Chapter 5 - His Son

Anna / Olivia’s POV

There were only two ways this day could end. I would marry Dickson Vanderbilt, or I would kill him.

Ten years had changed Anastasia Bennett beyond recognition, but none of it had happened overnight. The weight had taken years to lose through diets, trainers and more discipline than the girl at Galeforge would have believed herself capable of. Pregnancy had changed my body too, leaving stretch marks and loose skin that weight loss could not erase.

Eventually, money fixed some of what discipline couldn't. I had the excess skin removed from my stomach and my breasts lifted, leaving thin scars that expensive clothes kept hidden. Some loose skin remained around my thighs and arms, along with stretch marks I had stopped trying to erase.

My black hair was blonde now, my thick glasses were gone, and no one looking at Olivia Finley would have recognized Galeforge's Fatso.

But Anastasia had never completely disappeared.

I had simply learned how to hide her better.

I stepped into the apartment and found it quiet, with Aunt Jane’s coat hanging by the door and the smell of something she'd cooked earlier lingering in the kitchen.

Then a familiar voice called out.

“Mom!”

James came running from the living room, nine years old and already far too clever for his own good. His dark hair was messy, and his serious eyes were the same shade as his father's.

I hated that I noticed it every time he looked at me.

He threw his arms around me, and I dropped my bag to hug him properly, kissing his cheek before letting him go.

“Hey, baby.”

He pulled back, his hands still gripping my coat. “Are we still keeping the secret?”

“Yes.”

“Will I still have to do homeschool?”

“For now.”

His lower lip pushed out. “When will I get to play with other children?”

The question hurt more than I wanted him to know. I smoothed his hair away from his forehead and kissed him there.

“Until we know you're safe, honey.”

James nodded even though he clearly didn't like the answer. Aunt Jane appeared in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a towel, and we exchanged a look before I gave her a grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

She nodded, and I headed upstairs.

My study was always locked. I entered the code, stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Two monitors sat on the desk, while the wall behind them held everything I had spent the last ten years collecting on one family.

The Vanderbilts.

Their Midwest logistics division was bleeding money. The renewable-energy expansion had cost them millions, creditors were losing patience, and several board members were beginning to question Harry's leadership. Dickson remained the heir they trusted most, but one bad deal could push the family toward losing control of everything they had built.

I hadn't built Finley Holdings by playing fair either. I'd ruined people who stood between me and what I needed, made deals in private rooms and even married when marriage opened doors money couldn't. One husband lasted six weeks. Another was gone before the wedding photographs were printed.

There were things Olivia Finley had done that Anastasia Bennett would have been horrified by.

That was exactly the point.

My phone lit up on the desk.

Harry Vanderbilt.

I stared at his name before opening the message. He had kept the language professional, but the urgency beneath it was obvious.

Harry wanted a meeting.

He should have asked sooner.

I looked at the files on my screen and smiled before answering his call.

“Ms. Finley,” Harry began. “Thank you for taking my call. I know this is short notice, but the situation is—”

“Why should I help you?”

Silence followed.

Then he recovered. “Because Vanderbilt Holdings is prepared to make this worth your while. Whatever you need, name it.”

I leaned back in my chair. “How many other companies have you approached?”

Another pause.

“Three banks,” he admitted. “Two refused. The third won't even review the proposal without Finley Holdings involved.”

“So you finally realize you need me more than I need you.”

This time, Harry didn't argue. “Yes. Shares, board seats, a long-term partnership. Name your terms.”

“Thirty percent of the family-controlled shares.”

He went silent.

“That’s nearly a third of Vanderbilt Holdings.”

“I know.”

“Twenty percent and a board seat.”

“Then find someone else.”

“Ms. Finley—”

“Your creditors are losing patience, your renewable division is draining cash, and your board is beginning to question whether Dickson is ready to take control. You don't have time to find someone else.”

Harry went quiet. 

“Twenty-five percent,” Harry finally said. “And a seat on the board.”

Twenty-five percent was enough.

“Done.”

The relief in his voice was immediate. “Thank you, Ms. Finley. I assure you, you won't regret—”

“I’m not finished.”

He stopped.

My eyes moved to Dickson's photograph on the screen. Ten years had changed him too, but I would have recognized that face anywhere.

“What else do you want?” Harry asked.

I smiled.

“I want to marry your son.”