The dining room fell into a deathly silence.
Preston's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. He stared at Kavon, trying to process the words.
"Charlize?" Preston finally choked out, forcing a strained, ugly laugh. "Mr. Velasquez, you must be joking. Charlize is a disaster. She's rebellious, she has a terrible reputation, and she just ruined my wedding. She is completely unworthy of you."
Davina nodded frantically, stepping up beside her husband. "It's true, sir. She's a violent girl. We wouldn't want her to bring shame to the Velasquez name."
Kavon stared at the two of them. His eyes darkened to a pitch-black void. The urge to snap Preston's neck was a physical ache in his hands. They were standing there, eagerly tearing down the only woman he cared about.
Kavon stood up.
The sheer physical intimidation of his height made Preston stumble backward, his hip crashing into the edge of the table.
"I wasn't asking for your opinions," Kavon said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "I was giving you an order."
He snapped his fingers.
Silas opened his briefcase again. This time, he didn't pull out a contract. He pulled out a sealed, brown manila envelope. He handed it to Preston.
"Open it," Silas instructed calmly.
Preston's hands shook violently as he tore the top of the envelope off. He pulled out a stack of printed papers.
His eyes scanned the first page. His breath stopped.
It was a detailed, five-year ledger of the Chen family's offshore shell companies. It contained undeniable proof of massive tax evasion and corporate money laundering.
Preston's legs gave out. He collapsed into a dining chair, the papers shaking in his hands.
Kavon looked down at him, his expression completely devoid of mercy.
"If I do not see a public, official announcement of my engagement to Charlize by sunset tomorrow," Kavon said, "those documents will be sitting on the desk of the Director of the FBI."
He didn't wait for an answer. Kavon buttoned his suit jacket and walked out of the room, his legal team following silently behind him.
Emelia stared at the empty doorway. Her face twisted into an ugly mask of pure jealousy. She grabbed a bone-china coffee cup from the table and hurled it at the wall, screaming as it shattered into a hundred pieces.
Miles away, in the quiet sanctuary of her downtown penthouse, Charlize was sitting on her sofa, reviewing Kestrel Dynamics' quarterly financial reports on her tablet.
The doorbell rang frantically.
Charlize rubbed her temples, annoyed. She tossed the tablet onto the cushion and walked to the front door.
The second she pulled the door open, a yellow, furry blur launched itself at her legs.
Waffles, a hyperactive Corgi, began licking her ankles furiously, his stubby tail wagging a mile a minute.
Altagracia Miranda stood in the hallway, dragging two massive Louis Vuitton suitcases. She was panting heavily.
Before Charlize could speak, Altagracia lunged forward and wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug.
"Oh my god, Charlie! I saw the news about the wedding! Are you okay? Did your father do anything to you?" Altagracia demanded, her voice tight with genuine worry as she pulled back to inspect Charlize's face.
Charlize's smile faded slightly, but she nodded. "I'm fine. I handled it."
"Thank god," Altagracia groaned, leaning her head against Charlize's shoulder again. "Then let me in. My family set up another blind date with a guy who collects antique spoons. I'm seeking political asylum."
Charlize let out a rare, genuine laugh. She patted her best friend's back. "You're suffocating me, Gracie."
"I'm here for you," Altagracia said softly, squeezing her hand, leaving her suitcases in the hall.
Inside the apartment, Waffles was doing zoomies. He sprinted across the hardwood floor, lost traction on the rug, and slid headfirst into the floor-to-ceiling glass window with a loud bonk. He shook his head and trotted away, looking deeply offended.
The two women burst out laughing. The heavy tension of the past twenty-four hours finally broke.
By nightfall, they were both wearing silk pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the thick living room rug. A greasy pizza box sat between them, and they were halfway through a bottle of expensive wine, watching a terrible rom-com.
Altagracia took a sip of wine, her cheeks flushed. "So," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "Who was the Greek god in the suit who carried you out of the smoke yesterday?"
Charlize's hand froze halfway to her mouth. Kavon's dark eyes flashed in her mind.
"He's a lunatic," Charlize said flatly, taking a bite of pizza. "Just some arrogant guy who likes to stick his nose where it doesn't belong."
BOOM.
A massive, heavy crash vibrated through the wall behind the television. The impact was so hard the wine in their glasses rippled.
