Chapter 26 #2
We're at our table—Grant, me, and several of his business associates and their spouses—when I see her.
Victoria.
She's across the room, elegant in a black gown that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her blonde hair is swept up in a sleek chignon, enormous diamond earrings glittering at her ears. She's talking to a cluster of women, her smile bright and social.
But her eyes find mine across the crowd, and she immediately stops smiling.
"She's here," I murmur to Grant.
He follows my gaze, his jaw tightening. "I figured she would be. She's on the host committee."
Of course she is. Victoria's social power is built on exactly these kinds of events—charity boards, gala committees, the endless networking that keeps Manhattan's elite interconnected.
"It's fine," I say, even though I can feel my heart rate elevating. "We knew we'd run into her eventually."
Grant's hand finds mine under the table. "If she approaches you, if she says anything—"
"I can handle it." I squeeze his fingers. "I'm not scared of her anymore."
It's mostly true. Victoria's power to hurt me is gone. She already destroyed my investment with Vance, and it doesn't matter because I have Athena Capital now. She can whisper all she wants about our “inappropriate” relationship—I know the truth. Grant knows the truth. That's what matters.
Dinner is served. I pick at my salmon, too aware of Victoria's presence across the room. She doesn't approach, but I catch her watching us several times.
The speeches start after the chocolate mousse dessert.
The organization's director talks about the programs they fund, the kids they've helped, the impact of everyone's generosity.
Grant is called up to the stage to accept some kind of leadership award, and I watch him accept it with gracious humility, his brief speech focused entirely on the kids the organization serves rather than his own contribution.
When he returns to the table, he leans down to whisper in my ear. "Samantha just texted. She's here."
I straighten. "What?"
"She came with friends, apparently. Some kind of teenage networking thing." His expression is carefully neutral, but I can see the hope underneath. "She wants to say hi."
Before I can respond, Samantha appears at our table.
She's in a sky blue sheath dress, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She looks nervous but when she meets my eyes, she smiles.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi." I stand, suddenly uncertain. We ended things on good terms at my apartment, but this is different. This is public. "You look beautiful. I love that dress."
"Thanks. So do you." Her eyes drop to my bump, then back up. "Congratulations, by the way. On the funding. I saw it on your Instagram."
The fact that she follows my Instagram makes something warm bloom in my chest. "Thanks. It's—it's still surreal."
"You earned it." Samantha glances at her father, then back at me. "I just wanted to say hi. Let you know I'm here. In case—" She stops.
"In case what?" Grant asks gently.
Samantha's jaw sets. "In case Mom tries anything. I saw her watching you guys. She's got that look."
"Samantha, you don't have to—" Grant starts.
"Yeah, I do." She looks between us, her eyes fierce. "You guys are together. You're having twins. And Mom is trying to destroy that because she can't stand not being the center of your world anymore. It's wrong. And I'm not going to just stand by and let her do it."
My throat goes tight. This girl—this young woman who had every reason to hate me—is ready to stand between her mother and us.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
She nods, then slips back into the crowd.
Grant's hand finds mine again, and we glance at each other with a knowing look. We can handle this—because we’re together.
Victoria appears during the networking hour after dinner, when people are mingling and the bar has reopened. She glides through the crowd with practiced grace, and she's heading straight for us.
I immediately feel the anger radiating off of Grant’s body.
"Grant, darling." Victoria's voice is honey-sweet. "What a lovely speech. So heartfelt."
"Victoria." His tone is flat.
Her gaze shifts to me, and her smile sharpens. "And Emma. How are you feeling, dear? Pregnancy can be so taxing. Though I suppose with you being so young, it’s not as bad."
The dig is subtle but clear. I force a smile. "I'm feeling wonderful, actually. Thank you for asking."
"Mmm." She sips her champagne, her eyes assessing. "You know, I was just speaking with Lawrence Vance earlier this week. He mentioned he passed on investing in your little perfume venture. Such a shame."
The words are designed to wound. To remind me of her power.
"It worked out for the best," I say evenly. "Athena Capital is a much better fit for Essence's vision."
Something flickers in Victoria's expression. Surprise, maybe. I’m pretty sure she hadn’t heard the news.
"Athena Capital." She repeats the name. "How... resourceful of you. Though I do wonder how you secured that meeting. It's such a competitive fund. They rarely take cold pitches."
The implication is clear. She thinks Grant bought me the meeting.
"Victoria, that's enough." Grant's voice is low and biting. "You're done."
"Done?" She laughs. "Darling, I'm just making conversation. Surely Emma can handle a few questions about her business. Unless there's something she's trying to hide?"
People around us are starting to notice. To listen. Victoria's voice is just loud enough to draw attention, and I can feel the weight of curious gazes.
This is it. Her final play. A public confrontation designed to humiliate me, to make Grant look foolish, and to reassert her social dominance.
Grant steps closer to Victoria, his voice calm but carrying. "I said you're done. Your harassment stops now."
Victoria's eyes flash. "Harassment? Grant, really. You're being dramatic."
"Am I?" He doesn't raise his voice, doesn't need to. "You sabotaged Emma's investment out of spite. You sent that photograph to David, knowing exactly what it would do. You've been systematically trying to destroy Emma because you can't accept that I've moved on."
The people around us have gone completely quiet. Every eye is on us.
Victoria's composure cracks slightly. "You're making a scene."
"No. I'm drawing a line." Grant's voice is steel wrapped in silk. "You are no longer welcome near my family. You want to be on charity boards together? Fine. We'll be civil. But you will leave Emma alone. You will stop your manipulations. And if you don't—"
He doesn't finish the threat. Doesn't need to.
Victoria's face has gone pale, her carefully constructed social armor cracking. "You can't—Grant, you're being ridiculous. This girl is half your age, pregnant with your children, and you're choosing her over—"
"Over you?" Samantha's voice cuts through the murmurs.
She's standing right behind her mother, and the look on her face is pure resolve.
"Samantha." Victoria says carefully. "Sweetheart, this isn't—"
"Dad’s right." Samantha moves to stand beside Grant, her eyes locked on her mother. "Leave them alone. They're together, they're happy. And you trying to destroy that just makes you look petty and cruel."
Victoria's expression crumples. Just for a second, her perfect facade breaks, and I see pain and loss underneath.
But then it hardens again, and she looks at Grant and me with something like hatred.
"Fine." The word is clipped. "You want to play happy family with your pregnant child-bride? Go ahead. But don't come crying to me when it all falls apart."
She turns on her heel and walks away, her spine rigid.
The crowd around us starts to murmur. I catch fragments—Did you hear that? Victoria Cross just got shut down. About time someone stood up to her.
Grant's hand finds mine, solid and warm. Samantha is still standing with us, her jaw set.
"Thank you," I tell her quietly.
She shrugs, but a small smile tugs at her mouth. "Someone had to tell her the truth. Might as well be her own daughter."
Grant puts his arm around Samantha's shoulders, pulling her into a brief, fierce hug. "I'm proud of you."
"Yeah, well." Her voice is thick. "Don't make it weird."
But she's smiling.
I lean into Grant's side, and he presses a kiss to my temple.
"Ready to go home?" he murmurs.
"I couldn’t be more ready," I say.
We leave the gala together—Grant, Samantha, and me—walking out of the museum into the cool night air. Behind us, Victoria's social power evaporates like morning mist.
Ahead of us, everything is possible.