003

~Four years, seven months later~

“Again!” my little boy demanded, breathless and grinning.

I smiled despite myself, spreading out my arms. “One last time.”

I'd just spun him around as compensation for winning him at a game of chess, and I was breathless and tired, but saying no to my baby was almost impossible. 

His grin widened, and he bounced excitedly in his spot. 

My life wasn't perfect, but in moments like these with my four-year-old son, I felt I was exactly where I needed to be. 

I wasn't, not even close. I hadn't even started half of the journey I spent almost five years training my mind and body for, yet. 

Victor stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, watching us. 

His presence had never wavered over the years. When training me to be who I needed to be, he was rough. When I was sad, he was comforting. And when my son needed something like a father figure, he was there. He was everything I didn't know I needed. 

When I’d discovered I was pregnant—six months after the divorce, when I'd gone into labor—I hadn’t known what to feel. Shock had come first, then fear... then resolve. Victor had been my anchor through it all. 

I wouldn't have come this far if he hadn't been there for my son and me. I felt like I owed my whole life to him. 

My son rushed me again, and this time I caught him easily, lifting him into the air as he squealed with laughter.

“Enough,” Victor said. “That’s good for today.”

At Victor's voice, I lowered him to the ground. 

My son pouted. “But I didn’t win.”

Victor’s lips twitched. “You will, eventually. When you're well trained, you will become unbeatable.”

His eyes widened. “Will I be better than Mom?”

“Sure, kiddo.”

That seemed to satisfy him. In fact, it did more than satisfy him. He jumped, pumping his fist into the air. “Yes! I'll finally win Mom!"

Even after a few minutes, when he was led away by his caretaker, he still kept chatting animatedly about how he was going to grow up and be better than me at chess. 

The funny thing was that I wasn't even good, not even fine, but he never witnessed the way Victor beat me whenever we played. 

“Should I be worried that my son's favorite fun activity is playing chess?” I asked, smiling. 

“The boy is smart, much like my grandson at that age. If he's anything like him, I bet his agemates' idea of fun would bore him.”

I knew my four-year-old was smarter than most kids his age, and was willing to do anything to help him get even smarter—anything but let him beat me at a game I was barely good at. He was the only one who thought I could play well, and I wanted to keep it that way for a while. 

I chuckled. “I guess it would.”

Victor turned, studying me the way he always did when something important was coming.

“Tomorrow is the annual ball,” he said.

My shoulders stiffened, and my smile felt like it was frozen in place. “I know.”

“You’ll attend.”

I turned to face him fully. “No.”

The word came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t take it back. 

“I’m not ready,” I continued instead. “I’ve stayed invisible for a reason. We’ve built everything quietly. Appearing now—”

“—is exactly what you need to do,” Victor interrupted.

I shook my head. “That room will be full of people who remember me as someone else. As his wife... As nothing.”

I didn't mention that they were probably going think I didn't belong there, because I could already imagine Victor's reply. I knew he was going to be disappointed that the backbone he helped me grow in the past years was very brittle. It wasn't. It was just... I needed more time. 

Victor’s gaze was steady. “They will remember you as nothing only if you allow it. You can change their opinion. You will change their opinion.”

I crossed my arms, suddenly cold. “I don’t want to be seen yet. We haven't even covered our entire plan. We—”

“You won’t be alone,” he cut me off.

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “I don't have a problem with being alone, Victor. I’ve been alone for four years. I can manage one more night.” 

 Suddenly, I felt like I was going to cry, but I didn't let it happen. I hadn't cried in three years—not out of sadness, at least—and I wasn't going cry again over the last man who caused my tears. 

I took a deep breath. “It's just... I feel like I'm not ready.”

“Ready,” he echoed. Then he took a few steps forward, toward a window. “Ready is not a feeling, Joan. If you keep waiting for when you feel so, it'll never happen. All my time and investment in you would be a waste," he glanced at me, "I don't make fruitless investments, Joan."

I sighed, rubbing my arms. "I—"

“Joan.”

The way he said my name stopped me.

“You’ve done everything right,” he went on. “You endured, you trained your mind and body. You learned how men like him think. You acquired leverage.”

I didn't say anything, knowing he wasn't done. 

When Victor got into his lecture mode, it was best to just listen, unless it was clear he wanted you to speak. 

“You now own nearly twenty percent of his company without him realizing it,” Victor added calmly. “You didn't do all that just to end up crippled by fear. So, consider this a test,” he paused. 

I knew he was waiting for my input, no matter how little. "A test?" 

He smiled. "Yes. If you don't perform as I expect, then we will delay our plans until further notice." 

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. "Will you be at the ball?" 

"No. But as I said, you won't be going alone." 

Before I could ask, Victor shifted, glancing toward the doorway.

“Come in.”

I turned just as footsteps entered the room.

The man who stepped inside was tall and broad-shouldered, and his body filled out his black suit in a way that made me think he was a sportsman. 

He stopped a few feet away, eyes settling on me.

And something in my chest stuttered.

He looked… familiar. But I couldn't place where I'd seen him.

Victor gestured lightly. “Joan. This is my grandson, Brandon. He will accompany you to the ball tomorrow.” He turned to Brandon. "This is Joan. You've heard enough about her from me already." 

My eyes flicked to him, and he was already looking at me. 

My cheeks flamed, and I looked away. 

In that short moment, I'd finally remembered where I'd seen him. Victor showed me some of his pictures, and I might've done a bit of stalking on his I*******m page, a little over two years ago.

I was intrigued. Sue me. 

The man inclined his head slightly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Joan.”

I noticed the faintest hint of an accent toward the end of his statement. British. Victor mentioned he'd stayed in Britain with his mom for a few years in his childhood. 

I found my voice with effort. “Likewise.”

His blue eyes assessed me in a way that was too similar to Victor's. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.” 

I raised a brow. “Only good things, I hope.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Only the important ones.”

Victor's gaze shifted from me to his grandson. “I'd let you two get familiar, but Brandon and I have a few things to discuss."

I nodded. “Of course. Don't let me stop you.”

 Victor just hummed lowly and then started toward the door, expecting his grandson to follow. 

“I believe I'll be seeing you soon, Joan,” Brandon said when Victor was gone. 

I smiled a little. “I believe you will.”

As he turned to leave, my shoulders sagged in relief. At what? I didn't know. I did know that it had something to do with Brandon.