THIRTY-THREE
Levi
“And that brings me to my last point,” I say, my voice echoing through the massive hall at the Fairmont. “The reason I’ve called for this press conference.”
My hand flexes against the iPad, and a glint from my little finger catches my eye, the final words of my practiced speech hazying in front of me.
A small smile forms on my face unbidden.
I have had the whole room focused for the last thirty minutes—on the naked truths behind the investigation against the four shareholders of Astor Holdings, the temporary suspension of the Wentworth-Astor merger, and the damning clause I’m about to obliterate with my next sentence.
This is it. This is the final slap of my cards on this metaphorical table. Only, I’m no longer playing the game.
I’m folding.
I’m creating the necessary distance between Levi and Astor. The latter has dragged too many lives into upheaval. I despise the taint attached to it. The way it has entangled me with a generational disgrace. Even pulled Cece into it, by extension.
The cut needs to be clean. So I can—maybe someday—attempt to build something with me carrying the faith of Astor’s stakeholders. Not my last name.
There are a few clicks of the cameras every couple of seconds. The front row of reporters looks less like the journalists who are interested in the new direction of Astor Holdings, and more like the vultures hungry for a public dress-down.
I sigh as the words form in my throat with surprising ease. “Effective immediately, I will be resigning from the position of President of Astor Holdings, and all its subsidiaries.”
The discreet murmurs swiftly morph into a louder clamor of what I assume is disbelief.
I speak over the growing chatter, forcing my voice to climb up an octave.
“Ronald Campbell, the Vice-President Operations, and Daniel Penner, the Vice-President Finance, will be taking over as Co-Presidents for the interim leadership until there’s a singular candidate voted by the board.
The final candidacy will be confirmed—at the latest—by the end of this quarter. That’s 38 days, not including today.”
I finally look up to see every single hand raised. We had already informed the attendees that there was going to be a ten-minute Q&A at the end of the briefing.
Guess now’s the time.
Squaring my shoulders, I lock eyes with a woman carrying the Daily Ledger badge and nod.
She smoothly grabs the microphone and introduces herself before asking her question. “Mr. Astor, because your presidency was contingent upon the marital sub clause, is it true that you were never the president, only an interim president for the past three years?”
The flatness and composure of her voice don’t hide the slight, triumphant scorn hidden in her expression. And I realize that the clause leaking all those weeks ago was always going to have lasting effects. No matter if I fulfilled it.
I clear my throat, pinning her with a steady gaze. “That is correct. My five-year probation was as the interim president.”
“And now that you’ve resigned, does that mean—”
The mic is snatched from her before she can finish her follow-up question. But I’m sure she won’t be the only one voicing it.
And it happens only two civilized questions later.
A smarmy-looking reporter introduces himself and then gives me a full-blown smile before splitting my world in half. Because his question, though professional, is dangerously framed. Forcing me to publicly acknowledge my fuck up.
“Are you resigning so that you can get rid of the clause and finally pursue the woman you photographed with last month?”
I’m not worried about myself. But I’m downright terrified of my answer backfiring on Cece somehow. No matter how I structure it, they strip it apart.
Fuck I need to be careful with how I word this. “I’m resigning and getting rid of the clause so that Cece—Ms. Celestine Wentworth and I can build something without the clause hanging over our heads,” I say, watching his brows quirk with amusement.
It makes me want to punch the shit out of his sleazy smirk. “A clause—might I add—that was created by Odette and Thomas Astor to ensure I never went past the probationary period.”
For some reason, he’s allowed a follow-up. And my hackles rise when he mulls over my answer, jaw working with a question I fear will doom me. “But you could’ve kept the presidency and Ms. Wentworth. Why resign?”
That’s my out. He just asked a question I’ve already answered.
So I curve my lips into a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes as I say my next words. “I’ll repeat, Mr. Lewis. I’m resigning so that Ms. Wentworth and I can build something without the clause hanging over our heads.”
That kills whatever fascination these people have with my love life. And the questions become a bit more palatable. My answers are swift and clear.
“…will there be a vote on the next presidential candidate?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be a voting member, considering you’re still a shareholder?”
“No, since our bylaws state that a shareholder candidate running for senior leadership cannot be a voting member. And I’m one of the candidates who will be running for the presidency next month.”
