Chapter 7 - The Price of a Paper Ring
Grant didn't leave. Instead, he reached out, planting his palm flat against the doorframe beside her head, trapping her in the doorway.
"You think you can just walk away?" he demanded, his voice dropping into a raw, desperate register that shocked even him. "After two years? After everything we shared?"
"We shared nothing, Grant," Clara said coldly, her expression entirely unreadable. "You shared your schedule with me. You shared your house with me. You shared your bed when it was convenient for your public image. That isn't a marriage. That's a tenancy agreement."
"I gave you everything!"
"You gave me a gilded prison," she countered sharply. "And now, the bill is due."
Before Grant could answer, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb behind his Range Rover. The rear door opened, and a distinguished-looking man in his late fifties stepped out—Victor Harlan’s former chief legal counsel, now wearing the lapel pin of Sterling Global.
He walked up the steps, nodding politely to Clara. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Callahan. The London stock exchange board has just confirmed the merger vote. Callahan Industries’ European shipping routes are officially under our operational control."
Grant spun around, glaring at the lawyer. "You bought off my entire legal board?"
"Not bought off, Mr. Callahan," the lawyer smiled thinly. "We simply offered them a better future. And unlike you, Mrs. Callahan honors her contracts."
Clara turned her gaze back to Grant. The rain was falling harder now, plastering his dark hair to his forehead, soaking through his designer suit. He looked every bit the powerful billionaire he was, yet for the first time in his life, he was utterly, helplessly defeated.
"You wanted a paper wife, Grant," Clara said softly, stepping back and closing the heavy oak door an inch. "Be careful what you sign. Because the ink is permanent."
May you like
Click.
The door locked.
