6

SPENCER’S POV

The rusted key sat in the middle of my sea bass like a jagged piece of shrapnel. I stared at it, the iron-scent of the metal mixing with the expensive aroma of the dining room until I felt like I was going to choke.

"Everly?" My voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger. It was thin, reedy, stripped of the bravado I had spent the last decade building.

"You’re trespassing, Everly," Hailey shrieked, her face contorting into a mask of pure venom. She looked at her father, her chest heaving. "Dad, tell her! Tell the guards to throw this... this gold-digger out!"

But her father, Thomas Sterling, didn't move. He wasn't looking at me. He wasn't even looking at Everly. He was looking at Steve, his eldest son—the man who had walked away from the Sterling name and built a shadow empire that now eclipsed his own.

"Steve," Thomas said, his voice raspy. "You brought her here? You brought a Knox into this house?"

"She’s not a Knox, Father," Steve said, his tone bored, as if he were discussing the weather rather than a declaration of war. He leaned down, pulling out a chair for Everly with a grace that felt like a slap to my face. "She’s the majority shareholder of the bank that currently owns your mortgage. I thought it was only polite that she met her tenants."

I felt the air leave the room. Majority shareholder? "That’s impossible," I stammered, standing up so quickly my chair screeched against the floor. "She’s a nobody! Her father was a drunk who died in a gutter! Arthur Vance is playing you, Steve! She’s probably sleeping with him to get—"

Before I could finish the sentence, Steve moved.

It was so fast I didn't see it coming. One second he was standing by Everly’s chair; the next, he was in my face, his hand gripping my tie and pulling me across the table. I stumbled, my chest hitting the edge of the mahogany.

"Choose your next words very carefully, Spencer," Steve hissed, his gray eyes turning into slivers of ice. "Because I’ve ruined men for far less than insulting a Chandler in my presence."

"A... Chandler?" The word felt like lead in my mouth.

I looked at Everly. She wasn't cowering. She wasn't the girl who used to apologize for the weather. She was sitting there, one leg crossed over the other, watching me with a look of clinical detachment. She looked like a judge watching a criminal receive a life sentence.

"My father didn't die in a gutter, Spencer," Everly said, her voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "He died in the Swiss Alps, watching you treat his daughter like a servant. He spent ten years making sure that when I finally woke up, I would have everything I needed to erase you."

She leaned forward, her diamonds catching the candlelight. "The merger is dead, Spencer. The Sterlings can't merge with you because they don't own themselves anymore. I do."

Hailey let out a choked sob. "Dad? Is it true?"

Thomas Sterling lowered his head, his hands trembling on the tablecloth. "They filed the foreclosure papers an hour ago, Hailey. The Chandler Group... they bought the debt from the New York banks. Every cent we owe is now in her hands."

I looked around the room. The Sterling inner circle—the people I had spent three years sucking up to—were all looking at their plates. They weren't my allies. They were vultures, and they knew the feast was over.

"This isn't over," I growled, trying to regain some shred of dignity as Steve released my tie. I straightened my jacket, though my hands were shaking so hard I had to hide them in my pockets. "I still have the Gala. The venue is in my name. The sponsors are mine. You can take the building, Everly, but you can't take my reputation."

Everly stood up, smoothing the front of her black dress. She looked at Steve, a silent communication passing between them that made my stomach turn with a jealousy I didn't know I could feel for her.

"The Gala is in six days, Spencer," she said, walking toward the door. She stopped beside me, her scent—something expensive and floral—filling my lungs. "I’ll see you there. But don't bother with a keynote speech. I’ve already decided who’s going to speak."

"Who?" I spat.

"Me," she said. "I'm going to tell the world exactly what kind of man you are. And then, I'm going to watch you walk out of that ballroom with the same thing you gave me: nothing."

As they walked out, Steve placed a hand on the small of her back. It was a protective, possessive gesture that felt like a knife in my gut.

I looked down at my plate. The rusted key was still there.

"Spencer?" Hailey reached for my arm, her voice desperate. "Spencer, do something! Call someone! We have to—"

"Shut up, Hailey!" I barked, shaking her off.

I looked at Thomas Sterling. "The merger is still legal until the foreclosure is finalized. We have six days. I’ll find the money. I’ll find an investor who hates the Chandlers."

But even as I said the words, I saw the card Everly had left on the table. It wasn't a business card. It was a photo.

I picked it up. It was a photo of me and Hailey from six months ago—taken while I was still married to Everly. It was time-stamped. It was proof of my infidelity, proof that would trigger the morality clause in every single one of my remaining contracts.

I sank back into my chair, the room spinning.

She hadn't just taken my money. She had been documenting my downfall for months.

"Sarah!" I screamed into my phone as I dialed my secretary. "Call the private investigators! I want every bit of dirt on Steve Sterling! I want to know where he sleeps, who he talks to, and how much it costs to kill a scandal!"

But for the first time in my life, nobody answered the phone.