“You’re resigning and… running again?”
I keep my expression neutral when the same man stammers his follow-up. “I’m resigning from the interim presidency that I inherited. And running again as the elected one.”
The ten-minute Q&A is over fast. Ronald takes over most of the last-minute stray questions, and I walk out of the hall with my guards surrounding me.
Just as I’m about to reach my car, my phone vibrates in my coat pocket. Elation washes over me, expecting Cece, but it quickly becomes exasperation when it’s Taewon.
“I’m guessing you saw?”
He chuckles. “That was definitely better than your last press briefing.”
“And why aren’t you back yet?”
“I still have three more days, Levi,” he mumbles, irritated.
I sigh, climbing into my car and connecting him to CarPlay. “What’s three more days going to do?”
“I don’t know.” He hums. “Probably the same thing that your resignation is doing.”
I snort.
“Where’s Cece?” he asks when I don’t respond.
“Summoned by her parents,” I grumble.
My mind immediately conjures that damning statement they issued the day after our nightclub visit. Our pictures had gone viral on all social media platforms.
I’m genuinely shocked that no one asked a single question about it today. But I think it was probably because of the sheer volume of people who had done a one-eighty and were now supporting Cece and me.
‘Uhh that doesn’t look anything like an “arranged” deal lol’
‘Get a gold plated room. Jesus! Happy for you, ig *eyeroll emoji*’
‘Imma need the number for where she got that wig. Pretty please… *pray emoji*’
I smirk as I remember that one particular picture of us nearly stripping each other’s clothes off in the middle of the dance floor, pawing frantically at each other.
But I do know not everyone took our night the way I hoped they would.
‘it’s a PR stunt guys. Don’t fall for these corn pictures.’
‘I’m confused? Who does he love? Both? Probably neither for getting caught like that before.’
But the overwhelming majority were swaying to our side. And I hoped Cece could see that support. It still doesn’t erase the lack of it from her parents, though.
‘…and we want to assert that the behavior of our daughter, Celestine, does not reflect the Wentworth values. We will, however, support our daughter during these difficult circumstances and her mental struggles—ensuring she has access to the best resources available…’
Funnily enough, their whole statement backfired on them spectacularly. Their public perception shifted from supportive parents to discriminatory assholes who were dismissive of their daughter’s mental health.
Especially after Vivienne posted a lengthy video statement on her Instagram. Most of it was her rolling her eyes while she narrated her own parents’ cruel words.
From what Vi texted me later that day, it was only their mother who had the gall to issue those words. Their father had nothing to do with it.
But the damage is done.
And even if they summon Cece every day until their reputation recovers, their relationship with both their daughters will always carry this weight of callousness.
I hang up after a few minutes and pull into the Wentworth estate.
This is my first time here after that disastrous dinner.
And I’m not quite keen on interacting with the two people who should’ve protected their daughter instead of hurting her even more.
They’re just one fraudulent act short of being exactly like the Astors.
I politely wave at one of their staff as I step inside, only for the shrill voice of Eloise Wentworth to make me cringe immediately.
“A club, Cece. It’s still a club. Your… bipolar—” she practically spits out the word like it’s acid on her tongue, “—is not an excuse to be this irresponsible. I thank the Lord that Levi arrived when he did. God knows what would’ve happened if—”
“First,” Cece cuts in smoothly, her voice soft but unwavering, “I am not excusing anything as bipolar. You just learned about it, so I’d appreciate it if you looked it up. Just once. And second—”
I move deeper into the living room, stopping just beyond a decorative pillar and out of their immediate line of sight.
“We don’t need to look it up—”
“And second!” Cece nearly shouts. “Going to a club is not some outrageous act of irresponsibility. People go to clubs, Mom. It isn’t synonymous with being reckless.”
“Sweetheart,” Samuel says, his voice taking on a placating tone. “We’re not saying that. Listen, you can go to clubs. That’s not the issue. It’s that you went out without security. Without Levi. And people took… inappropriate pictures. That’s not how we—”
“And that wig!” Eloise exclaims. “My God, the number of calls I’ve received in the last three days…”
“Mom,” Cece says quietly.
I hear it immediately. The fight is draining out of her.
