"I was going to give you a discount," Grayson's secretary snapped, arms folded tight across her chest, "but it looks like that's off the table now. You're paying full price!"
That snapped me right out of my daze.
Without holding back, I slapped her right back across the face.
"Pay it yourself! I'm not giving you a damn cent. If you really think you've got a case, go ahead and call the cops. Be my guest. I don't buy for a second that the Martinez family can cover the sky with one hand."
I could sense the heat flushing my face, but I refused to step back.
Honestly, I hadn't been keeping up with the latest news from Summit City while I was abroad. But now and then, Mom would mention the Martinez family in her calls. It was usually a quick mention, tossed in between updates, but even then, I could tell the Martinez name still carried weight.
From what little I did hear, Grayson had turned into someone big. He was no longer the shy little kid who used to follow me around like a lost puppy. That boy was gone. Now, he was a polished, wildly successful public figure, even at the national level.
He's rich, handsome, and groomed within an inch of his life.
And me? I only came back because of my father. I wanted to bring his belongings home, just as he had asked me to. That was all. I had no interest in reopening anything with the Martinez family.
But here I was on my first day back, within the first hour off the plane, already getting pulled into this circus.
I hadn't seen this coming.
We Watsons may keep to ourselves, but we're not doormats. We don't go looking for fights, but we absolutely won't run from them either.
And I wasn't helpless. I'd been training in martial arts since I was a kid. If this turned into something physical, it wasn't gonna be me who needed a hospital visit.
Sure enough, that slap sent the secretary stumbling right off her high heels. She hit the floor hard and stayed there.
Then, a voice from the crowd rang out.
"The CEO of Martinez Enterprises is here!"
Heads turned all at once.
And there he was, Grayson Martinez.
Tall, model-esque figure with broad shoulders tapering into a slim waist, dressed in a navy suit that seemed tailored specifically for GQ. His hair was slicked back just right, with not a strand out of place. The entire look was polished, almost too immaculate.
If it weren't for the group of bodyguards flanking him, I would have thought I was walking into some kind of high-end photo shoot.
But then his eyes landed on me.
Blank. Detached. Like I was no one. A stranger.
I had just stepped forward to greet him when his gaze shifted to the woman who was still on the ground.
Grayson's brow furrowed just slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was softer.
"Brittany, why are you kneeling?"
She looked up at him as if she'd just been rescued from a burning building. The smug venom from earlier had disappeared, leaving her with teary eyes and a trembling lower lip.
"Grayson, thank God you're here!"
That Brittany woman pointed dramatically at me, her voice trembling as she shrieked, "This bitch was dragging around this giant clunky suitcase, barreled straight into me, and knocked me down!"
A shrill cry escaped her, "My precious Celestial Tears earrings! I'd only worn them for a day, and now look! A huge scratch! And she refuses to take responsibility!"
Then Brittany shot me a glare that could have melted steel.
Grayson's eyes shifted back to me, this time with a flicker of recognition.
"You're Uncle Conrad's daughter. Lucy, right?"
His tone was flat, almost robotic. No warmth. No memory. No emotion.
It was almost like Grayson had totally forgotten about me.
Still, I met his gaze head-on. "Yes, I am."
Behind me, the shattered pieces of my father's ceremonial porcelain still lay broken inside the overturned suitcase. But Grayson didn't give them a single glance.
His focus was locked on Brittany's earrings.
"Tiffany Haute Joaillerie," Grayson said under his breath, like someone appraising fine art. "Global limited edition. Only twelve pairs made."
He leaned in slightly, examining the scratch near her ear, then said coolly, "That scratch is deep. Almost impossible to fix. It's essentially totaled. Brittany wasn't lying. Those earrings are worth $2.3 million. How do you plan to compensate her?"
His voice sounded robotic as if he was stating a mundane fact.
And that was what hit the hardest.
Not once did he ask if I was okay.
Not once did he ask what had broken in my suitcase.
We grew up together. Our families were intertwined for generations, but none of that mattered now.
Grayson didn't care what had happened. He didn't even bother to ask. All he saw was a dollar amount.
Heck, he had already decided I was the one at fault.
And the anger building inside me had nothing to do with earrings or their ridiculous price tag.
It was about him and that condescending attitude of his.
The way he brushed off my father's legacy with a single cold glance.
The way he responded so dismissively as if everything we once shared had never been.
I felt the rage bubbling under my skin, sharp and bitter.
But I stayed silent, letting out a quiet, dry laugh before finally speaking.
