Chapter 6 - The Chase Across the Atlantic
Seventy-two hours later, Grant Callahan’s private Gulfstream touched down at Heathrow Airport under a gray, spitting London drizzle.
He didn't wait for a chauffeur. He rented a sleek black Range Rover at the private airstrip and drove straight into the heart of Chelsea, navigating the narrow, historic streets with aggressive precision.
The address Julian tracked down was a four-story Victorian brownstone tucked behind a quiet square lined with ancient oak trees. The facade was freshly painted midnight blue, with brass window boxes overflowing with white winter jasmine.
Grant killed the engine, stepped out into the cold mist, and walked up the stone steps.
He didn't bother knocking. He slammed his palm against the heavy oak door.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Inside, footsteps approached—light, measured, unhurried.
The lock clicked. The door swung open.
Clara stood in the entryway. She wasn't wearing an ivory ballgown or diamond tennis bracelets. She wore a simple charcoal cashmere sweater, dark denim jeans, and her hair was tied back in a loose, casual braid. She looked healthier, sharper, and infinitely more dangerous than she had in Chicago.
She looked at Grant standing on her porch in his drenched bespoke suit, and she didn't even blink.
"You're trespassing, Mr. Callahan," Clara said, her voice smooth and devoid of any emotion.
Grant stared at her, his chest heaving, the icy composure he had maintained for a decade finally cracking wide open. "You bought thirty percent of Sterling Global."
"Thirty-four percent, actually," Clara corrected mildly, leaning against the doorframe. "Inflation is a bitch."
"Clara, stop this," Grant stepped forward, his massive frame looming over her, but she didn't retreat an inch. "This is insane. You want a divorce? Fine. You want a bigger settlement? Name your price. But playing corporate warfare with my family's legacy—"
"Your family's legacy was built on the backs of men like my father, Grant," Clara interrupted, her eyes suddenly flashing with a cold, terrifying fire that silenced him instantly. "You thought you bought a paper wife. You thought you could keep me in a glass cage, parade me out for charity galas, and whisper to your billionaire friends that I was just a useful accessory."
She stepped closer, invading his space, her gaze locking onto his.
"You taught me how to play the game, Grant. You just forgot one fundamental rule of business."
May you like
"What rule?" he rasped.
"Never underestimate an asset that knows its own worth," Clara whispered. "Now get off my porch before I call Scotland Yard and have you towed."
