Page 121 of The Wrong Groom

“Good for you. Now, if you don’t mind⁠—”

“Perhaps you should’ve done the same.”

“Excuse me?” I lift an eyebrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Travis’s smile doesn’t falter at my harsh tone. He looks pleased with himself, like a hunter about to make a clean kill. “So I was right. You don’t know.”

“Speak plainly, or I’ll call security and have you escorted out,” I snap.

He clears his throat. “I know all about the situation you and your brothers are in. The arranged marriages. The will. The conditions tied to your inheritance. How your late father, in all his infinite wisdom, set everything up to secure his legacy. Locked you all into little gilded cages to make sure his empire stays intact.”

“That’s fairly common knowledge,” I say dryly. “Am I supposed to be impressed by that?”

But Travis only waves a dismissive hand, as if brushing away my sarcasm, as if my irritation is beneath him. His fingers flick through the air like he’s conducting the very tension in the room.

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not here to impress you. I’m here to remind you what’s at stake. Thorne Enterprises. Your father’s empire. This”—he gestures vaguely around the room, his lip curling—”this fucking castle he built. All for you and your brothers. His little princes, sitting on their golden thrones.”

I stare at him, mystified. He’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I’m so confused by his demeanor that he doesn’t stand a chance. “What the fuck are you⁠—”

“You should have done your research better before you tied your fortune to the Beaumonts.”

I stiffen. The energy in the room shifts.

Travis’s smirk grows sharper, more predatory. He leans in now, elbows resting on the edge of my desk like he owns the goddamn place. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a flicker of triumph in his gaze that makes my blood burn hotter. I hold my tongue, though, waiting to see what his play is before I react.

“The Beaumonts are a house of cards. They’ve been involved in large-scale tax evasion for years. Possibly even decades, although I’m not sure if the records go back that far. Vérité? It’s an apple full of worms. And you just took a big fucking bite.”

My breath hitches, caught between disbelief and fury, and for a moment, the entire room feels like it tilts sideways. My hands curl into fists. “Travis⁠—”

“If you ask me,” Travis says slowly, “something like that? A scandal on that scale? It could ruin the Thorne empire if it ever came to light. Sink your father’s legacy like a stone. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Chapter 39

Alexis

There’s a spring in my step as I approach the front door. Lately, coming home from work has been my favorite part of the day. That’s saying something, considering how much I’ve been enjoying work since I started Fashion For All.

When I lived alone, there wasn’t much difference between being at work and being at home. In the former location, I felt ignored, secondary to everything that was happening. In the latter, I was completely alone, unless my mother called to chastise me about something. Now, there’s joy everywhere I turn. Work is different. I feel alive there, needed. And when I get home, I find my family waiting for me.

Today, though, the facade is quiet as I enter the house. I frown, confused. Since Peyton got her kitten, she’s chattered non-stop, carrying Pepper all around the house or running up and down the stairs with a string toy.

But Pepper is nowhere to be seen. She must be sleeping somewhere. On the bed, most likely. Gabriel is her favorite person in the world. He has to remove her from his pillow almost every night.

“Hello?” I call out. “Peyton? Gabriel?”

A beat of quiet, then Gabriel’s voice answers from the kitchen, low and distant. “In here.”

Something in his tone makes my stomach twist.

Gabriel is sitting at the counter, hunched forward, his broad shoulders caved inward like the very air is pressing him down. One hand props up his head, his jaw tight, his expression drawn and strained. His eyes, usually so sharp and steady, are dark and shuttered now, fixed on the stone countertop like he can’t bear to look anywhere else.

Something’s not right.

“Where’s Peyton?” I ask, trying to keep the note of alarm out of my voice. My mind flashes through worst-case scenarios. Was there an accident? Did something happen at school?

Gabriel’s answer is flat, devoid of the usual warmth. “Margaret took her to the park.”

I exhale, some of the panic ebbing away, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder. Dread. Whatever’s wrong, it isn’t about Peyton. It’s something else.