Chapter 5

Three hours later we were still buried in the rewrite when Debby finally broke the quiet.

“You should ask your father for help,” she said, looking up from her laptop. Soft. “Newton Group has resources we could use. Connections that would strengthen our position.”

I shook my head. Hard. “Absolutely not. I did not build this company so I could crawl back to my father the second things get tough.”

“This is not about pride, Freya. It’s about survival.” Her voice softened more. “I have been looking at our financials. If we do not land a major client soon, we will not make payroll next month.”

The weight of that sat on my shoulders. Sixteen people depended on us. Debby included. Her mother still needed that heart surgery.

“I know what you are thinking,” she went on. “But this is not just about us anymore. Our employees—”

“I’ll figure it out,” I cut in, and I felt myself lock in. “I will not let him control my life again, Debby. I will not give him that power.”

She sighed. She knew the set of my jaw. “Then we need this Hayes contract. Whatever happened between you and Steve Hayes last night—”

“I’ll get the Hayes contract,” I said. Firm. I stood and started gathering my things. “Whatever it takes.”

—

The afternoon sun was going down by the time I got to my father’s Upper East Side mansion. After the meeting with Steve and hours of tearing the proposal apart and putting it back together, all I wanted was to grab some documents from my old room and go back to my Brooklyn apartment.

I pushed the heavy front door open. The house was quiet except for voices coming from the terrace. I followed the sound, stepped through the French doors, and stopped.

Roman Newton, my father, was reclined in a wicker chair with a whiskey in his hand. Across from him sat Mark Bennett and my stepsister Lila, talking like this was a pleasant afternoon tea.

All three heads turned toward me at the same time. Surprise first. Then that calculating look each of them wore differently.

“Freya,” my father said, disappointment already in his voice, the same note I had heard my whole life. “Where were you last night? Mark was here waiting for you for hours.”

Mark stood quickly. His handsome face arranged into concern. “Baby, I was worried sick. You didn’t answer any of my calls or messages.”

A cold smile spread across my face. I looked from him to Lila. She had on one of her white dresses, playing the innocent angel like she always did.

“How thoughtful of you to worry,” I said, sarcasm thick. “But I see you found company easily enough.” I gestured between the two of them. “Look at this cozy little scene. The intimacy is touching. What’s next? A romantic dinner? Or maybe another night at The Plaza like yesterday?”

Lila’s face went a little pale. Mark’s jaw tightened.

“What are you insinuating?” my father demanded. He set the whiskey glass down with a sharp click.

I did not get the next sentence out. A crack went across the terrace when his palm hit my cheek. The slap knocked me sideways. I caught myself on the doorframe. My face burned.

“You will show some respect!” he thundered. “This family has a reputation to maintain. I will not have you throwing around baseless accusations and embarrassing us with your theatrics.”

I touched my stinging cheek, too shocked to answer right away. He had never hit me. Not even when I was a child.

“Roman!” The smooth, controlled voice of Sienna Debby Newton cut through it from the doorway. My stepmother stepped onto the terrace with perfect poise. Blonde hair in an immaculate bob. Designer sundress fitted to her exactly.

Five years ago she had been my father’s public relations director. A few months after my mother died, she became his wife. Now she played concerned spouse without a hair out of place. Shock in the voice. Ice-blue eyes glittering with satisfaction she did not bother to hide well.

“Violence solves nothing,” she added, putting a manicured hand on his arm. The look she gave me was fake sympathy and a quiet warning at the same time.

Lila took the opening. Her face flipped into distress. “Daddy, please don’t be angry with her. She’s probably upset because…” She paused for the drama. “…well, because of that man she was with last night. The one who doesn’t even show his face on social media.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. He turned back to me. “What man? What is she talking about?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Lila went on, false concern dripping off every word. “Freya posted quite the suggestive photo from some hotel room. That’s probably why she didn’t come home.”

“Is this true?” my father said.

I laughed, bitter, and ignored the throb in my cheek. “Interesting deflection, Lila. But if we are talking about inappropriate behavior, maybe we should discuss the photos I have of you and Mark. Very explicit ones. I never realized hotel beds could be so… versatile.”

The color left both their faces.

“You’re bluffing,” Mark said. His voice did not believe it.

“Am I?” I pulled out my phone. “Would you like me to forward them to Dad? Or maybe to Page Six? I’m sure they would love a scandal involving the Bennett Industry Group heir and his girlfriend’s stepsister. Great publicity for your failing spring collection.”

“Freya, stop this nonsense,” my father warned.

“It’s not nonsense,” I said. A strange calm settled over me. “And I don’t need to play this game anymore. Mark, we’re done. I don’t want your explanations or your pathetic excuses.”

I turned to Lila. Panic sat just under her face. “You can have him. You’ve always wanted what was mine anyway. My room. My clothes. Now my boyfriend. Congratulations. I hope your wedding makes the cover of Vanity Fair.”

“You’ve always been so dramatic,” Lila tried, her voice shaking a little. “You’re just jealous because—”

“Jealous?” I cut her off. “Of what? Your habit of taking my leftovers? First my childhood bedroom, now my ex. What impressive achievements.”

I turned to leave. Mark grabbed my arm. His fingers dug painfully into my skin.

“Freya, we need to talk privately,” he insisted, low and urgent. “You don’t understand what’s happening.”

I yanked my arm free. “I understand perfectly. And I don’t speak designer lies, Mark. Everyone saw how disastrous your spring collection was. Your father must be thrilled.”

His face darkened with anger. Before he could answer there was a dramatic gasp behind us. We turned. Lila was swaying, one hand pressed to her forehead.

“I feel… I don’t feel well,” she murmured, then collapsed in a neat heap onto the chaise lounge.

The reaction was instant. Sienna cried out and rushed to her daughter. My father bellowed for someone to call a doctor. And most telling of all, Mark dropped our conversation immediately and almost ran to Lila’s side with more concern than any family friend should have.

I turned and walked away. Their voices faded behind me. As I reached the foyer, my father’s voice came after me, loud.

“Freya! Who is this man? What have you done?”