Past Choices - A Romantic Suspense Novel... (Chapters 1 through 5)
Updated: Aug 31
Chapter 1
An office door flew open as a woman stormed in like thunder. “Where the hell is my sister, and your no-good, conniving boss?” Her voice cut through the air like a roaring tiger.
Mario Hernandez turned with a start, blinking at the striking brunette who had just burst into his law office uninvited. She wore a sharply tailored brown pantsuit that clung to her figure with polished confidence, her high-heeled pumps clacking with authority on the hardwood floor.
Trailing behind her was his visibly rattled assistant, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide with helpless apology. “I told her she couldn’t go in, Mr. Hernandez.”
Mario observed that it had fallen on deaf ears. The woman hadn’t even slowed her pace. She bulldozed past the protest like it was background noise. He had just returned from a week-long business trip and had stowed his leather briefcase in a filing cabinet when this tempest of a woman exploded into his office with the force of a cannonball. He gave his assistant a quick, reassuring glance. “It’s all right,” he said, lifting a calming hand. “I’ll take care of this.”
Mario saw his assistant give him an anxious glance before quietly retreating, pulling the door shut behind her. Mario straightened his tie, his eyes narrowing with wariness and intrigue. “Now, what’s this all about, Miss, uh… Miss?”
“Ms. Dupree,” she snapped, fixing him with a dagger-like stare. “And it’s about your boss playing puppet master with my sister’s life; as if you didn’t already know.”
“Ah… JosaLynda Dupree, I presume?” he said slowly, a flicker of recognition lighting his face. The name was settling into place like a puzzle piece. He leaned back slightly, allowing himself a moment to study her. Now it made sense; he’d usually seen stiff photographs with her hair tightly wound into a severe bun. But in person, the effect was arresting. Her hair shimmered with hints of gold beneath the black, coiled like a fuse waiting to be lit. Her eyes: intelligent, smoldering, and daring—held his gaze with practiced confidence. But she was more than just an appearance. The files on her suggested she was ruthless when cornered and cunning even when she wasn’t. She didn’t just play the game; she often rewrote the rules. As he sank into the leather embrace of his high-backed chair, behind the polished expanse of his mahogany desk, a twinge of unease flickered in his gut. Maybe Chase had gone too far this time.
“So, you know who I am?” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm as she stalked closer. “Of course you do, Mr. Hernandez.” She leaned on his desk, looming over him with predatory grace. “That’s right. You’re not the only one who can dig up dirt. I know who you are. You’re Chase Addington’s lawyer. His yes-man. His pet. His puppet.” She paused, then smirked. “And you know what? Shakespeare had it right when he said to kill all the lawyers.'” The flippant delivery was under-cut by the storm in her eyes.
“Ms. Dupree, or should I call you Lynda?” Mario asked, his voice rising slightly as he pushed back his chair and rose to his full height. The legs scraped sharply against the polished hardwood, punctuating the room's tension. His tone held controlled irritation, his dark eyes narrowing as they locked onto hers. “So far, all you’ve done since you barged in here is hurl accusations like daggers. Now, maybe if you’d take a breath and dial down the drama, I can try to figure out what’s going on,” he said firmly, placing his hands on his hips in a posture that demanded attention and patience—what little he had left.
Mario watched as the woman across from him paused, her chest rising and falling as she drew a deep, steadying breath. He perhaps foolishly hoped this was a sign she was finally reining in her fury.
JosaLynda’s gaze swept over him, sharp and assessing. Mario Hernandez stood tall and imposing, six feet two of sheer confidence wrapped in expensive clothes. He embodied the textbook image of “tall, dark, and handsome”— a phrase that had lost its shine for her long ago. His olive-toned skin glowed under the soft overhead lighting, and his strong-jawed, impeccably symmetrical features might have belonged to a soap opera heartthrob. His custom-tailored navy suit clung to him with precision, the silk tie knotted just so, as if he’d walked straight out of a fashion spread. But JosaLynda knew better. Charm and sharp suits didn’t mask a calculating mind, and she had seen too many polished liars to be fooled now. Whatever spell he thought he could cast with his smoldering presence and infuriating use of her nickname, she wasn’t buying it.
“That’s Ms. Dupree to you,” she said coldly, her voice slicing through the air like a whip. “Only my friends call me Lynda, and you, Mr. Hernandez, are certainly not a friend.” She leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with barely restrained anger. “But if you’re going to stand there and pretend to be clueless, let me enlighten you. Your boss, Chase Addington, didn’t just express some innocent interest in J&J Couture Fashions. He disappeared with my sister. Spirited her away like a thief in the night. I thought he was after a business deal, but I underestimated how low he’d stoop to manipulate her into handing over those shares.” Her words landed with the weight of accusation and betrayal, each one more pointed than the last.
The whole thing blindsided Mario. He’d known Chase had met with Jenna Dupree about buying into her boutique empire, J&J Couture Fashions. However, Chase had never shown the slightest interest in her beyond polite professionalism. She’s a pleasant young woman, he’d said in passing, nothing more. Mario had written it off as strictly business. Chase wasn’t just a client, but a trusted friend who shared everything from stock tips to private regrets over late-night whiskey. If there were a hint of romance brewing, Mario was sure he’d have heard it firsthand. Besides, Chase was married. Granted, his relationship with Amber had all the warmth of a tax audit, but he’d always worn his wedding band like a badge of honor. Mario had no reason to believe his friend would risk it all for a fling. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” he said, his tone as calm as he could manage under her glare.
“Oh, really?” she shot back, her voice like shattered glass. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Her eyes blazed as she leaned forward, the tension crackling like a storm about to break. “Let me tell you something. Whatever game you’re playing, you can drop the act. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever sign a damn thing over to Addington Worldwide. And you can pass that message straight to your precious boss.” With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out, the sharp clack of her heels echoing down the corridor like gunfire.
Mario sat frozen, fixed on the door she had slammed behind her. So that was JosaLynda Dupree. The infamous whirlwind with a temper to match her reputation. And she’d lived up to every syllable. Fireworks didn’t begin to cover it. No wonder she was still single. Any man brave and foolish enough to marry her would need nerves of steel, a death wish, or at the very least, a good therapist on speed dial.
Chapter 2
“Where the hell have you been?” JosaLynda shot to her feet, her voice sharp as shattered glass as she confronted her sister. Her eyes blazed with worry and frustration as she stepped forward, practically cornering Jenna in the wide archway of the beach house’s airy living room.
