Chapter 32
Grayson
My mother invites us over for another dinner that weekend. I have no fucking clue why—especially after her fight with Jenna—but when I bring it up, she's surprisingly apologetic, practically begging us to come.
Despite my assurances that we don't have to, Jenna insists we show up.
"I don't want her to think she's intimidated me," she says. "Besides, maybe she really has changed her mind. Maybe this is her way of offering an olive branch."
I seriously doubt it. More likely she's just changed tactics, and this dinner is part of some new scheme to push Jenna out of my life. Still, I'm curious to see what she's planning. One thing's for sure—if she tries to humiliate Jenna again, she'll meet a side of me she's never seen before.
Eventually, I give in to Jenna's pleas—but only after making one thing clear.
"We're leaving the first time anyone crosses a line," I warn. "Doesn't matter who it is. She might be my mother, but I'm not letting anyone disrespect my fiancée. Not again."
"Your fiancée?" Jenna smirks. "Forgot this is fake, did you?"
No, I haven't. Neither have I forgotten our unfinished conversation. It's for show, she said. I still don't know who she was trying to convince—me or herself.
Everything starts out fine. George and Marina are there, Stephanie too, so seven of us sit down to dine, just like before.
Mother's on her best behavior—polite, smiling, the picture of civility.
Pops doesn't say much, just watches me quietly.
When Mother glances between George and me with thinly veiled tension, she suggests we all agree not to discuss business at the table.
Fine by me. We keep to safe topics, conversation as bland and polished as the china.
Still, I can't help watching George. I haven't confronted him yet—I'm not sure he's behind what happened—but I'm studying him, waiting to see how he reacts to my scrutiny. Does he flinch? Look guilty?
So far, no. He just looks confused and mildly uneasy, which for George is basically normal. He's always been shifty and bad at eye contact; I can't tell if it means something or nothing.
"So," my father says, breaking Mother's own rule, "George, how was your meeting with Ali—the Dubai prince?"
"It went well," George replies smoothly. "We're finalizing a multibillion-dollar deal. He drives a hard bargain, but it's all doable."
"It's a waste of time," I say. "He's dangled that contract in front of me for years, then pulls back at the last minute. The senior agents call him the Prince of Blue Balls."
George chuckles. "Maybe things are different this time. He sounded serious, and we're close to signing."
I resist the urge to laugh. "Sure you are."
"Perhaps you should sit in on the meetings too, Grayson," my father suggests.
"Over my dead body."
"Boys," Mother says sharply. "This is a family dinner. We agreed—no business talk."
"What else is there to talk about?" Stephanie mutters, stabbing at her peas.
She's clearly in a foul mood tonight. Normally, I'd ask what's wrong, but I'm not exactly sunshine myself.
Steph and I have learned the hard way that when we're both pissed off, the smart move is to keep our mouths shut until one of us cools down.
Her mother shoots her a warning look, but Stephanie only shrugs.
"I'm sure we can find something pleasant," Mother says quickly. "Like George and Marina's upcoming wedding. Marina, have you picked a venue yet?"
Marina's eyes flick toward me before she answers. "Yes. Villa d'Este, on Lake Como."
"Beautiful choice," my mother says. "The Italian Lakes are so classic. Villa d'Este is one of the few hotels that matches one's own standards. I imagine they do lovely receptions. Can you hold the ceremony by the water?"
"Yes, they have a lakeside pavilion. You can use their local priest or fly your own in." Marina smiles, but it's tight at the edges. Again, her gaze drifts to me. Why? Is she expecting a reaction? Waiting for me to object, maybe?
Her look lingers a beat too long, like she's daring me to acknowledge some shared secret. I meet her eyes for a moment, then deliberately look away.
To change the subject, I say, "Aren't you going to ask Jenna and me about our wedding plans, Mother?"
"Oh." Mother gives a brittle little laugh. "Sure."
"We haven't made any real plans yet," Jenna says, giving me a quick side-eye that clearly says thanks for the ambush. "We only just got engaged."
"I know, but it's never too early to start preparing," I reply evenly. I asked only to test my mother—to see why she really wanted this dinner.
She's been polite all evening, but cold as ever toward Jenna. I'm done pretending not to notice. It's hypocritical as hell, especially if Jenna's suspicions about her are right—and the more I think about it, the more I believe they are.
If it really was my mother that Dad cheated with, everything starts to make sense.
Their obsession with making George CEO—it's guilt, pure and simple.
They're trying to balance the scales, justify their past, and pretend they're a respectable family again.
Meanwhile, Mom's hatred for Jenna runs deeper than snobbery.
