Chapter 4 - A Seat at the High Table
By sunrise, the story had leaked to every gossip column and business journal on the eastern seaboard, though the details were heavily distorted.
Headlines screamed about the sudden, violent collapse of the Vale-Carrington engagement. Social media was ablaze with paparazzi photos of Blair Carrington walking down the gravel driveway of Ashbourne House in ruined silk and bare feet, weeping hysterically while private security barred her from re-entering her townhome. Pierce Carrington was vaguely reported as having ‘traveled abroad on sudden sabbatical,’ though anyone with ties to the waterfront knew he was locked in a holding cell beneath Dominic’s dry docks.
Inside Ashbourne House, the atmosphere had shifted completely.
I was moved from the cramped servants' quarters in the carriage house to a sprawling guest suite on the second floor with a private bath, a king-sized bed, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the frosted gardens.
At ten in the morning, a knock sounded at the door. I opened it to find two women holding wardrobe racks packed with custom-tailored garments: charcoal wool trousers, structured silk blouses, tailored Italian blazers, and long, elegant cashmere coats cut specifically for my curves and broad frame. Behind them stood Dominic’s personal tailor and a sleek leather briefcase.
“Compliments of Mr. Vale,” the tailor announced with a respectful bow. “For the board meeting at noon.”
“Board meeting?” I echoed.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a sharp navy-blue pantsuit that fit my shoulders and waist with glove-like precision, I was escorted down the grand staircase into the executive wing.
Dominic was waiting by the double mahogany doors of the primary boardroom. He wore a charcoal three-piece suit with a deep burgundy tie, looking every bit the ruthless titan who owned half the city’s skyline. When his eyes caught mine, he stopped mid-sentence with his chief legal counsel. His gaze swept over me from head to foot, lingering on my posture, his eyes alight with fierce approval.
“You look like someone who commands an army,” Dominic said, stepping toward me.
“I feel like someone wearing three months of my old salary,” I muttered under my breath, though the crisp cut of the jacket made my spine naturally straighten into the posture I hadn't worn since walking out of a state laboratory.
“You’re worth more than the salary,” he murmured, offering me his arm. “Are you ready?”
“For what, exactly?”
“Julian Montgomery arrived in town two hours ago,” Dominic explained as we walked toward the doors. “He heard through financial backchannels that the Carrington alliance fractured, and he thinks he can swoop in to buy up Pierce’s abandoned shipping shares. He’s in that room right now, sitting with my minority partners, preparing a presentation to offer me a partnership.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Julian is here?”
“He doesn’t know you work for me,” Dominic said, his hand covering mine where it rested on his forearm, offering an unshakeable anchor of stability. “He thinks you are a ruined woman working as a scullery maid in some nameless suburb. He believes he erased you from the board.”
Dominic stopped directly before the brass handles of the boardroom doors, turning to face me.
“I don't want to just clear your name, Nora,” he said, his voice lethal and low. “I want to watch you take his kingdom from his hands while he watches. Do you want revenge, or do you want justice?”
I looked at the closed doors, remembering the flashbulbs of the press conference two years ago, the smirk on Julian’s handsome face while my belongings were carried out of my office in cardboard boxes, and the crushing humiliation of being labeled a thief.
“Justice is too polite for what he did to me,” I replied, my voice dropping to a cool, lethal whisper. “I want him ruined.”
Dominic smiled—a cold, predatory grin that promised blood. “My kind of woman.”
He thrust the boardroom doors open with enough force to echo against the high vaulted ceiling.
Inside, seven men in multimillion-dollar suits turned around in surprise. At the far end of the long glass table, standing next to a digital projector, was Julian Montgomery. He had the same golden-brown hair, the same radiant, practiced smile, and the same hollow, calculating eyes.
“Dominic!” Julian began warmly, adjusting his silk tie with effortless charm. “I’m glad you could make it. I was just explaining to your associates how Montgomery Agri-Chemicals can stabilize your freight lines after the unfortunate... Carrington scandal—”
Julian’s voice abruptly cut out.
His eyes had traveled from Dominic to the woman standing beside him, linked arm-in-arm.
May you like
Julian’s face went pasty white. The designer pen in his hand slipped, clattering against the glass table with a sharp clack.
“Nora?” he breathed, his voice cracking with pure disbelief.