“I went out sailing,” Jenna said with a calm that only fueled the fire in JosaLynda’s glare. She strolled into the room, brushing a few wind-tangled strands of salt-sprayed hair from her face. The sea still clung to her scent. “I left you a note saying I’d be back by nightfall. Didn’t you see it?”
“I got your message.” JosaLynda cinched the belt of her long, white silk robe with a sharp tug, the fabric whispering as it settled around her frame. Her eyes narrowed, flashing with irritation and disbelief as she stared down at her sister. “You’ll forgive me if it didn’t quite reassure me, seeing as we don’t own a sailboat.” Her voice cut through the quiet like wind through cracked glass. Across the room, Jenna stood in the doorway, still dressed in that impractical, fashion-magazine version of a sailor’s outfit—crisp navy trim, gold buttons, and some nautical pin-up brought to life.
“What are you getting at?” Jenna asked, her tone calm but cautious, a flicker of tension darting through her eyes.
“Jenevieve Marie Dupree, don’t you dare play innocent with me!” JosaLynda snapped, each syllable of her sister’s full name sharpened like a blade. Her voice trembled with fury as it ricocheted off the walls. “I know you were out with Chase Addington again. Don’t even think about denying it.” She planted her feet firmly, hands on her hips like a general pre-paring for battle. Her glare could have set glass on fire as it bore into her sister with unrelenting intensity, fueled by a cocktail of betrayal, frustration, and simmering resentment.
“Okay, fine. He took me sailing,” Jenna finally confessed, lifting her chin with a mix of defiance and weariness. “It was perfectly innocent,” she added, her voice tightening with frustration. “But I didn’t bother telling you because I knew you wouldn’t understand. You have this blind spot whenever Chase Addington or his proposal comes up.” She let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the conversation had finally caught up with her. “Joss, you’ve got to be reasonable,” she pressed, her tone softening but her conviction sharpening. “Addington Worldwide has the power to launch our business onto a global stage. You know it as well as I do. We’re not just talking growth; we’re talking international success. Overnight. This could change everything.”
“That’s because I know exactly who this man is,” JosaLynda cut in sharply, her voice rising like a storm surge. “He devours companies like a man possessed. He chews them up, swallows them whole, and spits out whatever doesn’t glitter on his bottom line.” She paced a short step, her silk robe fluttering behind her, then turned back with fire in her eyes. “We’re doing just fine on our own. We built this company from the ground up with grit, brains, and sleepless nights. We don’t need Addington Worldwide to swoop in and slap his name on our success.”
She stopped mid-breath, her eyes narrowing as something clicked. A slow, knowing smirk curled at the corner of her mouth. “Oh… now I get it,” she said, her voice dripping with realization. “You’re falling for him, aren’t you? That’s what this is about.” She stepped closer, her gaze like a spotlight. “Chase Addington has turned on the charm full-force, and you’ve swallowed it whole. And now you’re trying to sell me the fantasy; pretending this is business, when really, it’s personal. Do you honestly think we need his help? Please,” she emphasized with sarcasm. “There will never come a day when I’d let that man near our company just because you have hot pants for him!”
“Joss, don’t be ridiculous,” Jenna snapped, her voice pitched just a little too high. “I haven’t fallen for the guy. He’s a married man, for heaven’s sake.” She fluffed her red hair back with a defiant flick, but the color rising in her cheeks betrayed her. “Besides,” she added, fixing her sister with a pointed stare, “don’t you trust me to make the right decision here?” Even as the words left her mouth, Jenna slipped one hand behind her back and subtly crossed her fingers, a small but loaded gesture. Her heart thudded with guilt. She wasn’t exactly telling the truth, and she knew it.
Chase Addington was, after all, a gorgeous hunk of a man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly magnetic, like he’d just stepped out of a high-end fashion ad. His eyes were a piercing shade of steel blue, intense and unwavering; the kind that didn’t just look at you but looked through you, as if reading your deepest secrets. When he turned that gaze on her, it was electric. She felt it in her chest, a fluttering tremor that danced to her fingertips in the way he stared—confident, deliberate, almost possessive- that made her breath hitch and her pulse quicken. Around him, she didn’t feel like the composed, capable woman she usually was. Instead, he made her feel like a teenage schoolgirl again—flushed cheeks, shaky hands, and a nervous excitement bubbling just beneath her skin. It was exhilarating, disarmingly addictive, and wildly captivating.
JosaLynda studied her sister intently, her eyes narrowing with a mix of concern and skepticism. She wanted to believe Jenna; she usually did. Through all the chaos that had unraveled in the years following their parents’ untimely deaths, the two of them had become each other’s lifeline, bound by grief, survival, and an unshakable sisterhood. As the elder by five years, JosaLynda had always carried a sense of responsibility; sometimes maternal, sometimes suffocating—for the younger woman standing across from her.
The Dupree sisters were, by most measures, opposites. JosaLynda was bold and unapologetically outspoken, with a sharp tongue and a presence that filled a room before she even said a word. Jenna, by contrast, was quieter, gentler, and more inclined to see the best in people, even when she shouldn’t. Where JosaLynda moved through life like a force of nature, Jenna tiptoed through it like a dreamer, wide-eyed and hopeful.
Their differences were just as striking in appearance. JosaLynda had inherited their father’s raven-black hair, thick and silky, cascading well past her shoulders when she let it down. However, she usually kept it swept into a no-nonsense bun that matched her practical demeanor. Jenna, on the other hand, had their mother’s warm, cinnamon-red locks, which she wore in a soft, shoulder-length cut that framed her delicate features with an air of approachable grace.
Despite their contrasts, one thing united them unmistakably: their shared flair for style. Both women, shaped by years in the fashion industry, carried themselves with an effortless elegance. Their tall, toned figures moved with the practiced ease of models, and they dressed with a precision that never failed to turn heads. JosaLynda was well aware of the effect they had when they walked into a room together; the way conversations paused, eyes turned, and necks craned. The Dupree sisters didn’t just enter a room; they owned it.
“Jenna, I trust you,” JosaLynda said firmly, her voice laced with intensity, “but I don’t trust Chase Addington any more than I trust that slick, snake-tongued attorney of his, Mario Hernandez. That pompous little sidekick gives me the creeps.” Her jaw tightened as the memory flashed through her mind. Mario’s smug grin; the way he looked down his nose at her like he was sizing up an opponent instead of having a conversation. He oozed charm, but it was the kind that felt rehearsed, weaponized. Everything about him, and the man he represented, set off alarm bells in her gut.