Jenna is everything she's never been—a proud, independent woman who doesn't need a man or a family name to define her.
It's all so fucked up.
I've always known my parents weren't saints, but I never realized just how twisted things had become. Now, watching my mother quietly pick at her food while Jenna sits rigid beside me, I feel something inside me starting to snap.
"I hope you're not too upset about the article," Marina says suddenly, turning to Jenna. "These things happen when you're dating in this family."
Her tone's light, but her eyes are darting between me and George like she's testing the temperature of the room.
"The craziest thing of all," I say, voice steady but cold, "is that the scandal was initiated by the family itself."
Every fork stills.
My father frowns. "What are you trying to say, Grayson?"
I ignore him, locking eyes with George.
"Are you going to deny it?"
"Deny what?" George demands.
"Don't play dumb," I say, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't have the slightest clue what you're talking about," he shoots back, his voice sharpening. "If you've got something to say, say it."
There's some fire in him tonight—finally—and I almost welcome it.
"You planted that article about Jenna and me, didn't you?"
George's chair scrapes. "What the fuck, Grayson? No, I didn't!"
"Grayson!" Mother gasps, looking scandalized.
"Yeah, I don't think he would do that," Stephanie mutters, rolling her eyes. "He's too dumb to pull off something that subtle."
"Thanks," George snaps.
"Anytime," she replies dryly, stabbing her food again.
"It was timed perfectly," I continue. "Released the same morning as the symposium. Only someone with inside knowledge could've done that. Was that your plan, Georgie? Tank my presentation so Dad would hand you the CEO position out of pity?"
"Grayson." My father's tone is heavy with warning.
George glowers. "You're delusional. Why would I do that when we both benefit from the company doing well?"
"Because you can't stand the idea of me being the one in charge," I say.
He laughs—a short, ugly sound. "You think this is all about you?"
Jenna shifts beside me, tense and silent.
Her hand trembles slightly against her glass, though she keeps her chin high.
She sits unusually still, one hand pressed lightly to her abdomen as if steadying herself.
She's pale, quiet—is she ill? She hasn't said anything. I glance at her, then back to George.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he says suddenly, and then his gaze slides to Jenna.
I freeze.
"Are you mental?" I demand. "You think she leaked the story? You think she'd print something calling herself a gold digger just to—what—gain sympathy?"
"It could be a way to turn you against us. Or drum up publicity for her firm." He shrugs. "Everyone knows negative press still sells."
My mother snorts, and I feel Jenna stiffen beside me, pulse fluttering under her skin.
"That's the sort of thing her kind would do," Mother says smoothly.
That's it.
"Her kind?" I repeat softly.
"Yes," she says, unfazed.
The table goes utterly still.
Even with rage pounding through me, I set my fork down carefully, my voice cutting the silence like glass. "Apologize," I say.
Mother blinks. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Apologize to her. Right now."
"I don't see what I said that was so wrong."
"Grayson, it's fine—" Jenna begins, voice small, but I shake my head.
"No. It's not fine. She apologizes."
"I will not," Mother says, chin lifting. "I said nothing wrong."
And just like that, I'm done.
I rise slowly, pushing my chair back with deliberate calm, and hold out my hand to Jenna. She hesitates, then takes it, her fingers cold and uncertain.
"This is the last family dinner you'll ever see me at," I say evenly.
"In fact, with any luck, I'll never have to see either of your faces again.
Father, you'll have my resignation on your desk in the morning—effective immediately.
George, good luck with the leadership. You'll need it.
You have neither the skills nor the experience, but that's your problem now. "
A collective gasp ripples across the table. A fork clatters to the floor. Even Stephanie looks stunned, eyes wide and uncharacteristically speechless.
"Are you serious?" Mother breathes.
"As a heart attack."
"Grayson, you can't—" Father starts.
"I just did."
I squeeze Jenna's hand. "Let's go."
Behind us, the room erupts—voices overlapping, chairs scraping—but I don't look back. I walk out, fury propelling every stride.
It's not until we reach the car that I realize how fast I'm moving.
"Grayson—wait!" Jenna cries, half-jogging after me. She's breathless when she reaches me, one hand braced low against her stomach as she struggles to keep up. "I can't go this fast in these heels!"
I stop, turning. The moonlight catches her hair, and for a moment she looks both furious and fragile.
She grabs my arm. "Did you mean it? What you said?"
"Of course I did."
"All of it? You're giving up the CEO position—for me?"
Her voice wavers.
I tilt my head, studying her. "Do you really not understand yet?"
Her eyes widen. She shakes her head slowly.
"Then let's go home," I say, softer now. "And I'll show you."