He Never Bluffed
Christian leaned back in his chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened after another long day of meetings. The city skyline beyond the tinted windows had turned the soft orange of late spring, but he barely noticed. His phone buzzed once on the desk; he glanced at it, then swiped to answer.
Marcus didn’t bother with greetings.
“Marshall Corp just introduced their heir,” he said without preamble. “The press hasn’t caught wind yet, but the employees are talking. Word’s already leaking on internal channels and private chats. Margaret Marshall has a daughter.”
Christian’s fingers stilled on the edge of a report he’d been pretending to read.
“Daughter?” His voice was flat, skeptical. “She’s never mentioned family. Not once.”
Marcus gave a short laugh. “Apparently she kept it quiet for a reason. The employees who were there say she walked in with Margaret this morning. Pastel-blue suit, pearls, hair in a sleek bob, looked like she stepped out of a boardroom and a magazine cover at the same time. They’re calling her gorgeous.
Intellectual. Poised. Said she addressed the lobby herself.
.. told them she’s starting from a small post to prove herself.
No title. No corner office. Just ‘learning the company from the ground up.’”
Christian exhaled slowly through his nose, leaning forward now, elbows on the desk.
“Typical Marshall move,” he murmured. “Understated. Strategic. Let the work speak before the name does.”
Marcus waited a beat. “Employees are buzzing. Morale’s up. They’re already calling her ‘the next Margaret.’ Should we do something about it? Reach out? Maybe Margaret’s finally open to a partnership now that she’s got someone to leave the empire to.”
Christian stared at the phone for a long second, thumb tapping once against the edge of the desk.
He paused, gaze drifting to the framed photo on his desk, him and Symphony from the recent shoot, her tiny hand on his cheek, both of them smiling. The empty space beside them still ached like a missing limb.
“Give it a try,” he said at last. “Send a formal letter. Express interest in renewed discussions. Keep it professional. No pressure. Just… open the door.”
Marcus made a low sound of acknowledgment.
“On it. I’ll draft it tonight. Anything else?”
Christian’s eyes lingered on the photo.
“No,” he said softly. “That’s all.”
Marcus ended the call.
Christian sat in silence for a long moment, thumb brushing the edge of the frame.
He set the phone down.
And stared at his daughter’s smiling face.
Wherever you are, he thought, I hope you’re safe.
Because I’m starting to think the world isn’t big enough to keep you hidden forever.
×××××××
Margaret led Melody down a quiet corridor on the executive floor, the soft click of their heels echoing against polished marble. The hallway opened into a glass-walled conference room bathed in natural light, where a young man waited near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
He turned as they entered.
Tall, lean, dark hair swept back, sharp jawline softened by a warm smile, dressed in a charcoal suit that fit like it had been made for him. His eyes, deep brown and lively, landed on Melody first, then flicked to Margaret with easy respect.
“Melody,” Margaret said, gesturing him forward, “this is Ryan Caldwell. He’s one of my most trusted advisors here... started in analytics, rose quickly, now handles strategic partnerships and growth initiatives. He’s sharp, discreet, and he knows this company inside out.”
Ryan extended a hand, smile widening into something unmistakably flirtatious.
“Melody Marshall,” he said, voice smooth and low, eyes lingering on hers a beat longer than necessary. “The name’s already making rounds. But seeing you in person… well, the rumors didn’t do you justice.”
Melody shook his hand, firm and brief, feeling the warmth of his palm and the slight squeeze he gave before letting go.
“Thank you,” she replied evenly, a polite smile curving her lips. “I’m just trying to learn the ropes.”
Margaret’s eyes twinkled with quiet amusement.
“She’s being modest, Ryan. Melody has a mind for strategy that rivals anyone I’ve ever worked with.
But she’s starting from the ground up...
small post, hands-on learning. I’d like you to be her guide for the first few months.
Show her the inner workings, introduce her to the right people, help her navigate the politics without getting burned. ”
Ryan’s smile turned playful.
“Guide her?” He glanced at Melody, brows lifting in mock surprise. “I’d be honored. Though I have a feeling she’ll be teaching me a few things before long.”
Margaret chuckled softly.
“I’m counting on it. Melody, Ryan will be your point person. Anything you need, data, introductions, advice, he’s your resource.”
Melody met Ryan’s gaze again, steady despite the faint heat rising in her cheeks from his open flirtation.
“I appreciate it,” she said. “I don’t actually need much hand-holding. I’ve run teams, analyzed markets, built projections, but I’d be grateful for someone who can show me how things really work here. The unspoken rules. The people who matter.”
Ryan’s expression shifted... still warm, but now with genuine respect.
“Smart,” he replied. “Most people in your position would demand a corner office and a title. You’re asking for knowledge. That’s rare.” He tilted his head slightly, smile turning a shade more intimate. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Melody. Very much.”
Margaret watched the exchange with quiet satisfaction, then stepped back toward the door.
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” she said. “Ryan, make sure she has access to everything she needs... reports, calendars, contacts. Melody, settle in. We’ll talk later this afternoon.”
She left, door closing softly behind her.
Ryan turned fully to Melody, hands slipping into his pockets.
“So,” he said, voice dropping a fraction, “where do you want to start? Coffee and a tour? Or straight into the deep end... strategy decks, current partnerships, the board’s latest headaches?”