“That’s an odd thing to say,” Jenna interjected, her brows knitting slightly. “It almost sounds like you’ve met Mario Hernandez.”
“If you must know, I went over to his office earlier today,” JosaLynda admitted, unable to hide the edge in her voice. “The man is just as arrogant, just as infuriatingly smug, as his boss.” She dropped onto the center cushion of the plush, tan L-shaped couch, crossing her legs with a little too much force, as if trying to shake the memory off her skin.
But even as she spoke the words, she knew she was trying to convince herself more than her sister. Because no matter how many times she labeled Mario Hernandez a pompous jerk, another part of her—a traitorous, heat-flushed part—kept picturing him with his jacket off, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, and that maddeningly confident smirk as he pulled her into his bed. She groaned inwardly. Damn the man for being so insufferable and so intoxicating.
“Joss, what exactly did you say to Mario Hernandez?” Jenna pressed, her voice tight with curiosity as she crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside her sister, eyes locked onto JosaLynda’s face.
JosaLynda let out a slow, deliberate breath, her spine stiffening as if replaying the confrontation in her mind. “I told him clearly and without room for negotiation that under no circumstances are we doing business with Addington Worldwide,” she said, her tone sharp as glass. The finality in her voice left no doubt she’d meant every word. Her jaw clenched slightly, the fire in her eyes flaring for a moment as if the echo of the con-versation still simmered beneath her skin.
“But Joss, you’re not being fair,” Jenna said sharply, her voice tinged with frustration. Her eyes narrowed with urgency. “I own part of this company, too, remember? And this is a once-in-a-lifetime offer.” Her tone rose with conviction, her fingers tightening as if trying to ground herself. “Only you won’t even look at the proposal,” she added, her voice dropping with disbelief. “I handed it to you over a week ago, Joss. A week!” Her words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and disappointment.
“What’s there to look over? We’re not doing it, period. End of discussion!” JosaLynda snapped, her tone like a slammed door. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, her jaw clenched and eyes flashing with resolve as she stood up and looked down at her sister. “And I don’t want you anywhere near Chase Addington, Jenna. Not one inch.” Her voice cracked with protective urgency. “The last thing I need is you getting knocked up by some smooth-talking, married billionaire with a private jet and a trail of ruined lives in his wake.”
The very thought made her stomach churn, coiling into tight, anxious knots. She could already see the headlines, the pitying looks, the fallout. Just imagining it filled her with a toxic blend of dread and fury.
“I thought you said you trusted me,” Jenna reiterated, her voice tight with restrained frustration. “There is nothing personal going on between Chase Addington and me. I am not the kind of woman who would sneak around with a married man and wind up barefoot and pregnant. You have my word on that,” she swore, her eyes flashing with a defiance that almost masked the betrayal she felt.
But even as the words left her lips, a traitorous thought curled through her mind, hot and electric. God help her, but this whole conversation was making her insides quiver, her body betraying her better judgment. She could practically feel her pulse strum between her thighs; a shameful thrill she forced herself to snuff out before it bloomed any further. Stop it, Jenna, she ordered herself. Stop it now—before you do something truly reckless.
“I do trust you. And I know you won’t get involved with Chase Addington, because now that we’re not doing business with him, there’s no reason for you ever to see him again,” JosaLynda said, her tone edged with an authority that slammed down like a gavel.
A flicker of heat rose in Jenna’s chest, tightening her jaw. She hated the way her sister’s words felt like iron bars closing around her. Trust her? Maybe. But trusting her didn’t mean JosaLynda got to dictate her every move like some self-appointed warden. Sure, she loved her sister; she even trusted her, but that didn’t mean she’d stand there and let herself be told who she could look at, speak to, or breathe the same air as. Her fingernails bit half-moons into her palms as she swallowed down hard.
Chapter 3
Mario eased his red sports car through the wrought-iron gates of the Addington Estate as they swung open at the wave of the security guard’s hand. The tires crunched softly over the immaculately kept gravel drive, and he felt that familiar flutter in his chest; equal parts awe and memory. Even now, years later, this place still struck him as something out of a dream.
The vast grounds unfolded before him like a private kingdom. Even at dusk, the estate blazed with light: strings of delicate bulbs draped over ancient oaks, lampposts casting golden pools onto manicured lawns, and the grand house itself glowing as if dusk dared not touch it. Sometimes Mario wondered if all of Rodeo Drive could sprawl comfortably within these high hedges and winding pathways.
Sprawling over what appeared like its own small town. The property boasted not just the main mansion but four separate houses—each one a jewel tucked amid rose gardens and fountains. There was a stately pool house with marble columns, a quaint carriage house that looked lifted straight from a European postcard, and neat rows of modest employee quarters hidden behind a grove of cypress trees.
He had grown up here, though never truly in it. His childhood world had been the shadows of the gardens, the hush of the service halls. His grandfather, the estate’s devoted head gardener, had taught him the Latin names of flowers while his mother polished silver and swept floors in the grand rooms he was never allowed to enter.
They had always warned him: Don’t wander near the main house. Don’t forget your place. But for a boy with a mind full of questions and feet too quick to catch, the glittering windows and muffled laughter drifting out into the gardens had been too tempting to resist. Even now, as he turned up the sweeping drive, Mario felt a thrill, like the child he once was, peeking through hedges at a life that had never really been his.
One golden afternoon, exploring the sprawling grounds of the estate as a young boy, Mario stumbled upon a boy galloping through the tall grass with a toy rifle slung over his shoulder and a feathered headband slipping down his brow. The boy was deep in an imaginary world, shouting commands and dodging behind hedges as if under fire. Spotting Mario, he paused mid-charge, his eyes wide with mischief.
“Wanna play Cowboys and Indians?” the boy asked, breathless with excitement.
Without hesitation, Mario joined in, and soon the two were darting across the property, diving behind trees, staging wild standoffs, and shouting dramatic battle cries that echoed across the sun-drenched fields. They laughed until their sides ached, their games taking them through secret nooks and winding trails that neither had explored before.
Only later did Mario learn, to his astonishment, that the spirited boy he had been gal-loping around with was none other than Chase Addington—the son of Roger Addington, the formidable patriarch who owned the entire estate.
