Chapter 4

At eight o'clock the next evening, Holt Corporation held its annual appreciation gala.

"Remove Fiona Harvey's name from tonight's guest list."

Holt stood at the hotel entrance, giving cold instructions to his assistant.

I stood in the shadows not far away, hearing every word.

"But Mr. Holt, Miss Harvey comes every year to help check the schedule..." The assistant hesitated.

"I don't need her tonight."

Holt cut him off impatiently.

"Priscilla will attend as my date. If Fiona's there, it'll just make Priscilla uncomfortable."

"Tell security—if they see her, keep her outside."

I watched him turn and walk into the glittering hall. I didn't even have the desire to confront him one last time.

Afraid of making his mistress uncomfortable, so he's keeping his actual girlfriend locked out?

"Tell Holt," I said, looking the assistant in the eye, word by word.

"He'll pay a price he can't afford for today's decision."

With that, I turned on my heels and walked away from the hotel without looking back.

The screen began streaming live footage from inside the gala.

Holt took Priscilla's hand and walked into the spotlight.

"Thank you all for coming. I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce the lady beside me."

He looked at Priscilla tenderly.

"Miss Priscilla Quinn will be the future Mrs. Holt."

Thunderous applause filled the room.

I stood in the cold wind, watching the perfect couple on the screen, and severed my last thread of attachment.

I turned toward a black Bentley parked by the curb.

Paxton opened the door and respectfully handed me a file.

"Miss Harvey, the yacht is ready. We can leave anytime."

"Let's go. To the harbor."

Halfway through the gala, Holt suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of panic.

He instinctively looked toward the corner but didn't see that familiar figure.

"Fiona didn't come?" He grabbed his assistant.

"Mr. Holt, you ordered us not to let her in. Security said she left half an hour ago."

"Where did she go?"

"It seems... the harbor downtown."

Holt's heart sank.

Fiona was a coroner living on a government salary. She thought taxis were too expensive. Where would she get money for a Bentley?

He suddenly remembered what I'd said last night—that I'd canceled my flight and booked a cruise, that I was going to the marina.

That resolute look in my eyes when I said "perfect" flashed through his mind again.

Was she really leaving him for good?

He shoved aside Priscilla, who was toasting guests, and ran out of the hotel like a madman.

The comments scrolled across the screen:

[Here it comes. The yacht.]

[Run faster, Holt. You're racing to your own funeral.]

[Finally, the satisfying part. Can't wait to see Mr. Holt on his knees.]

The sea wind howled.

Holt ran to the dock, gasping for breath, searching frantically for me.

"Fiona."

Then he saw me standing on the deck of a yacht with the Harvey family crest, looking down at him from above.

Holt froze in place, disbelief written all over his face.

Beside me stood an imposing middle-aged man.

My father. The chairman of Harvey Group.

"Mr. Holt, our family's IOU—Holt Corporation hasn't paid it back yet, have you?"