9: Shifting targets

Vivian blinked, frozen in sheer disbelief.

As Theo slowly managed to uncurl himself, wheezing and clutching his aching lower half, she quickly arranged her face into a tender, heartbreaking concern.

“Theo, are you okay?” she whimpered softly.

Theo’s face twisted in agony and rage.

“Is Kimberly Holland out of her goddamn mind?!” he spat, breathing heavily as he struggled to stand. “She used to be so submissive, so eager to please me! Why is she acting like a rabid dog today?!”

Vivian gripped his shoulder to pull him all the way up, stabilizing his trembling frame.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” she whispered, leaning into him. “My sister has been putting on an act this entire time. She looks so fragile and harmless on the surface, but underneath, she’s always plotting something nasty. I guess she just can’t keep her fake little mask on anymore.”

Theo glared at the closed bedroom door, his chest heaving with murderous intent.

“Just you wait, you vicious bitch,” he growled under his breath. “I’m going to make you pay for this.”

Vivian tracked his gaze toward the door, her eyes glistening with dramatic fear as she looked back at Theo.

“What are we going to do now? My sister won’t agree to raise our child. If Uncle finds out, he’ll force me to lose the baby... For my sister to do something like this is just too vicious!”

Theo’s jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground together, and an idea immediately sparked in his mind.

“Then go get your parents,” he commanded grimly. “And your brother, too.”

A tiny, satisfied smile twitched at the corner of Vivian’s lips.

She nodded obediently and helped him as he limped away down the hall.

The following morning.

Finnick walked into his grand, private dining room, effortlessly commanding the space.

Dressed casually in a fitted black T-shirt and tailored black trousers, he looked infuriatingly handsome without even trying.

He rolled his broad shoulders back, a satisfying pop echoing in the quiet room.

At the side, his personal assistant, Jonas Hayes, stood with his hands folded and head respectfully lowered.

Finnick stared at the lavish, untouched breakfast spread across the dining table. “How long ago was this prepared?”

Jonas answered instantly. “Just now, Boss. I personally supervised the kitchen.”

He quickly stepped forward and pulled out the grand armchair for Finnick.

Finnick sat down, resting his arm on the table as he brought out his open palm. “Light up a cigarette for me.”

Jonas glanced at the untouched spread on the table, already knowing his boss wasn’t going to eat a single bite.

He nodded obediently and immediately sparked a silver lighter, lighting the cigarette and handing it over.

Finnick took the cigarette between his fingers and took a deep smoke, letting the nicotine absorb into his lungs before exhaling a thin trail of gray smoke from his nose and lips.

“So,” Finnick murmured, his tone smooth as velvet. “Anything pressing I need to know?”

Jonas straightened up. “Regarding the old Patriarch’s 70th birthday celebration coming up soon, the occasion is exceptionally high-profile, so preparations have been extensive and all logistics are almost finalized. Even the banquet seating chart has been locked in...”

Finnick raised an eyebrow through the drifting smoke, his expression unbothered. “Hmm. Event planning isn’t exactly your forte, Jonas. I’m not sure why this is the very first item on your agenda, as if my morning schedule is completely empty.”

Jonas bowed slightly. “You have always emphasized that the Kruger family’s public reputation is the most important thing so I believed this specific detail required your personal attention.”

Finnick’s brows furrowed. “Then stop dancing around it. Speak directly.”

“The Holland family, as key in-laws, have all been assigned to the primary VIP tables,” Jonas reported calmly. “Miss Vivian Holland was even given a seat at the main family table. However... as for Young Master Theo’s legal wife, Young Mistress Kimberly... she has been assigned to sit with the domestic servants.”

Finnick lowered his gaze, slowly exhaling a massive cloud of gray smoke. “Go on.”

“Word among the household is that the Young Mistress has completely fallen out of favor,” Jonas added. “That for three years, she’s been a pushover. It appears the rumors weren’t exaggerated.”

Finnick placed his hand, the one holding the lit cigarette, flat on the table, yesterday’s ridiculous events instantly replaying in his mind.

He remembered the sharp, aggressive way she spoke up. The fearless, theatrical way she shut down Jeffrey and Theo without dropping an inch of ground.

A low chuckle escaped his lips. “A pushover? Not a chance. The woman has a tongue like a razor.”

Then, his mind drifted to last night, the way she had strutted up to his bar. The wild, outrageous way she had acted toward him, leaning into his space and shamelessly trying to seduce him.

“Not just sharp-tongued,” Finnick murmured, a rare, amused sneer tugging at his lips as he shook his head at her audacity. “Her ambition is quite something.”

‘Where on earth did she even find the nerve to say those things to me?’

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound of light footsteps echoed down the staircase.

Finnick idly looked up from his cigarette.

Kimberly was walking down the stairs, wearing a breathtaking, form-fitting white mini gown that clung to her curves like a second skin.

With her long, silky black hair cascading over her shoulders and the morning light hitting her skin, she looked almost ethereal, like an angel stepping down into the mortal realm.

And for the first time, Finnick found himself staring just a little too long.