But by then, it didn’t matter. Titles and last names faded in the face of childhood wonder. From that day on, the two became inseparable, sneaking off every chance they could to continue their adventures, unconcerned with the expectations of wealth or status; just two boys caught in the timeless magic of make-believe.
When Roger Addington discovered the boys one afternoon, breathless and grass-stained from their latest wild adventure, he didn’t scold them or send Mario away. Instead, to Mario’s astonishment, the formidable patriarch merely chuckled and encouraged their friendship, on one condition: that his wife, Victoria, never found out.
That part had been easy enough. Mario had no desire to be anywhere near the woman. Even as a child, he had sensed something unsettling about her—a chill in her stare, a rigidness in her voice. She was elegant, yes, always impeccably dressed, but there was something glacial beneath the surface. Cold. Controlling. Dangerous in a way that made Mario’s skin crawl.
Even now, as a grown man and no longer the timid boy he once was, her presence still left him uneasy. He remained polite and professional, but never relaxed.
Roger, on the other hand, had been a different sort of force. Stern but warm, authoritative yet compassionate. There was a quiet nobility to him that Mario respected deeply. To this day, he still didn’t understand why Roger had taken such an interest in him. Why he had chosen to invest in a boy from nowhere, covering every cent of his education, right through law school. But Mario never forgot that generosity.
Now, as a highly successful attorney, he felt a sense of duty—no, a sense of honor in continuing to serve the Addington family as their lead counsel. It was the least he could do for the man who had changed the entire course of his life.
Roger Addington was gone now, laid to rest beneath a marble headstone that caught the afternoon sun in just the same way his presence had once filled a room: with quiet dignity. And though his voice was now only an echo in memory, Mario would always carry his legacy forward with gratitude, with loyalty, and with purpose.
Mario pulled his sleek, red sports car to a stop at the foot of the main estate, gravel crunching beneath the tires as the towering white mansion loomed before him like a monument to power and legacy. He stepped out slowly, his eyes narrowing as they traced the familiar facade. The house, carved from pristine white marble, gleamed under the late afternoon sun. Its grand, neoclassical pillars reached skyward like the arms of ancient gods, flanked by massive Grecian statues so lifelike they seemed to be watching him. The entire structure had the austere majesty and grandeur of the people who lived there.
No matter how many times he returned here, the Addington Estate always managed to unnerve him. It exuded a kind of weight, a silent pressure that reminded him he didn’t truly belong. He had never envied Chase growing up in this gilded mausoleum, quite the opposite.
Mario remembered the modest quarters tucked away behind the gardens where he had lived as a boy; small, humble, but warm and alive with laughter, smells of food, and the comforting imperfections of real life. That had been a home. This? This was a museum dressed as a mansion. Cold floors. Echoing halls. Nothing out of place, and yet nothing that felt lived in.
He approached the grand double mahogany doors, their dark, imposing surfaces carved with intricate scrollwork. He pressed the bell. The chime that followed echoed inside as a cathedral summons.
After a pause, the door creaked open, revealing an older Latina woman in a crisp maid’s uniform. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her hands fluttered briefly over her apron.
“Oh, Mr. Mario! What a… what a pleasant surprise. I mean, good evening,” she said with a nervous stammer, dipping her head respectfully.
Mario offered her a gentle smile, softening his otherwise guarded expression. “Hello, Pilar. It’s good to see you again.”
Mario knew Pilar was far more than just a maid in the Addington household. She had been a quiet, steady presence throughout his life; more like family than staff. Over the years, she had been a loyal companion to his mother and a trusted confidante to his grandfather. There was warmth in her that contrasted sharply with the cold elegance of the estate, and he’d always been grateful for it.
“Is Chase in?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly as he stepped inside.
The grand white marble entry hall opened up around him like the nave of a cathedral. Light from a massive chandelier spilled across the gleaming floors, catching on the veins of the polished stone beneath his shoes. To the right, an enormous curved staircase spiraled upward, its banister a carved masterpiece of dark oak and brass. The sheer scale of it all still made his steps feel small, like a boy again, dwarfed by opulence.
“They told me at Addington Worldwide he was working from home today,” he added, glancing toward Pilar as his footsteps clicked softly across the marble.
She nodded, folding her hands before her, eyes darting briefly toward the second floor. “Sí, he is here. In his father’s old study.” Her voice lowered, a trace of something—hesitation, maybe—slipping into her tone. “But he’s not… himself lately.”
Mario arched a brow, but said nothing. He already had a feeling this visit was going to be complicated. “Thank you,” Mario said with a respectful nod to Pilar, his voice low, before turning toward the corridor that stretched out from the gleaming marble foyer.
He walked across the expansive entry hall, the faint echo of his footsteps swallowed by the high vaulted ceiling above. Ahead, a grand oak-paneled corridor beckoned, its walls lined with portraits of grim-faced ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow him as he passed. The rich scent of aged wood and lemon polish lingered in the air, familiar and faintly suffocating.
Reaching the first door on his right, Mario raised a knuckle and rapped sharply against the heavy wood.
From inside, Chase’s voice called out, muffled but clear: “Come in.”
Mario opened the door and stepped into the room. The air inside was thick with the faint aroma of old books, leather, and something more modern—maybe bourbon or espresso. The study hadn’t changed much. Tall shelves lined with volumes of books and business texts loomed behind the desk, as darkness shaded the room.
Behind an imposing mahogany desk, Chase Addington sat slouched in a leather chair, legs slightly spread, one arm resting on the armrest, the other lazily twirling a pen between his fingers. What immediately struck Mario was the man’s attire. Gone was the usual designer suit and crisp collar. Instead, Chase wore a soft gray sweater and dark jeans—comfortable, casual… almost disheveled. For a man known for dressing like a walking boardroom, the choice was jarring.
“I’ve been trying to reach you most of the day,” Mario said, walking forward to stand across from him, the desk a polished barrier between them. “Your phone kept going to voicemail.”
Chase looked up slowly, his expression unreadable, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulled. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled through his nose, but said nothing right away.
“I turned it off,” Chase said flatly, his fingers tightening slightly around the pen. “I didn’t want to be disturbed while I was out today.”
Mario tilted his head, a knowing glint in his eye. “With Jenna Dupree?” he asked, one eyebrow arching with playful suspicion. “Don’t even try to deny it. I heard all about it from a barracuda who goes by the name JosaLynda Dupree.”
