9
Christian
I sat back down in the exact spot I'd been moments ago, my body still tense, my mind already calculating the next move. The silence in the room stretched thin like a wire ready to snap.
I looked at Dante. Something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe. It was gone just as fast, but I saw it.
And God, I hated him for it.
I've hated him for a lot of things over the years, but in this moment, it burned deeper than ever before.
"You know I'm very capable of walking away from all of this," I said, my voice low and razor-sharp. "I don't give a damn about your wealth. Or this company. None of it means anything to me."
Dante didn't flinch. His eyes held steady. "Yes," he said, "but I also know there's no way in hell you'd let this company fall into Damian's hands."
My jaw clenched. He wasn't wrong. And he knew it.
I could feel the weight of Dante's gaze on me as he leaned back in his chair, an arrogant smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I've made this search easier for you," he said, his voice laced with that all-too-familiar authority. "Already found a match for you."
My brows furrowed immediately, instinctively narrowing my eyes at him. He had this way of controlling every aspect of my life, like he was pulling all the strings. It made my blood boil.
"I'm not interested," I bit back, my tone sharp. "I'll find someone myself."
Dante's laugh rang out, echoing through the sterile room. "Nah, you won't," he said, his voice smooth as silk, but there was a bite in his words. "You reject women faster than anyone I know, son."
I exhaled an annoyed breath. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean I was going to admit it. Not to him. "So, who is this 'match'?" I asked, the sarcasm dripping from my voice.
Dante didn't flinch at my tone. Instead, he slowly opened one of his desk drawers with a deliberate motion. The sound of the drawer sliding open felt unnervingly loud in the heavy silence. He reached inside and retrieved a thick file. The leather folder looked old—distressed at the edges—as if it had been passed around for years, weighed down by secrets and expectations.
He flipped it open with a practiced hand, revealing a set of neatly arranged papers inside. The weight of them seemed to press down on me, as if he was offering me my future on a silver platter. He handed the file to me, and I could already feel the coldness in my fingers as I took it.
I didn't open it right away. Instead, I let it sit in my hands, the weight of it almost suffocating. Dante's eyes were locked on me, waiting for my reaction, no doubt enjoying every second of my discomfort.
Dante didn't wait for me to ask—he never did. He simply leaned forward with that smug air of finality and said, "Her name is Amber Kensington."
My fingers twitched around the file. That name snapped through my mind like a loaded trigger.
Amber Kensington.
I paused, eyes narrowing, then finally flipped the folder open. My gaze landed on the glossy headshot paperclipped to the first page. Blonde. Beautiful. Calculated. She wore the kind of smile that had been practiced in front of mirrors since girlhood. My expression didn't change, but inside, something shifted.
Well, I'll be damned,This is the elder sister of that intern girl… Ruby
I knew exactly who she was. The Kensington name was impossible to miss. I'd done my research, maybe even too well. But I kept my face neutral, careful not to show anything beyond faint recognition. I couldn't risk letting him see the storm brewing behind my eyes.
"And where, presumably, did you meet her?" I asked, my voice calm—too calm. Suspicion coiled in my gut like smoke.
Dante gave a nonchalant shrug. "He's a business partner of mine," he said coolly. "We came to an agreement that benefits us both."
Of course you did.
Maxwell Kensington. The name alone made my jaw clench.
He ran a brand advertising company. Struggled for years to get it off the ground, and though he finally managed to make a name for himself, the man was still clawing for something he could never quite grasp—respect. Real respect. The kind that doesn't come from working hard but from being born into the right bloodline, into old money, into power. And Maxwell? He didn't have any of that. Just a flashy company, half-baked connections, and an ego desperate to matter.
But lately, his golden empire had been slipping. Numbers were crashing. Headlines painted the picture perfectly—desperation wrapped in denial. So what does a man like that do?
He reaches for the ultimate shortcut.
Arranging a marriage between his daughter and the Royal family? That's not just ambition. That's survival. If he could tie his blood to ours, it would earn him instant credibility. Suddenly he wouldn't just be a name in advertising—he'd be connected. Cemented into society's upper crust. His company would skyrocket, and the very people who once looked down on him would beg to shake his hand.
Smart man.
Desperate, but smart.
Still, I wasn't going to be part of his salvation.
Especially not when his past was laced with blood.
Especially not when he was the reason my mother was buried six feet under.
"She's smart, beautiful, well-bred and educated. She fits."
Fits into what? Your empire or your manipulation?
I said nothing. Just stared at the photo while a thousand thoughts swarmed my head.
There was no way in hell he knew Maxwell Kensington had murdered my mother. I hadn't told him. I never would. If Dante knew even a fraction of what I'd uncovered, he'd twist it, alter it, or worse—handle it himself. And that, I couldn't allow.
This revenge was mine.
So I kept my silence. Let him play his little matchmaker game while I decided how the hell to turn this in my favor.
Absolutely! Here's the continuation and closing of the chapter in Christian's voice, keeping the tone sharp and calculated:
"If you agree to this," Dante said, his fingers steepled together, "you've been invited for dinner during the Easter weekend. That's when you can formally meet each other and begin… setting the foundation."
"Alright," I cut in, my voice calm, clipped.
Dante blinked, taken aback. The flicker of surprise in his eyes quickly gave way to something that looked like triumph. He leaned forward slightly, like he was already basking in his victory.
"I'll see to this," I said, satisfaction dripping from my tone. "According to the file, she's a decent woman. Educated. Poised. Should make a fitting wife."
He didn't answer. He was probably wondering why I'd agreed so quickly, why I hadn't pushed back, argued, or stormed out like I usually did when he tried to puppeteer my life.
But this time… this time, my silence had purpose.
Because my plans were bigger than his petty games.
I didn't care about Amber Kensington. Hell, I didn't even care about the damn dinner. This agreement—this match—was just another move in the larger game I was playing. Once I gained full control over RCH, I would finally have the power to dismantle Maxwell Kensington piece by piece. Not just his business. His entire legacy. His name. His power. His family.
He thought marrying into the Royal family would save him?
He couldn't be more wrong.
Because I'd start with his two precious daughters—Amber, the golden one, and Ruby, the firecracker intern with sharp eyes and a smarter mouth. I'd make them both pawns in a game they didn't even know they were part of. Maxwell Kensington was going to learn the hard way that not all debts stay buried.
"But one condition," I said, letting my words settle in the room like a slow-burning fuse. "I've agreed to this on the terms that I have full—and I mean full—control over RCH. No interference. No oversight. Nothing."
Dante studied me for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fulfill your end of the bargain, and we'll have no trouble, son."
I stood, file still in hand, and gave him the faintest smile.
"No trouble at all."