Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Then I hit it—a clause that stops me cold. It chases her away from my mind.
The assets promised to my firm, the cornerstone of this deal, have been slashed by 15%. Fifteen percent? My jaw tightens, a familiar heat coiling in my chest—not the kind Lauren sparked, but the cold burn of betrayal. This was agreed upon, locked in months ago. I grab my phone, dialing Victor Langston, the founder of Langston Capital, a hedge fund heavyweight with £30 billion in assets under management, spanning private equity, real estate, and tech ventures. He’d shaken hands with me six months ago at The Gherkin, promising a £12 billion allocation to my firm, and now he’s looking to hold back 15%? I’m fuming.
Victor picks up, his voice smooth as aged whisky, his Canadian accent laced with the plummy lilt he picked up in Oxford. “Hugh, good evening.”
“Victor,” I say, matching his calm. “You cut the allocation by fifteen percent—two hundred million less than we agreed. What’s this about?” He chuckles, a throaty sound that grates like sandpaper. “That’s still £1.2 billion for your portfolio, Hugh. A tidy sum to kick things off, wouldn’t you say?”
“Plenty?” I lean forward. “But this isn’t about the numbers—it’s trust. You shave off fifteen percent, you’re signaling you don’t back me. I run the show, Victor—through market crashes, rate hikes, black swans. If you don’t trust me to steer all of it then I don’t want any of it.”
A pause, then another laugh, softer, like he’s weighing me. “You’re intense about this.”
“Always,” I snap. “No trust, no deal. I walk.”
“Alright, hold on,” he says, voice shifting, conciliatory. “We’ll restore it to the original amount, as agreed, but I’ve got a favor to ask.”
I raise an eyebrow, settling back, the chair creaking. “A favor?”
“My fifth anniversary’s coming up,” he says, earnest now. “My wife, Clara—she’s not expecting much, but I want to surprise her. Your manor… she’s always loved it. We visited with your father when we first got married, and I know it’s a lot, Hugh, but one night, let us celebrate there. It’d mean everything.”
The request rolls in my head. Montrose for his anniversary? My home as a business venue. My first instinct is to refuse him, the words now forming fast. Montrose is too personal. It will be like handing over a piece of myself. I tilt my head, staring through the arched windows at the green landscape.
“You’re asking to turn a ducal estate into a party venue,” I say, a half-laugh escaping, though my voice carries an edge.
“I know, it’s bold,” Victor admits, his words tumbling out quicker now with eagerness. “But picture it, Hugh—business heavyweights, fund managers, CEOs, all in one room. You’d walk away with, say, £4 billion more under management by the night’s end. I’ll cover everything—catering, staff, cleanup, even repairs if some clumsy guest scuffs your floors. Your manor’s one of the grandest in England, a jewel. Clara’s talked about it ever since, how it felt like stepping into the best part of the British Empire’s history.”
His words settle in the quiet air. My fingers drum on the table. A party would flood the house with noise and handshakes. I picture the great hall alive with clinking glasses, murmured deals, the kind of night where great shifts on the financial chessboard are made. The manor was made for that, wasn’t it? A spectacle for leverage. And yet… I hesitate, my thumb tracing the desk’s edge, her face flickering in my mind. Those eyes were wide with shock as she pulled away. A distraction like this is what I need. New contracts, new power. It’s all upside, a chance to tighten my grip on the world I rule.
I exhale, a slow grin tugging at my mouth. “Alright, Victor. You’ve got your night. This weekend, you said?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice bright, almost boyish. “Everything is booked. Only the venue was still up for grabs.”
I shake my head in wonder. “Was this really why you cut the assets?”
He laughs. “I’d do anything for Clara, you know?”
The words ‘anything for Clara’ are like a pebble breaking still water. There’s no fool greater than an old fool in love with a woman half his age. It stirs the shadow of Lauren’s defiance as she melted and fought all at once. Yes, I want her badly, but I’ll never let a woman hold me in thrall like that, never let myself bend that far. I won’t. “I’ll have my assistant Athena contact you,” I say, my voice flattening, closing the door on that thought. “You can sort out the arrangements with her.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Hugh,” he says, gratitude thick in his tone, and we hang up.
I lean back, the contracts staring up at me, reduced to ink and ambition. Victor’s devotion to Clara is admirable in a way, but it’s a crack in his armor. Love like that makes you reckless, trades reason for a fleeting spark. I’ve watched it unravel men sharper than him.