At the mention of the name, Chase’s eyes flicked upward, his expression shifting from guarded to visibly startled. His posture stiffened slightly, and the pen stilled in his hand.
“You met JosaLynda Dupree?” he asked, voice low, as if the name alone carried weight in the room. A beat passed before he added, “How… how did that go?” The question was cautious, the edges of his words frayed with apprehension. The thought of Mario encountering Jenna’s razor-tongued sister was enough to make even Chase Addington tread carefully.
Mario let the silence stretch for a moment longer than necessary, savoring it like a cat toying with a mouse. “Let me put it to you this way,” Mario said, folding his arms across his chest, his tone edged with dry amusement. “Whatever dreams you had of buying into J&J Couture Fashions?” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “Down the drain. Completely flushed.”
He leaned slightly forward, placing both hands on the desk as his voice dipped with emphasis. “That woman, JosaLynda Dupree, made it crystal clear. She wouldn’t do business with Addington Worldwide if her life depended on it. And trust me, she didn’t mince words. I think she took great pleasure in making sure I knew exactly how deep her disdain runs.”
Mario straightened again, lips curling into a tight smile. “If you were hoping for a merger, you might want to shift your focus elsewhere. That ship has not only sailed, it also caught fire and sank before leaving the harbor.”
Mario watched as a storm cloud of irritation darkened Chase’s features, then Mario’s own jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with barely concealed concern. “What the hell were you thinking?” Mario snapped; his voice edged with disbelief. “Spending all that time with Jenna Dupree? I thought the plan was simple; hand her the business proposal and walk away. Nothing more.”
Chase had every intention of keeping things strictly business, at least until he came face-to-face with that fiery-haired enchantress. “She’s an incredible woman,” he murmured, his tone softening as he admitted, “I like being around her.”
And it was true. From the very first conversation, Jenna Dupree had struck him like a breath of salt-kissed wind after a stifling day. She was effortless to talk to; her laughter was light and unforced, and their shared love for sailing had sealed a sense of kinship. From the moment their eyes met, he felt a spark, an almost magnetic pull, as though fate had been quietly conspiring to bring them together. There was a rare magic about her, something untamed and luminous, and Chase couldn’t shake the longing to dive deeper into who she was.
“Well, I’d forget her if I were you,” Mario cut in sharply, his voice laced with warning. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “Her sister practically slammed the door in our faces, made it crystal clear they want nothing to do with us.”
He gave a bitter chuckle, then added, “Let’s be real, Chase. Even before we stuck a toe into this little merger with J&J Couture Fashions, we knew damn well they’d never let us through the front door.” His words hung in the air like smoke after a fire. “Besides,” he continued, “there are other fashion houses out there; bigger, more welcoming ones—who’d jump at the chance to merge with Addington Worldwide. Ones that don’t come with landmines disguised as family drama.”
“Yes, but J&J Couture Fashions is the one blazing forward like a runaway train,” Chase argued, his voice rising with conviction. “Mario, you’ve seen it yourself; how they’ve si-phoned customers from our high-end boutiques. And we’re not talking about no-name storefronts. We house collections from some of the most iconic designers in couture. Yet who’s raking in the profits? Who’s catching all the buzz? J&J Couture Fashions.”
He stood up and paced as he spoke, the weight of urgency pressing into every step. “They’ve exploded onto the scene in Orange County and Beverly Hills, practically overnight. Their brand is fresh, fearless, and catching fire with the very clientele we once had a lock on. It’s only a matter of time before they set Manhattan ablaze—hell, Paris, London, Milan won’t be far behind.”
Chase stopped and glared sharply at Mario. “We’ve talked for months about expanding our footprint more in fashion; about finding the right house to elevate Addington Worldwide into the next tier. We can’t target the newer giants; they’re already too far out of reach, and frankly, they don’t need us. But J&J?” His voice dropped with strategic intensity. “J&J Couture Fashions is still within our grasp. They’re rising fast, but they’re still ripe for the taking.”
“Why don’t you hold off before diving any deeper into the fashion industry?” Mario said, his tone measured, almost coaxing. “Stick with what you’ve already got for now. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve waited out the storm.”
He crossed his arms, eyeing Chase with quiet resolve. “It’s not like Addington Worldwide is starving for expansion at this very moment. You already have a portfolio most CEOs would kill for; prime real estate, international ventures, luxury holdings in every corner of the globe.”
It was true, Mario reflected, a flicker of practicality settling in his gut. The empire they had built was vast, stable, and still growing. Did they need to gamble it all on one rising fashion house, especially when they had fashion boutiques that, although they weren’t making the profits Chase wanted, still weren’t doing all that badly?
The Addington’s had their empire spread across the map like a global monopoly with lush wine vineyards nestled in the rolling hills of Napa, sleek tech startups thriving in the heart of Silicon Valley, and sprawling real estate holdings scattered across Dubai, London, Tokyo, and São Paulo. Their reach was vast, their wealth woven into nearly every major industry.
And then there was fashion; a smaller thread in the Addington tapestry, yet one Chase seemed fixated on. Their stake in the garment districts of California and New York was modest compared to their other ventures, but Mario suspected that was exactly why Chase was so determined. It wasn’t just business; it was personal. He wanted more, wanted to leave his own distinct imprint on an industry that still eluded their full grasp.
Still, Mario couldn’t quite wrap his head around the urgency. Why this company? Why now? J&J Couture Fashions, while promising, didn’t seem like a make-or-break acquisition in the grand scheme of the Addington legacy. And yet, Chase spoke of it with the fervor of a man chasing something just beyond reach; something that went deeper than numbers on a spreadsheet.
“I want this deal with J&J Couture Fashions to go through,” Chase said firmly, his voice laced with a quiet intensity. “I need that company as part of Addington Worldwide.”
Mario raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering across his face like a shadow, and Chase caught it instantly. He could almost see the unspoken questions forming behind his friend’s eyes. But how could he explain it? How could he put into words something he barely understood himself?
It wasn’t just about the acquisition; it wasn’t just strategy or market share or any of the reasons that usually drove his decisions. This was different. It was her, Jenna Dupree.
Chase clenched his jaw slightly, trying to push the thought aside, but it lingered—unshakable. If this deal fell apart, so would the only tether he had to her world. And without the excuse of business, what reason would he have to see her again? What right? He wasn’t ready to let go of that connection. Not yet. Not ever, if he could help it.
