Page 141 of The Temporary Bride

I need a moment to collect my thoughts. The night has gone better than I dared to hope, but there’s still so much riding on this. I can’t afford to mess it up.

In the restroom, I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my tie one last time, smoothing down the front of my suit. I look good, sharp and composed, but there’s a nervous energy under the surface that I can’t quite shake. My reflection stares back at me, a man determined to win back the woman he loves. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the rest of the evening.

As I leave the restroom and head down the hallway toward our table, I catch sight of someone familiar out of the corner of my eye. It’s Vincent, Chloe’s father. His face is twisted in fury as he storms toward me, his eyes blazing with barely contained rage.

“Mr. Dawson,” I manage to say, stopping in my tracks.

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “You had papers served to me this morning,” he hisses. “You and your brothers think you can take me to the cleaners?”

I can’t help but feel a surge of pride at his words. This lawsuit wasn’t just a business move. It was a statement, a declaration that we wouldn’t be pushed around. We put everything into it, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

If we win, everything from Eclipse Studios will be under Thorne control. The joint venture would’ve been nice, but if Vincent isn’t willing to share space at the table, isn’t willing to consider his partners allies, then I want to make sure we get our money’s worth. It’s my job to protect the company.

I can’t keep the smirk off my face.

“Listen,” I start, “it’s just business.”

“Business?” he snarls. “You’re playing with fire, boy. You’ll never win. And when you lose, you’ll be facing a counter-suit so fast it’ll give you whiplash. I’m Vincent fucking Dawson. If you think you can take me down⁠—”

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Dawson,” I say, raising my voice slightly, “I’d like to get back to dinner with my wife.”

At the mention of Chloe, a truly ugly look spreads across Vincent’s face. His lip curls in disdain, and his eyes narrow even more.

“Oh, your wife. I wouldn’t fucking bother, if I were you.”

My jaw tightens. I know I should leave it, but I can’t help myself. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Vincent growls. “If you think you’re getting any insider information out of Chloe, you’re sorely mistaken. She doesn’t work at MediaSphere anymore.”

My eyes widen at that, but Vincent is mid-rant, and he doesn’t give me time to take in this revelation.

“I should’ve seen it coming. She always had her head in the clouds. Never fully dedicated herself to her work, or to the company. She was a disappointment waiting to happen.”

The moment Vincent starts belittling Chloe, something inside me snaps. My hands clench into fists at my sides as I listen to him dismiss her, tear her down as if she’s nothing more than a failed project. My chest tightens, filled with an anger I can’t hold back any longer.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve closed the distance between us. My hand shoots out, grabbing the front of his shirt, and I shove him against the wall. The sound of his back hitting the wood paneling echoes in the narrow hallway. For a split second, there’s nothing but stunned silence between us.

Vincent’s eyes widen in shock, but I don’t let up. I press him harder against the wall, leaning in close so he can see the fury in my eyes.

“Be very careful what you say about my wife,” I growl. “You have no idea how incredible she is. No idea what she’s capable of.”

His surprise quickly turns to anger, but he’s trapped, pinned by the force of my grip. “You think you can intimidate me, Thorne?” he spits, but there’s an edge of uncertainty in his voice now.

Whether he wants to admit it or not, he is intimidated. And we both know it.

“Chloe is not a disappointment,” I tell him roughly. “She’s the most insightful, intelligent, and talented person I’ve ever known. And the fact that you can’t see that only proves how blind you are.”

Vincent glares at me, his jaw clenched, but he doesn’t say anything. The anger builds beneath the surface, but I don’t care. I’m done letting him run his mouth.

“She has dreams, Vincent. Dreams that you’ve tried to crush under the weight of your expectations. But guess what? She’s stronger than you think. She’s stronger than you’ll ever be. And if you can’t see that, then you don’t deserve to be in her life.”

“She is my daughter,” Vincent spits. His eyes bore into mine, as if trying to assert some kind of dominance, but all I see is a man clinging to the last threads of his control.

His back is literally to the wall, his tail between his legs. Within months, his empire will have crumbled to dust at my feet. No matter how hard he tries to get the upper hand, he’s finished.

“Yes, she is your daughter. That means you should’ve supported her. Encouraged her. You didn’t, and guess what? That’s your fucking loss.”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, the wheels turn in his mind, searching for something, anything, to fire back with. But I don’t give him the chance.