Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ANDI
Within moments after I rejoin the party, I sense a shift in the ballroom atmosphere.
It isn’t dramatic. No one gasps. No music stops.
It’s subtler than that—conversations tapering, attention redirecting, posture straightening in quiet recognition.
Bill’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly around his champagne flute before I follow his line of sight toward the entrance.
Sam Woods.
He doesn’t look like a man who tried to corner me weeks ago.
He looks like a respected businessman attending a corporate transition.
His suit is flawless, his expression composed, his stride deliberate.
He greets two executives by name before approaching me, as though this were any other industry event and not the aftermath of a threat.
“Andrea,” he says with a measured smile. “Congratulations. Executive Chair at twenty-eight. Your father would be proud.”
The compliment is smooth enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know what lies underneath it.
“Thank you, Sam,” I reply, keeping my tone businesslike. “I appreciate your coming.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this,” he continues, lowering his voice just slightly. “Transitions of this magnitude are delicate. Particularly when certain assets are strategically important.”
His wording is chosen carefully.
Assets.
I hold his gaze without blinking. “The company’s interests are secure,” I answer. “As are its properties.”
There is a flash—quick and almost invisible—before he recovers. “That’s good to hear. Stability is critical in times of scrutiny. The press can be unpredictable.”
He lets the word hang between us. Unpredictable. A reminder disguised as concern.
Before I respond, the energy shifts again, this time not from the entrance but from behind me. I don’t have to turn to know who it is. My body reacts first—the subtle change in my breathing, the tightening of something that has not fully healed.
Luke.
He approaches without theatrics. No rush. No dramatic announcement. He moves with steady intent, and the space around him opens as if by instinct. He stops beside me, not touching me, not crowding me, simply standing there in a way that makes his allegiance unmistakable.
“Evening,” he says calmly.
Sam’s eyes move between us. Surprise shows this time, unmasked. “I didn’t realize you were invited,” Sam says.
“I wasn’t,” Luke answers, his tone level. “But I’m here, anyway.”
A few conversations nearby die completely.
“This is a business function,” Sam replies.
“Then let’s keep it business,” Luke says, and there is no heat in his voice—only clarity. He looks directly at his father. “If you have something to say about her property or her leadership, say it plainly. Don’t wrap it in coded threats.”
The shift in the room is tangible now. Executives pretend not to stare, but no one moves away.
“You’re out of line,” Sam says quietly.
“I’m exactly where I should be,” Luke responds. “You hired someone to dig into sealed records. You tried to leverage her past for a piece of land. If you want to talk about assets, let’s talk about that.”
My pulse is steady, but the air feels thinner.
Sam’s jaw tightens. “You’re making accusations.”
“I’m stating facts,” Luke says. “And I’m stating them here because you tried to turn this into a public issue. So let’s not pretend this is private.”
The word public is used with precision.
For a moment, Sam looks not angry—but cornered. He scans the room and sees what I see: investors, board members, legal counsel, men and women who measure risk with their every breath.
“You’re choosing her over your family?” he asks quietly.
Luke doesn’t hesitate. “I’m choosing integrity regardless of the cost.”
The simplicity of it reverberates louder than a shout ever could.
Sam studies him for a long moment before smoothing his jacket and reclaiming composure. “Congratulations again, Andrea,” he says, though the warmth is gone. “I hope your decisions serve you well.”
Then he walks away, and the room exhales.
Luke remains beside me, but we don’t speak. The damage has already been done—publicly and irrevocably.
By the time I arrive at Bill’s office the next morning to finalize the transfer of the disputed property, the gala confrontation is already circulating in quiet industry circles. Sam and Linda are seated at the conference table when I enter. Luke is there too.
I hesitate only briefly before taking my seat opposite them. If this is meant to intimidate me, it won’t.
Bill reviews the documents carefully. Because of tax regulations, the transfer must list a monetary exchange.
“One dollar,” I say.
I don’t look at Sam when I say it. Bill’s lips press into a thin line, but he writes it down without argument.
Before the signatures are complete, Bill turns up the television mounted at the far end of the room. My name catches my attention. Footage from last night’s gala fills the screen.
Then it changes.
The images are unmistakable.
Fifteen-year-old me. Hospital gown. Orderlies are restraining me. The title beneath reads: Heiress’s Violent Past Revealed.
The reporter’s voice is smooth, confident, and rehearsed. She repeats the foster family’s narrative as though it were a verified fact.
“Turn it off,” I say.
No one moves.
“Turn it off.”
The screen goes dark. Silence settles in the room like a lead balloon.
Sam finally speaks. “Andi, I—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, my voice even but unyielding. “You may not have handed those photos directly to the press, but you set this in motion the moment you hired someone to obtain them.”
“I didn’t leak anything,” he insists.
“You didn’t have to,” I reply. “Once those records were copied, they became leverage. Once they became leverage, they became currency.”
Luke’s hands tighten against the edge of the table.
“You’ve put more than me at risk,” I continue. “You stirred history that does not stay quiet.”
Sam looks genuinely unsettled now. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I answer carefully, “there are people who benefited from those sealed records staying sealed. Now they have an incentive to protect themselves.”
The weight of that settles over the room.
We sign the documents. Then Bill opens the door and ushers in Hugh Donovan, of Donovan Enterprises. He is a huge name in commercial property development,
Hugh makes the offer, and the blood drains from both Sam and Linda's faces. Sam and Linda whisper amongst themselves while Luke gives me curious looks. I won’t look at him, though, because he can read me all too well.
Hugh’s proposal to buy the property from Sam is not charity. It is precision. He needs consolidated parcels before zoning hearings occur next week, and he is willing to pay for certainty. The offer he places before Sam will stabilize every failing venture he’s been fighting to salvage.
Sam reads the numbers twice. He signs.
The irony is not lost on me.
When it is done, I stand.
“With your newfound liquidity,” I say calmly, finally meeting Sam’s eyes, “I hope the alliances you rely on are more loyal than the ones you tested.” Then I walk toward the door.
Luke follows into the hallway. “Andi,” he says softly.
I stop but don’t face him immediately.
“I was wrong,” he continues. “I should have stood beside you the first time. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I turn then, and the vulnerability in his expression almost fractures my resolve.
“Our time has passed,” I tell him, though the words feel heavier than they should.
“It hasn’t,” he says. “We have three weeks until my fight. I don’t want to step into that ring carrying this.”
The elevator doors open behind me.
“You should have thought about that six weeks ago,” I answer quietly.
The doors close between us.
And for the first time since this began, I’m not certain whether walking away protects me… or protects him.