“I still don’t understand,” Mario said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “We’ve lost deals before—big ones—and you never pushed this hard to salvage them. As I told you, JosaLynda Dupree wants nothing to do with you or Addington Worldwide,” he reiterated, his voice edged with finality.
Chase pointed at Mario, eyes burning with a quiet intensity. “Mario, you’re a hell of a lawyer,” he said, his tone both appreciative and urgent. “You’re the one who put that deal together: tight, lucrative, and fair. It’s practically a gift to them.” He paused, jaw tight with resolve. “I just need to find a way to convince that woman, your so-called barracuda, to let us buy in. I don’t care if she bites. I’m willing to bleed if that’s what it takes.”
“Sending me to negotiate with JosaLynda Dupree is like tossing me into a lion’s den wearing a steak suit,” Mario grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as if already feeling the bite. “That woman doesn’t negotiate; she devours. But if you’re dead set on closing this deal, I’ll step into the ring. Just don’t expect miracles. I’ll give it my best, but I’m not promising a damn thing.”
The door to the office opened, and an impeccably dressed older woman with a highly sophisticated, blond, upswept hairdo entered the room. She reeked of high class. Although older, she maintained a curvaceous figure that could rival that of any younger woman. Her makeup was perfectly applied, and she walked with a confidence that conveyed all business.
“Get out,” Victoria Addington ordered in Mario’s direction, her tone dismissive and uppity. “I need to speak to my son—alone.”
Chapter 4
Once Mario had left, Chase braced himself to confront the storm brewing in the room. His mother’s fury crackled in the air like static before a lightning strike. He had a strong su-spicion about what had ignited it.
“You were rather rude to Mario just now, Mother,” he said, his voice laced with quiet reproach.
Victoria pivoted sharply on her heel, her heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor. She folded her arms across her designer blue blouse and long-calf skirt, her expression tight and unyielding.
“I don’t have time to be civil to the help,” she snapped, her eyes flashing with cold fire. “Not when your entire marriage is hanging by a thread.”
Chase clenched his jaw, swallowing the laughter that rose in his chest. God, she was so utterly predictable, storming in like a tempest wrapped in Chanel. Her indignation practically perfuming the air. He knew this moment would come; he just hadn’t expected it to be so theatrical.
Victoria's eyes flashed like cold steel as she drew in a sharp breath. “There is nothing funny about this, Charles Roger Addington,” she barked, her voice rising with the precision of a thunder strike. The use of his full, legal name wasn’t just for emphasis; it was a declaration of war. “Amber told me you asked her for a divorce.” Her words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating.
Chase met her fury with unnerving calm, though a muscle twitched in his temple. “Yes, I have,” he said, his voice low but firm, slicing through the tension like a blade. “And it’s long overdue. Our marriage has been a facade, Mother, a carefully curated illusion to keep the gossip columns quiet and you content. But I won’t keep living a lie. It’s over.”
Victoria’s lips thinned into a slash of crimson as her composure fractured, her breath catching just short of a gasp. The silence between them pulsed, tight as a drawn wire, moments from snapping.
In the beginning, the marriage had been little more than a transaction, orchestrated by the two powerful families like a corporate merger. The Wensingtons, owners of one of the most lucrative and prestigious wineries in the country, were the perfect allies for the Addington dynasty. A union between Chase and Amber Wensington, their only daughter, sealed the alliance with the kind of elegance and spectacle expected of high society. It was business cloaked in romance; legacy disguised as love.
Chase hadn’t protested. Not once. Not after he met Amber. Amber Wensington had the kind of beauty that turned heads and stopped conversations. With cascading raven-black hair that shimmered like silk and hypnotic green eyes that seemed to flicker with secrets, she moved through rooms like a whispered temptation. She had an effortless sensuality about her, a slow smile that made men lean closer, and women size her up with envy or suspicion. To Chase, she had been intoxicating; his very own trophy bride with the poise of a queen and the allure of a temptress.
For a time, he convinced himself he was content. Even his father was pleased. The marriage served a dual purpose: expanding Addington Worldwide’s influence and giving the impression that Chase, once the tabloid-favorite playboy, had finally matured. Being seen as a family man added polish to his public persona; a necessary step toward the CEO chair that loomed in his future.
They had been married ten years now. At first, things had been smooth, if not outright idyllic. Lavish vacations, magazine spreads, opulent parties; everything sparkled on the outside. But over time, the veneer cracked. Beneath Amber's intoxicating surface, Chase began to see the woman behind the mask: calculating, entitled, and shallow to the core. Her charm had become a weapon, her beauty a distraction, her attention always somewhere else; often with someone else.
It hit him hard when he realized that he’d been dazzled, not loved. That he'd married a fantasy dressed in diamonds and red wine, only to wake up beside a woman who cared more for status than sincerity. The glamorous marriage had decayed into a cold, hollow partnership. The exotic dream had become a gilded cage. And Chase Addington was done pretending.
“And whose fault is that?” Victoria snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass as she stepped forward, practically cornering her son. Her eyes blazed with indignation, and her perfectly manicured finger jabbed the air between them. “You’re the one who moved out of the bedroom you shared with Amber. You’re the one who chose a marriage in name only!” she spat, each word laced with venom and bitter accusation.
Chase recoiled, stunned, as if her words had physically struck him. His jaw tightened, and disbelief flickered across his face like a shadow. “Is that what Amber told you?” he asked, his voice low, tight with anger and hurt. “And let me guess—of course you believed her, didn’t you?” He laughed bitterly; the sound devoid of humor. “You always take her side. Always her over me.”
“Chase, there will be no divorce,” Victoria declared coldly, her voice like ice cracking beneath pressure. She waved off his words with a stiff flick of her wrist, as if brushing away an annoying gnat. “No Addington has ever gotten a divorce, and you will not be the first. Get these foolish, disgraceful notions out of your head immediately,” she warned. Her steely gaze bore into him, daring him to challenge the centuries-old legacy she clung to like a badge of honor.
Chase pushed back his chair and stood, the legs scraping sharply against the hardwood floor. His patience, already threadbare, finally snapped. “Mother, I’m a grown man in his thirties,” he said, his voice tight with restrained fury. “I can make my own decisions, thank you very much.” His jaw clenched, and his fists curled at his sides. He loathed the way she still spoke to him as if he were some wayward boy caught sneaking sweets before dinner. Her condescension stung like salt in a wound he’d spent years trying to close.
