CHAPTER 22 #2
"He walked away from the security division," Simon said, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, ruining it completely. "He walked away from the board. He told Father he had immunity from the feds. He’s going to destroy us, Audrey. He’s going to send my father to prison, and he’s going to bankrupt the holding company. "
Simon dropped to his knees.
It was a pathetic, theatrical movement, but he was entirely serious. He knelt on the dirty linoleum floor, looking up at me with tears standing in his eyes.
"Please," Simon begged, his voice breaking.
"You have to stop him. You’re the only one he listens to.
If you leave him—if you just walk away tonight and tell the press the engagement was a mistake—he won't have a reason to burn the company down. Father will give you your firm back. I’ll transfer the deed tomorrow morning. Just please, Audrey... make him stop."
I looked down at the man I almost married.
Four years. I spent four years trying to mold myself into a shape that wouldn't bruise his fragile ego. I wore pastels. I spoke quietly. I forgave his passive-aggressive comments because I thought he was just stressed by the pressure of his family name.
I thought he was broken, and I thought I could fix him.
But looking at him now, kneeling on the floor, begging me to sacrifice my own safety just to protect his trust fund, I realized the absolute, devastating truth.
He wasn't broken. He was just empty.
I stood up.
Simon looked up at me hopefully, expecting me to agree. He expected the quiet, accommodating girl to save him.
"Get up, Simon," I said, my voice completely flat.
He hesitated, sensing the shift in the room's gravity. He slowly stood up, brushing the dirt off the knees of his tuxedo trousers.
"You'll talk to him?" Simon asked, his voice trembling.
"No." I stepped closer to him. I didn't shrink away. I didn't lower my eyes. I looked directly into his face. "I am not going to talk to him. I am not going to leave him. And I am certainly not going to take my company back from a man who had to steal it in the first place."
Simon stared at me, the hope draining from his face, replaced by a dark, ugly resentment. "You’re crazy. He’s a psychopath, Audrey. He doesn't love you. He’s just using you to destroy me."
"He already destroyed you, Simon," I said softly. "You just haven't realized you’re dead yet."
I walked past him toward the door.
"He’ll ruin you too!" Simon shouted, spinning around to face my back. "When he’s done with my father, he’ll turn on you! That’s what he does!"
I put my hand on the brass doorknob. I didn't turn around.
"If Malcolm Vance wants to ruin me," I said, the absolute certainty of the words settling deep in my bones, "I will gladly let him."
I pulled the door open and stepped out into the freezing corridor.
I didn't run. I walked down the hallway, the gold silk of my dress brushing against the linoleum. I pushed the heavy double doors open and stepped back into the blinding light and noise of the main ballroom.
The orchestra was playing a waltz. The crowd was laughing, drinking champagne, completely oblivious to the fact that their entire world was currently burning to the ground.
I scanned the room.
I didn't look for the exits. I didn't look for Grant.
I looked for the shadow.
I found him standing near the center of the room. Malcolm was completely still, his dark eyes scanning the crowd with a frantic, lethal intensity that I had never seen from him before. He looked like a man who was seconds away from tearing the building apart with his bare hands.
"Malcolm," I said.
My voice was quiet, but he heard it. He turned his head, his eyes locking onto mine across the crowded room.
The sheer, overwhelming relief that crashed over his face was devastating.
He didn't care about the board. He didn't care about the company. He didn't care about the hundreds of people watching him.
He crossed the ballroom in long, rapid strides, ignoring the mayor, ignoring the photographers. He reached me, his hands gripping my shoulders with a bruising, desperate force, pulling me flush against his chest.
"Where were you?" he demanded, his voice a harsh, broken rasp against my ear.
"Simon," I whispered, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, burying my face in the wool of his tuxedo jacket. "He paid the security team to lock me in a room."
I felt the exact moment Malcolm’s relief mutated into absolute, murderous rage. The muscles in his back turned to stone. He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes scanning my face, my bare shoulders, looking for any sign of injury.
"Did he touch you?" Malcolm asked, the words entirely devoid of humanity.
"No. He just begged me to leave you so you wouldn't destroy the company." I looked up at him, my heart breaking at the sheer scale of what he had done for me. "You resigned, Malcolm. You gave it all up."
"It was already gone," he murmured, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." I caught his hand, pressing my palm against his. "Take me home."
Malcolm looked over my shoulder. I didn't have to turn around to know he was looking at the double doors leading to the service hallway. He was calculating how long it would take to find Simon and end his life.
"Malcolm," I said, my voice firm. "We won. Let him rot in the mess he made. Take me home."
He looked back down at me. The violent, territorial instinct in his eyes warred with the desperate need to get me out of this house.
The need to protect me won.
"Grant," Malcolm said, not raising his voice.
Grant materialized from the crowd instantly, his expression grim. "Sir. I lost visual on her when the music changed. The contractors—"
"Deal with the contractors," Malcolm interrupted, his voice ice-cold. "We are leaving."
Malcolm didn't let go of my hand. He kept me anchored to his side as we walked out of the ballroom, through the foyer, and out the front doors of the Vance estate.
The paparazzi were still waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The flashes started immediately, blinding and chaotic.
We didn't stop. We didn't pose. Malcolm shielded my face with his body, guiding me into the back of the SUV.
The doors closed, shutting out the noise and the light. The car pulled away from the mansion, leaving the Vance family legacy burning in the rearview mirror.
I leaned my head back against the leather seat, turning to look at the man sitting next to me. He had lost his empire. He had lost his family.
But as he reached across the dark car and pulled me into his lap, burying his face in my neck, I knew he didn't regret a single second of it.