“Tess did a little digging,” Jenna says lightly. “Wanted to know who your mysterious date was. Took some effort. Your girl’s not on social media. Not even Insta. Practically invisible. And honestly? Boring. But Tess dug up some tiny, throwaway UK article about Americans at Oxford. Turns out she’s brains and beauty. Maybe even an…heiress? Look at you, trading up.”
She pauses long enough for the implication to sink its teeth in.
“Twenty-something-ish. Guess I’m not the only one who likes them younger. Last name Beaumont, which sounds vaguely familiar,” she adds, her mockery louder than the thunderclaps in my chest. “Wait.” She gives a tiny, performative gasp. “Her father couldn’t possibly be your…business partner? Tell me, Knox—does he even know?”
I say nothing. Can’t. Jenna lets the silence following her little dramatization stretch, likely savoring every second.
“Imagine if these photos get leaked,” she muses. “Headlines practically write themselves. Luxe Properties founder leaves wedding-planner wife for twenty-something heiress.”
Fuck. Me. I should’ve forced the divorce announcement public months ago. I handed Jenna the weapon she’s using to hurt us, gift-wrapped it, even.
My jaw clamps down, anger settling low and cold, the kind that makes me dangerous. “Get to the point.”
“Oh, please.” She drops the playful edge. “You already know the point. You nearly cost me everything, Knox. Forcing me out of my home? Risking damage to my image? My brand? Threatening me with aStyle Weeklyinterview that would’ve made me look like the villain?”
“Youarethe villain, Jenna. You cheated on me. In our kitchen.”
She scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Cut the bullshit,” I bite out. “What do you want?”
“I want you to take Westbury Place off the market and sign it over to me, of course.” Her tone sharpens as she adds, “And I want Luxe.”
The audacity hits first.
Then the anger.
Jenna wants to ruin me.
I go still. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“I’m giving you forty-eight hours, Knoxie poo,” she says coolly. “Then the photos go to theGazette. And straight to Oliver Beaumont.”
CHAPTER 40
Knox
Sunday morning at Beaumont Group is quiet, lights dimmed to weekend mode, the marble lobby echoing my footsteps like the building already knows I’m here to detonate something.
Mont likes to get in early on Sundays, clear his inbox, make a few calls, then hit the golf course before it gets crowded.
Perfect.
Or disastrous.
Hard to tell.
I step into the elevator and hit the top floor. It hums as it climbs, a sound that feels too harsh for how little sleep I got.
Cami is back at my apartment, curled up with the kittens and fully aware of what I’m about to do.
Tell her father I’m in love with his daughter.
Tell him I’ll walk away from the company if he wants blood.
She also knows about the photos.
About Jenna’s threat.
