CHAPTER 7 #2
"It’s not a game," Malcolm replies, his tone matching his father’s. "It’s a notification. Simon made a mess in my city. I am cleaning it up."
"She is a liability." Preston points a finger at me, though he doesn't look at me. "She is a broke, desperate woman looking for a payout. If you think I am going to allow you to drag the Vance name through the mud because you want to punish your brother—"
"You don't allow me to do anything," Malcolm interrupts.
The words are spoken quietly, but they hit like a physical blow.
Preston stops talking. The two guards standing ten feet away stiffen, their hands dropping toward their waists.
"I run the security division," Malcolm continues, his dark eyes locked on his father.
"I hold the encrypted files for the offshore accounts.
I know exactly where the zoning permits for the South Side project were forged.
You do not control me, Preston. You never have.
You just convinced yourself that you did because I allowed it. "
Preston’s face turns a mottled shade of red. The veins in his neck bulge against the collar of his shirt.
"You are making a mistake," Preston hisses. "Simon is family. She is nothing."
"She is wearing my ring," Malcolm says. The absolute, terrifying finality in his voice makes the hair on my arms stand up.
"If you, or Simon, or anyone on your payroll approaches her, speaks to her, or looks at her without my permission, I will not just cut Simon off.
I will dismantle the holding company, and I will hand the pieces to the SEC. "
Preston stares at his son. For the first time, I see a flicker of genuine uncertainty in the older man’s eyes. He is trying to calculate if Malcolm is bluffing.
He isn't. I can feel the tension radiating from Malcolm’s body. He is entirely prepared to burn his own family to the ground right here in the museum.
Preston takes a slow, deep breath, regaining his composure. He adjusts his suit jacket, the mask of the untouchable billionaire sliding back into place.
"We will discuss this in private," Preston says coldly.
"There is nothing to discuss." Malcolm places his hand on the small of my back. "Enjoy the gala, Father."
Malcolm doesn't wait for a response. He turns, guiding me away from the pillar and toward the main exit of the hall.
I don't look back. I keep my eyes fixed on the heavy wooden doors leading to the lobby. My legs feel like they are made of lead. The adrenaline is crashing, leaving behind a cold, shaky exhaustion.
We walk through the lobby, past the coat check, and out into the freezing Chicago night.
The SUV is waiting at the curb. Grant opens the door before we even reach the pavement.
I slide into the back seat, the emerald silk rustling loudly in the quiet car. Malcolm gets in next to me. The door shuts, cutting off the sound of the city.
The privacy partition is already up. The car pulls away from the curb smoothly.
I lean my head back against the leather headrest, closing my eyes. My chest is rising and falling too fast.
"He’s going to come after me," I whisper into the dark.
"No." Malcolm’s voice is hard. "He won't."
"You threatened him with the SEC, Malcolm. You threatened to destroy his company. Men like that don't just back down. He’s going to find a way to break the contract. He’s going to dig into my life—"
"Audrey."
"He called me a stray. He called me a liability." My voice cracks. The reality of what I just walked into is finally hitting me. I didn't just pick a fight with my cheating ex-fiancé. I picked a fight with a cartel masquerading as a corporation.
"Audrey, look at me."
I open my eyes.
Malcolm is leaning toward me in the dim light of the backseat. The cold, calculating enforcer who just threatened his father is gone.
He reaches out. He doesn't grab my hand this time. He slides his fingers into my hair, his palm resting against the side of my head, right above my ear. The touch is shockingly gentle.
"He is not going to touch you," Malcolm says, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone. "Simon is not going to touch you. I don't care what they dig up. I don't care what they try to do. You are not a liability to me."
I stare at him, my breath catching in my throat. The heat of his hand is anchoring me, pulling me back from the edge of the panic attack.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper. "You could have ruined Simon without me. You could have just leaked the files. Why did you bring me into this?"
Malcolm looks at my mouth. His thumb stops moving.
The silence in the car stretches, heavy and loaded with the confession he almost made in the museum.
"Because," he murmurs, his dark eyes lifting to meet mine, "ruining Simon from the shadows wouldn't have put you in my car. And I am a very selfish man."
He doesn't kiss me. He doesn't cross the line. He just leaves the truth hanging in the air between us, raw and undeniable.
The fake engagement is a lie. The revenge plot is an excuse.
I am not the bait for his family. I am the prize.
And the most terrifying part isn't that I just realized it.
The most terrifying part is that I don't want to get out of the car.