time and visit some old friends.”
Women. That’s what he means. His list extends well beyond New York.
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re welcome to stay at the villa with us.”
He waves a dismissive hand and shakes his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think it’s best to keep my distance from you and Isla.”
“Why? What the hell does that mean?”
“How about we talk about that some other time?” He gives me a knowing smile that grates on my already-frayed nerves.
“Fine.” I don’t want to waste any more time. Dorian is obviously being perceptive again and seeing too much I’m not ready for anyone to see. “I have to call Isla.”
“Yes. You should do that.”
While he packs away the documents on the table, I pull out my phone and find Isla’s number. The need to hear her voice makes my pulse spike.
I hit Call.
The line rings twice before her voice comes through, soft and cautious, like she’s bracing for impact. “Hello?”
My chest tightens. “Hello, love.”
Dorian freezes mid-movement and glances over at me. “Love?” he whispers.
I turn away, shutting him out, focusing entirely on Isla.
There’s a faint rustle on her end, the kind that tells me she wasn’t sure she wanted to pick up.
“I’m sorry, who am I speaking to?” Isla asks, her voice flat and stripped of every emotion I’m desperate to hear.
Shit. She’s being funny with me.
“It’s me, Knox. How many people call you love?”
There’s silence for a beat. Then, in the politest, iciest customer service voice I’ve ever heard, she says, “How can I help you?”
I clench my jaw, searching for the right words even though none of them feel good enough.
The problem here—the problem I’ve always had with my little artist—is that I’ve met my match.
She gives as good as she gets. She never backs down. And she sure as hell isn’t going to make this easy for me.
All I can do is throw myself on my sword and cut straight to the point.
“Sorry. I should’ve called sooner.”
The silence that follows is long and unyielding. She gives me nothing. Not a sound. Not a breath.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly, even though I already know the answer is going to take a piece out of me.
Her breath comes through the line, barely audible.
Then, in a voice so controlled it makes my chest ache, she says, “I’m fine, Knox. I always am.”
It’s the kind of answer that tells me she’s anything but fine and I did exactly what she expected me to do—let her down.
“I’m on the way to the villa now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Where are you?” There’s a bustling noise in the background that sounds like she’s around people.
“I’m out.”
“Out where?”
There’s another pause.
Then a man’s voice drifts through the line.
“Here’s your iced tea,” he says lightly. “Just the way you like it.”
My brain stalls.
No. It can’t be.
No fucking way.
That voice doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t belong anywhere near her.
Not in New York. And sure as hell not here in Italy.
I straighten, pulse slamming into a hard, bruising rhythm.
Chad.
That’s Chad.
He followed her here. On our honeymoon?
For a second, I don’t breathe. I don’t fucking move.
A soft thank-you leaves Isla’s lips, and the sound slices straight through the shock, igniting something violent inside my chest.
My hand tightens around the phone until my knuckles burn. “Isla, is that Chad?”
“Yes, Knox. It is.”
Dorian goes still again, leveling me with a hard stare, eyes wide with the same disbelief crashing through me.
“What the fuck is he doing there?” I try to keep my voice down, but it tears out anyway.
“He’s here on business.”
“Like fuck he is. That’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
She sighs, loud enough that it punches through the speaker. “These things do happen.”
“I want you to leave.”
“No. I’m not leaving. But I am ending this call.”
“Isla, don’t you dare hang up that phone.” My free hand balls into a fist.
“I’m going, Knox.”
“Love… just get up and leave that asshole. Who follows someone on their honeymoon?”
“Knox, I’m fine. Please get back to your work. If that’s where you really are.”
Damn it. “Isla—”
She hangs up on me.
For a moment, I just stare at the screen.
The call log glows back at me, her name sitting there like a goddamn taunt.
My pulse hammers. My breath comes out too slow. Too sharp.
I want to reach through the line, drag her back, and rip Chad’s fucking head off.
A muscle jumps hard in my jaw, and the rage hits fast, hot, then simmers into something far more dangerous.
Dorian takes one look at my face. “Knox. Did I seriously hear right? Chad is here?”
“Yes. He’s here.” I grit my teeth. “I have to go. Now.”
“Need me to go with you?”
“No. I will deal with this asshole once and for all.” Clearly, Chad doesn’t know who he’s screwing with.
I see red as I head out the door. But it’s the focused kind. The kind that makes me want to burn the world down.
I take the blame for leaving Isla to work. That’s on me. But nobody takes what’s mine. Nobody touches what’s mine. Especially my wife.