Fuck.
I finally step into view, and all three heads snap toward me. Cece doesn’t even acknowledge my arrival.
“I try to explain what the disorder is, and you dismiss me. I ask you to look it up, and you refuse. What exactly do you want me to say here?”
“You said hypo… what was it?” Samuel asks, his face pinching as he struggles to remember a term his daughter has probably mentioned a dozen times already.
“Hypomania,” she supplies, her voice cracking slightly.
“Right. That.” He nods quickly. “We can look it up. We will, I promise. Just… be more careful next time. You can’t—”
“Fine,” she snaps, shaking her head.
I cross the remaining distance and slide an arm around her waist. The second I touch her, she leans into me.
“See what I’m saying, Samuel?” Eloise sighs dramatically. “She’s not listening. She refuses to listen. She’ll do this again and… and call it hypomania.”
Cece visibly sags against me. And something dark and ugly rises in my chest. “Mrs. Wentworth,” I say evenly, “with all due respect, you need to understand what it actually is before you can—”
“It’s all in her head, Levi. That doesn’t mean—”
“Of course it’s all in my fucking head!” Cece jerks away from me, laughing hysterically. She points at her mother as though she’s just delivered the greatest joke in human history. “Where the hell do you think mental illnesses live, Mom? In our ass cheeks?”
Jesus Christ.
This is not funny. Do not snort.
“Celestine!” Eloise gasps, horrified. “Behave yourself—”
“I’m done.” Her laughter disappears instantly. Every ounce of energy drains from Cece’s body. She looks exhausted, with her face paling.
Utterly exhausted.
“I’ll be cutting you off for the foreseeable future,” she says quietly. “I’m done.”
“Cece.” Samuel looks stricken. “Sweetheart—”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m done.” Her voice cracks.
“I can’t do this anymore. I genuinely can’t think of any new words.
You’re not listening. You’re both talking, but you’re not listening.
My life fell apart. I’m s-struggling. And all you talk about is your reputation.
It’s all just noise in my head at this point. ”
Then she points directly at her mother. “And she keeps yelling. I don’t understand when she’s yelling. It’s just… I can’t explain anymore.”
The room falls silent. Even Eloise doesn’t have an immediate response.
Cece finally turns toward me, her eyes dull. “Conference done? Can we go home?”
Home. The word catches me completely off guard.
Maybe it’s a slip of the tongue. Maybe she doesn’t even realize she said it. But it’s the first time she’s referred to my apartment that way. I hate the circumstances surrounding it. I hate that she’s hurting. But I can’t stop the warmth that blooms in my chest.
I nod and rub her arm gently before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Here to pick you up,” I tell her quietly. “Just like I promised.”
She immediately starts steering us toward the front door.
Unfortunately, her mother isn’t finished.
“This isn’t over, Celestine,” Eloise calls after her. “We’ll be having a serious discussion about how to navigate this club scandal—”
“Eloise, please,” Samuel says half-heartedly.
No. That’s fucking it.
I stop walking and slowly turn around. “I’m sorry,” I say. “What club scandal?”
Eloise blinks.
I let out a short laugh, but the sound isn’t pleasant. “You mean the scandal where people are horrified by the complete lack of respect you’ve shown your own daughter?”
Neither of them answers. I feel Cece’s hand squeezing my bicep. A warning not to let this go further. But I’m also done.
“The scandal where you disclosed her mental health struggles without her consent? The scandal where the public is wondering how two people who can afford practically anything somehow came up short on basic empathy?”
Samuel’s face tightens.
“Levi, let’s just go,” Cece groans impatiently.
“Just a second, baby,” I whisper to her.
Then I pin my hardened gaze on the Wentworth parents. “Yeah. We absolutely should talk about that scandal.” My smile is cold. “But not today. And not until your daughter decides she wants to.”
“Levi,” Samuel says sharply, but it lacks the confidence he usually possesses. “That’s enough.”
I stare at him for a long moment before I nod slowly, calculating. “Already got rid of two parents who couldn’t love properly.”
His face pales, all while Eloise staggers back a step.
“Don’t make their mistakes, Mr. Wentworth.” I don’t wait for a response.
Instead, I lace my fingers through Cece’s and lead her toward the door.
Toward home.