“Not with the image of this family, you don’t,” Victoria snapped, her voice rising with outrage and desperation. Her heels clicked sharply as she paced in front of him like a general rallying for battle. “You’re married to Amber, and married to her you will remain,” she declared, stabbing a finger toward him for emphasis. “Especially if you want to save face with the board at Addington Worldwide.”
Her eyes flashed with fire as she bore down on him. “You know exactly how important this union is to our legacy. Adam Wensington isn’t just some vineyard hobbyist; he owns half the valley. He’s got influence in Napa that stretches from the hills to every tasting room on the map.”
She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper laced with warning. “If you divorce Amber, we’ll lose everything we’ve built in the winery industry—mark my words, Adam will make sure of it. And let’s not forget the sizeable settlement Amber will demand. She’ll bleed this family dry, and you’ll be the one who handed her the knife.”
“So, we lose Napa Valley Wineries,” Chase said. “We have other holdings, Mother. And who cares if we have to hand over a cash settlement to Amber? It won’t be the end of us.” His tone was cool, with a flicker of defiance in his eyes, daring her to contradict him.
Victoria let out a low, bitter scoff as she planted her hands firmly on her hips, the gesture rigid and unforgiving. “You know darn well that would only be the beginning,” she snapped. Her voice, though controlled, seethed with frustration. “The press would have a field day with this scandal. Headlines screaming about the fall of the Addington golden couple. Do you really think the board, the investors, the vultures circling us on Wall Street, would sit back and watch?”
She drew in a long, shuddering breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort to maintain her composure. “Our stock options would nosedive. We’d lose investors left and right. This isn't just a marriage, Chase; it’s a business alliance. One your father and I worked tirelessly to arrange. Amber was chosen for a reason.”
She narrowed her eyes, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. “Now, if you want to keep a woman on the side, that’s your business,” she said with a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “But Amber is the one you married, and she is the face of this family to the public. Just make sure that any other woman you entertain knows her place.”
Chase stared at his mother, stunned into silence. Did he hear her right? Was she actually encouraging him to take a mistress? The sheer absurdity of it left his thoughts reeling. Of all the uncomfortable, high-stakes conversations they’d had over the years about legacy, image, duty, this one easily topped the list. It was surreal.
“Mother, why don’t you leave Amber and me to decide about our marriage?” he said, his voice sharp with disbelief, though he tried to keep it even. “I take it Amber’s upstairs?” he asked, half-hoping she was still somewhere in the house, if only to confront her himself.
Victoria gave a delicate shake of her head, strands of her sleek chignon barely moving. “No,” she said, her voice slipping into that familiar, condescending tone. “The poor dear went out before you got back from wherever you were earlier. Apparently, she needed some time to sort things out on her own.” She offered a slight, pitying smile, as if Amber’s fragile nerves were of greater concern than her son’s disintegrating marriage.
“I assured her I’d handle everything,” she went on smoothly, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve. “And I do hope we’re clear now—there will be no divorce.” Her eyes hardened like polished granite. “This isn’t just a family, Chase. It’s a dynasty. And as the face of Addington Worldwide, you have an obligation to keep it untarnished. So, let’s put an end to these childish fantasies of yours,” she snapped, her voice now rigid with finality.
Without another word, Victoria spun on her heel and stormed toward the office door. She paused just long enough to give him one last look over her shoulder; cold, unwavering—before yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind her with a reverberating crack that echoed through the study.
Chase stood motionless in the silence that followed, his jaw clenched, his heart pounding with a quiet fury. He understood perfectly. As always, the expectations of the Addington family came first: above his happiness, above love, above everything. They wanted him to stay in a hollow marriage, a carefully staged performance to uphold a legacy.
He sighed, his thoughts drifting bitterly to Amber. No doubt she had retreated to the arms of one of her many lovers, cloaking her betrayal in a veil of self-care. He didn’t care anymore. Let them have her. In his world, she was already gone.
Chapter 5
Mario unlocked the door to his sleek, modern townhouse, the metallic click echoing in the quiet hallway. As he stepped inside, he flipped on the lights, casting a warm golden glow a-cross the open-concept living space. The room was pristine and tastefully decorated—cool grays and crisp whites with minimalist touches—but it all felt too sterile for his current mood.
He strode across the polished hardwood floor and sank into the plush white sofa that sat squarely in the center of the room, facing a stone-framed fireplace on the far wall. He grabbed a remote off the coffee table in front of him and turned the fireplace on. The flickering embers from the electric flame reflected faintly on the glossy glass surface. With a sigh, he yanked at the knot of his blue necktie, loosening it with one hand while the weight of Chase’s request settled heavily on his mind. Mario rubbed his temples and leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as tension crept up his spine. He knew what Chase was asking wasn’t just another negotiation. It meant facing JosaLynda Dupree again. The very name stirred a strange cocktail of irritation and intrigue in his gut. She was sharp, dangerously sharp, with a mind like a blade and a tongue to match. By all accounts, she should have been a walking nightmare, and yet… Mario couldn’t deny a spark of excitement at the idea of crossing verbal swords with her once more. She wasn’t just an adversary; she was a challenge. A worthy opponent in a game he never asked to play, but now couldn’t resist.
Still, his mission was clear. He had to convince JosaLynda Dupree to take their offer seriously. And after the cryptic undercurrents in Chase’s voice during their conversation, Mario couldn’t shake the feeling that this deal wasn’t just about business. Chase had never been this intense—this invested—in any acquisition before. And when Jenna Dupree’s name had come up, Mario had caught the subtle tension in his friend’s voice. Maybe JosaLynda was right to suspect something deeper. Whatever was going on behind the scenes, it was Mario’s job to navigate the minefield.
Just as he exhaled and leaned forward, preparing to pour himself a drink from the decanter on the coffee table, a sultry voice purred from behind him.
“It’s about time you got home.”
Mario spun around at the sound of the voice that slithered through the air; one he knew all too well. Standing in the doorway of his bedroom was Amber Addington, statuesque and striking, her presence impossible to ignore. She wore a black and gold designer mini-dress that clung to her like a second skin, the metallic threads shimmering with each subtle movement. Her legs, long and toned, were accentuated by spiked black heels that clicked menacingly against the hardwood floor.
“Amber,” Mario breathed, stunned. “How the hell did you get in here?”
