Chapter 90 - 89 More Question
Watching stupid people make catastrophic mistakes is usually a highly entertaining sport. Tonight, it only amplifies the pounding ache behind my temples.
I sit in the heavy leather chair behind my mahogany desk. The study is completely silent. The only light source is the bright, glowing square of the security monitor mounted on the oak wall. I hold the small black remote in my right hand. I press the fast-forward button to watch the video again and again.
The silent, high-resolution footage from Bordeaux 101 skips ahead in choppy, rapid frames. I watch Julian Thorne and Chloe Vance corner the elderly janitor. They bow their heads. They grovel defensively. They offer prestigious corporate partnerships to a terrified man holding a damp cleaning rag.
"They are absolute idiots," I say to the empty room. My voice sounds harsh and entirely devoid of amusement.
The sheer incompetence of Julian Thorne makes my stomach turn. This is the man Emily dated for years. This pathetic, groveling coward is the standard she previously accepted for herself. I watch Emily step into the frame. Her posture is completely rigid and unyielding. She diffuses the situation and chases the two cowards away with just a few sentences and a raised smartphone. She handles the confrontation flawlessly, establishing her absolute dominance over them without breaking a single sweat.
I press the play button again to watch the part of the video that I’m still trying to figure out. The camera angle switches back to the private dining booth. Table Number One.
I watch the slap for the third time.
The physical impact looks incredibly violent, even on a silent screen. Victor Sterling stumbles backward. His wire-rimmed glasses slide down his sharp nose. The sheer force of Emily’s hand leaves a highly visible red mark on his pale cheek.
The pieces click together perfectly in my mind. She didn’t strike him out of anger. She didn’t lose control of her emotions. The entire altercation was a highly calculated trap.
Victor is currently engaged in a brutal, very public war with the Monroe family. If he retaliates violently against a minor annoyance in a restaurant, he proves he lacks the discipline to survive a real corporate assault. Emily needed a stress test. She needed to know exactly how he handles unpredicted, aggressive chaos. She needed to know if he was a wild animal or a disciplined strategist.
She is remarkably shrewd.
I lean back against the cool leather of my chair. She is incredibly young. Most people her age are concerned with trivial social engagements and basic university exams. Yet, she navigates these massive, predatory corporate waters with the cold, calculating precision of a seasoned veteran. She understands human psychology perfectly. She manipulated a powerful executive into proving his worth to her, completely reversing the traditional power dynamic of a business negotiation.
I take another sip of my scotch. The alcohol burns its way down my throat. I feel a twisted, dark sense of pride swelling in my chest. She is brilliant. She is utterly fearless.
And she is entirely mine.
I scrub the video forward. Victor returns from the restroom. He pulls her chair out. He sits down across from her.
The dynamic in the room changes entirely. I lean closer to the glowing monitor. I analyze their body language with intense, obsessive focus. Emily rests her elbows on the mahogany table. She speaks with absolute, undeniable authority. Victor listens intently. He pushes his glasses up his nose. He nods in complete agreement.
Then, it happens. This part of the video, no matter how many times I watch i,t makes me clench my fist.
Emily reaches her bandaged hand across the polished wood. Victor takes it. They shake hands.
The camera catches the exact moment Warren photographed earlier. I stare directly at Victor’s face. The raw admiration is sickeningly clear. He looks at my pregnant wife with total reverence. The defensive, arrogant CEO is completely gone. He looks entirely captivated by whatever she just offered him.
A massive, heavy weight settles into my bones. The total silence of the video feed mocks me. There is no audio recording in the VIP dining booths. I cannot hear a single syllable.
What exactly did she say to him?
What specific combination of words makes a ruthless pharmaceutical executive look at a medical dropout like she is the absolute center of the universe? Did she promise him massive wealth? Did she reveal a secret chemical formula? Did she charm him with her blunt, unapologetic ambition?
The mystery gnaws viciously at my sanity. I hate being locked out of the loop. I am a man who controls information. I deal in absolute facts. Watching her lips move without hearing the sound drives me to the edge of madness.
I replay the last thirty seconds of the footage. I watch the handshake again. The intense, mutual respect passing between them is undeniably real. They look like equal partners. They look like two ambitious generals planning to conquer the entire world together.
I grip the black remote tightly. I press the power button. The screen goes entirely black, plunging the study into deep shadows.
I cannot simply sit here in the dark and invent scenarios. Speculation breeds panic, and panic is a fatal flaw. I need cold, hard facts. I need to know exactly what kind of empire my wife is trying to build behind my back. If Victor Sterling thinks he secured her loyalty tonight, I need to know exactly what leverage he currently holds over her.
I set my crystal glass down on the mahogany desk. The ice clinks sharply against the rim.
I stand up from the leather chair. I straighten my tuxedo jacket. I walk out of the study and head straight toward the grand staircase.
The manor is incredibly quiet. The thick carpet absorbs the sound of my heavy footsteps. I walk past the curated oil paintings and the marble statues lining the corridor. The physical sensation of my own possessive anger propels me forward. I told myself earlier that I only care because she is carrying the Wolfe heir. I told myself this rage is simply a primitive instinct to protect my bloodline from outside threats.
It is a very convincing lie. I repeat it in my head with every step I take.
I stop directly in front of her bedroom door. The warm light spills out from beneath the heavy wooden frame. She is still awake.
I do not knock. I reach out, turn the brass handle, and push the door open. I am going to get the truth right now.