"Of course, Lola. Simply debating the genius of your chef's hollandaise."Fiona went still, her mimosa glass poised halfway to her lips. "I—wait, what?""I've decided," Jamaica said, smiling. "You're family. Which means if he breaks your heart, I get to break his kneecaps. It's tradition."Someone across the table made a nervous little laugh. Charles remained silent, but the vein in his temple announced itself."Wait," Fiona whispered, voice repressed. "What wedding?""Oh, darling," Jamaica breathed, wistfully. "Make it quick. Life's short, my roses are in bloom, and my tailor is restless." Fiona slowly, ever so slowly, turned her head to Charles."You didn't warn her that it wasn't official yet?"He didn't even blink. "No. And I won't. Unless you want to play Russian roulette with a woman who once iced out three oil tycoons at brunch."She's planning the wedding.""Yes.""I haven't even settled on a color scheme."Charles gave his wine a leisurely sip and growled, "Welcome to my lif
Fiona threw him a side-eye that could curdle cream. "Yes. Thrilling stuff. Eggs and. economics."Jamaica didn't bat an eye. Her eyes flashed between them like a lie detector in stilettos."Oh?" she cooed. "Because from where I was standing, it appeared as though my grandson was being romanced… or intimidated."Fiona smiled innocently, her hands folded. "Can't it be both?"Jamaica released a soft, husky laugh. "Now that's an answer I can admire."Charles placed his glass on the table. "We're just fine, Lola.""Hmm." Jamaica's gaze jumped to Fiona. "You're smart. I like that. But smartness can be perilous if not seasoned with discipline."Fiona did not blink. "So can power if not seasoned with grace."There was a moment of dead silence.Charles blinked. Even the butler hesitated mid-pour.Then—Madam Jamaica let out a slow, pleased clap."Well. Aren't you just full of surprises," she said, voice like the crackle of a vintage record. "Perhaps you can make it through this circus."Fiona s
Fiona took a breath. "Because beneath the arrogance, he's… alone. Lonely. A wolf pretending he doesn't require a pack. And because he gave me something I couldn't find anywhere else.""Sixty million dollars," Daniel said, taking a sip of mimosa.Fiona didn't bat an eyelash. "A chance to save someone I love."Jamaica's fork hovered in mid-air."Ah," she breathed. "There it is.""'There' what?" Fiona inquired."The edge. The thing money can't replicate. You're not here for legacy. You're here for life. Good."She addressed Charles. "I like her more than your last two.""I didn't have two—" "I know. I'm counting the ones you ghosted."Charles glowered.Jamaica reclined, gazing at Fiona now as if she was gazing decades ahead. "I was seventeen when I came to Manhattan," she announced abruptly. "Barefoot. Pregnant. Broke. My husband died in a shipping accident three months later. Everyone told me to go home. I said, 'Screw home. I'll make the world mine.'"Fiona listened, heart rate slowi
Fiona didn't blink.She turned to him deliberately, lashes low over her eyes, voice as cool as glass."You paid for a wife, Charles. Not a puppet."He smiled. "Same thing.""No," she replied, smile tenuous. "A puppet doesn't bleed when you cut it."Charles's jaw clamped down. The spark in his eyes cooled to something harsher—something that resembled eerily respect. or maybe, fear. Of a woman who couldn't be fully owned.Fiona sat up straighter, crossing her legs intentionally.You want me polished? Good. I'll shine like a diamond and your grandmother will think I breakfast on them. But talk to me like that one more time, and God as my witness, I'll show you what a peddler does to a billionaire in public."Charles's eyebrow shot up. "I'm accustomed to being obeyed.""Then this is going to be a hell of an rude awakening."His jaw clenched. "Do not test me, Fiona.She moved forward now, chin lifted, heels snapping like gunfire on the marble floor."Test you? Sweetie, I endured worse than
The next morning charles phoned and he will be driving over to pick up fiona Infront of her place The New york townhouse didn't appear to be a styling studio.It seemed like an embassy for a king—white marble floors, gold-inlaid columns, and tall mirrors with soft lights around them. Fiona stood in the middle of the room feeling out of place and under scrutiny.Which wasn't far from the reality.She was hemmed in by rows of designer gowns, shelves of stilettos, cases of jewelry that were treated like national treasures—and one very keen billionaire sitting in the corner, crossed legs, a glass of scotch resting in his hand.Charles Billion had not uttered a word since she entered.He observed.Quietly. Fiercely. As if he was auditioning someone to play a character in a movie only he could helm.Fiona pulled on the sleeve of her blouse. "This is… too much."A woman of commanding height, with silver-blonde hair, turned to her like a hawk in mid-flight."'A bit much' is for funerals, Miss
"She'll be okay," Charles told him, coldness in his tone. "She knows the conditions.""Terms?" Jamaica's cackle was cold and lethal. "Sweetheart, this is not a merger. This is your last chance to show me that you're not emotionally constipated. I want fireworks. Passion. Love burning in her eyes. True or false. Because if I get so much as a sniff of pretension, I'm shipping it all to your cousin Daniel. And that kid thinks Excel is a nightclub."Charles closed his eyes. The headache was already there, knocking like a collector.“You’ll meet her,” he said. “Just… not yet.”“Oh,” she purred. “You’re protecting her already. How romantic.”“I’m protecting the arrangement,” he growled."Mhm. Alright." Silence. And then, in a completely matter-of-fact voice, as if ordering coffee. "Brunch with family. Sunday. No exceptions. I want smiling faces and holding hands. And for goodness' sake, Charles, do not look like someone has just blown away your Labrador."CLICK.It was over.Charles glared