Melody met his gaze, level, composed, a small spark of amusement in her own eyes.
“Coffee sounds good,” she replied. “But let’s walk while we talk. I want to see the floor. Feel the pulse of the place.”
Ryan’s smile widened... appreciative and intrigued.
“Even better,” he said. “After you, Ms. Marshall.”
He held the door for her, falling into step beside her as they walked the hallway together.
And Melody felt the first real flicker of power since everything had been taken from her.
She was here.
She was learning.
And she was ready.
×××××××
Christian stepped through the cracked door of Melody’s apartment, the hinges groaning in protest. The hallway light outside flickered, casting jittery shadows across the wreckage inside.
The place was a ruin.
Dust coated every surface... thick, undisturbed for months.
Wallpaper hung in shredded strips, exposing yellowed plaster beneath.
The couch lay on its side, cushions gutted, stuffing spilling like pale entrails.
Broken glass glittered on the floorboards.
Books lay torn and scattered. And on every wall, the spray paint still screamed in faded red letters:
MURDERER
KILLER
YOU DON’T DESERVE TO LIVE
STAY AWAY FROM SYMPHONY
Christian’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
The air smelled stale, old paint, mildew, abandonment.
He stood motionless in the center of the chaos, hands flexing at his sides.
This wasn’t random.
This was personal.
Vicious.
Deliberate.
Ashley.
Or Victoria.
No one else would go this far.
No one else had the motive, or the cruelty.
His phone buzzed sharply in his pocket.
He pulled it out without looking, thumbed the answer button.
“Marcus.”
Marcus’s voice came through, clipped and careful.
“Marshall Corp just rejected the proposal. Formal letter... polite, but firm. No interest in renewed talks. They didn’t even leave the door cracked.”
Christian’s grip tightened until the phone creaked.
Margaret.
Who did she think she was?
He exhaled through his nose, a low, dangerous sound.
“Understood,” he said, voice flat. “Keep digging on Melody. Anything. Leads. Last sightings. I want her found.”
He ended the call before Marcus could reply.
The phone dropped back into his pocket.
He stared at the wall again... at the word MURDERER scrawled in dripping red.
Rage settled into his bones.
He turned on his heel and walked out, door slamming behind him.
The hallway light flickered once more, then steadied.
He was going to the Quinn Estate.
And this time, he wasn’t asking questions.
He was getting answers.
Even if he had to beat them out of her.
×××××××
Christian strode into the Quinn estate’s drawing room without announcement, the heavy oak doors banging open against the walls. Ashley was lounging on a velvet chaise, scrolling through her phone, legs crossed, a glass of rosé balanced on the armrest. She looked up at the sound.
“Christian,” she said, setting the phone aside and rising slowly. “What are you—”
He crossed the room in four strides and stopped inches from her.
“Where is she?”
Ashley blinked, feigning confusion. “Who?”
His hand shot out, fingers closing around her upper arm, hard enough to make her gasp.
“Don’t,” he said, voice low and lethal. “Melody. I saw what you did to her apartment. The spray paint and all. So I’m going to ask one more time, where the hell is she?”
Ashley tried to pull away; his grip tightened.
“You’re hurting me,” she hissed.
“Good.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
“Because if you don’t start talking, I’ll do a lot worse than bruise your arm.
I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin your parents. I’ll ruin the Quinn name so thoroughly that your grandchildren will still be paying for it.
I have the resources. I have the will. And right now, I have zero patience left. ”
Ashley’s eyes widened, fear flashing for the first time. She swallowed hard.
“I… I didn’t—”
Christian shook her once.
“Lie to me again and I swear to God I’ll make you regret every breath you’ve taken since you met me.”
Her composure cracked. Tears welled, but they were angry tears, not remorseful.
“Fine!” she spat. “Yes! I sent them. Four men. I paid them to scare her. To hurt her. To make her bleed and beg. She ruined everything! You were supposed to marry me. You were supposed to choose me. I wanted her to pay for breaking my engagement. For breaking us.”
Christian’s grip tightened until she winced.
“Where is she now?” he demanded.
Ashley shook her head frantically.
“I don’t know! They were supposed to rough her up, leave her scared, make her run. That was it. I didn’t tell them to kill her. I swear. After the diner, I never heard from them again. She just… vanished. Maybe they went too far. Maybe she ran. I don’t know!”
Christian stared at her for a long, frozen second, searching her eyes, her trembling lips, the frantic pulse in her throat.
He believed her.
She didn’t know.
He released her arm abruptly. She stumbled back, rubbing the red marks his fingers had left.
Christian stepped away, breathing hard through his nose.
“You’re done,” he said, voice eerily calm.
“I’m going to ruin your family. Not just you, your parents, your brother, your cousins.
Every business they touch. Every deal they make.
Every reputation they’ve built. I will dismantle it all.
Piece by piece. And when I’m finished, you’ll have nothing left but the memory of what you threw away. ”
Ashley’s face crumpled. “You can’t—”
“I already am,” he said quietly. “The first call goes out tomorrow morning. By the end of the week, the Quinn name will be toxic. Enjoy your last few days of pretending you matter.”
He turned and walked out.
The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.
Ashley stood alone in the drawing room, wine glass forgotten, breathing in shallow gasps.
She had lost.
And she knew deep in her bones, that Christian Holt never bluffed.
×××××××
One More Chapter? ??
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