With a languid sway of her hips, she crossed the room toward him, her perfume- a bold mix of jasmine and something darker trailing in her wake. Her painted lips curled into a knowing smile as she tilted her head.
“You gave me a key, remember?” she purred, her voice smooth as velvet but edged with mischief.
“Yes, I did, many years ago when we were together,” he said, his tone laced with disbelief. “Amber, I’m amazed you kept that key. We ended ten years ago, and I remember quite vividly you gave it back to me.” His voice sharpened slightly; the memory still etched into his mind like a scar.
Amber’s lips curved into a slow, unapologetic smile. “I had a duplicate made,” she said with a sultry lilt, her tone as smooth as honey and just as sticky. “Just in case… well, I ever needed to use it.”
With deliberate grace, she lowered herself into a sleek white accent chair across from the sofa, her every move oozing calculated elegance. She crossed one long, bare leg over the other, the hem of her dress riding up just enough to catch the light and his attention. Her skin gleamed against the crisp fabric of the chair, and she tilted her head as if daring him to look away.
Mario’s gaze drifted despite his better judgment to the breathtaking woman seated before him. Amber looked like sin draped in silk, her impossibly smooth legs crossed with the casual elegance of someone who knew exactly the effect she had. The black and gold mini-dress hugged her like it had been tailored for seduction, shimmering with every subtle shift of her body.
He was, after all, only human. And the way she sat there so poised, so tantalizingly self-aware, made it nearly impossible not to notice. But she belonged to another man now. She had chosen Chase all those years ago, not him. That truth settled heavily in his chest; a dull ache he thought had long since faded.
He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes upward and away from temptation. “I’m amazed you haven’t used that key up until now,” he said, his voice tighter than he intended. Then, with a sudden edge, he rose from the sofa, the leather creaking beneath him. “What do you want, Amber?” he asked bluntly, his tone clipped and guarded.
Amber slowly ran a manicured hand down the length of her skin-tight mini-dress, the fabric glinting under the soft lighting like liquid gold and ink. Her fingers moved with a sensual purpose, drawing attention to every seductive curve she still wielded like a weapon. Her eyes locked onto Mario’s, calm and unreadable.
“Chase has asked me for a divorce,” she said, her voice low and velvety, tinged with a hint of practiced vulnerability. “And I figured, you know him better than anyone. Is he seeing someone else?” she asked, lifting a perfectly arched brow in calculated curiosity.
Mario narrowed his eyes. The whole thing felt off: Amber showing up unannounced, casually lounging in his chair, asking about Chase like she suddenly had a heart. That had never been her style. She never came to him for answers, especially not about Chase.
“As if you suddenly care about your husband,” Mario muttered, suspicion blooming fast in his chest.
Then something clicked. A bitter, caustic realization washed over him. “Oh, wait,” he said, his tone sharpening with contempt as he stood straighter, his jaw tightening. “It’s his billions you care about, right?”
“Mario, I couldn’t care less about the money,” Amber said coolly, her voice laced with a hint of aristocratic indifference. “My family, as you very well know, is quite wealthy in their own right. Old money, deep roots, unshakable influence.” She gave a graceful shrug, as if the mere mention of wealth bored her. “Besides, I’m sure I’ll get a hefty settlement out of the Addington’s,” she added with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She rose from the chair with slow, deliberate elegance and sauntered toward him, her heels clicking sharply against the floor with each step. Her presence was magnetic, the kind of poised confidence that could shift the air in the room.
“The only reason I asked about Chase,” she continued, her voice softening as she stopped just a few feet from him, “is because, as you must already know, we’ve been living separate lives for years. Under the same roof, yes, but miles apart in every other way. And now, suddenly, he wants a divorce.” She looked at him intently, her tone edged with genuine curiosity—maybe even desperation. “I want to know why. And I figured you would know.”
Mario let out a short, bitter laugh. “I’m surprised the money doesn’t matter to you now,” he said, his words soaked in sarcasm. His eyes narrowed as he folded his arms across his chest, retreating into old defenses. “Why the sudden change of heart, Amber?”
He took a step back, subtly trying to reclaim space, both physical and emotional. “It wasn’t too long ago that you were perfectly fine merging two powerful families and their gigantic empires. You played your part beautifully then. So, what changed?”
“Let’s just say,” Amber began, her voice a low, velvety whisper, “I see things differently now... especially what I may have so foolishly given up.” Her fingers, calm and deliberate, slid across the front of Mario’s crisp white shirt, coming to rest just over his heart. Her touch lingered there, soft yet heavy with implication.
“Besides,” she added, her gaze flickering up to meet his, “with the kind of settlement I’ll most likely receive, I need to know if we still have a future.” Her lips parted as she leaned in, her perfume wrapping around him like a memory; intoxicating and dangerous. She tilted her face toward his, but before their mouths could meet, she felt the subtle but unmistakable pull of rejection.
Mario stepped back, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. “Forget it, Amber,” he said flatly, his voice like a shutter slamming down. “I’m not interested in going back; not after what you did to me all those years ago.”
His words were steel-edged, final. “And I know Victoria Addington. She’ll never allow her son to divorce you. Chase might run the family business, sure, but Victoria?” He shook his head. “She still rules that empire with an iron fist. Before I left the mansion tonight, she made it very clear she wanted to speak to Chase alone. I guarantee you she told him there would be no divorce.”
Mario took a steady breath, as though steeling himself for what he knew would never change. “And even if she did step aside, which she won’t, your father would never allow it either. That merger was his crowning ambition. He wanted it as badly as Victoria and Roger did. No one’s letting go of that kind of power without a fight.”
His eyes met hers again, resolute. “I’m not interested in being your fallback plan or something on the side. You should know that by now. I’ll never betray my best friend.”
He extended his hand, palm open, firm. “Now, I’d like you to leave. But before you do, kindly return that duplicate key.”
Amber’s eyes blazed. Her full lips tightened into a sneer as she reached slowly into her low neckline, fingers slipping between the lace of her bra. From its hidden cradle, she re-trieved the small, silver key and pressed it into his waiting hand with deliberate force.
“This isn’t over, Mario,” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. “It’ll never be over between us, because in all these years, you’ve never found another woman who made you feel the way I did. And you never will.”
With one final, venom-laced scoff, she turned on her heel, her shoes clacking like authority against the hardwood. She slithered to the door, threw it open, and stormed out into the night—leaving behind nothing but the scent of her perfume and a storm of unspoken regrets.
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