Sloane POV:
Sterling kept hammering on the door, screaming my name. Tack leaned casually against the peeling wallpaper, crossing his massive arms over his chest. He looked like he was settling in for a show. I yanked the thin motel sheet tighter around my body, my mind racing through my contingency plans.
Tack curled a finger at me. "Come here." His low rumble demanded absolute obedience.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping toward him, seeking the physical shield of his massive frame.
He reached out, catching a strand of my tangled hair between his rough fingers, and brought it to his nose. "Chanel No. 5. Doesn't smell like the kind of perfume that belongs in a shithole like this." His voice was a low, probing drawl that stripped away my defenses. He was dissecting the scene, reading the calculated setup in my eyes. A chill raced down my spine. I thought I had hired a blunt instrument, but Tack was a razor-sharp predator.
"People like to try new things," I countered, keeping my voice steady.
Another violent kick rattled the door frame. Tack's eyes darkened. His amusement vanished, replaced by the territorial irritation of a beast whose cage had been kicked.
He uncrossed his arms, took two long strides to the door, and yanked it open. Sterling, mid-kick, stumbled forward and nearly face-planted on the cheap carpet.
Two men in sharp black suits stood behind Sterling, flanked by a few of his sycophantic cousins. They all froze, staring wide-eyed at the towering, heavily tattooed man blocking the doorway.
Tack leaned against the doorjamb, looking down at Sterling with absolute disdain. "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Sterling recovered his balance, his eyes darting from Tack's faded jeans to the Harley parked outside. A sneer twisted his face. He thought he was dealing with street trash.
"I'm looking for Sloane Reynolds. Tell that cheap whore to get her ass out here!" Sterling demanded, puffing out his chest.
Tack let out a dark chuckle. He shifted his weight, stepping slightly to the side to reveal me standing behind him, clutching the bedsheet.
The collective gasp from the Kensington entourage was pure music to my ears. This was exactly what I wanted. A quiet breakup would have been swept under the rug, but a filthy, undeniable scandal was the only way to permanently sever my ties to this toxic family and the suffocating marriage. I bathed in their shock and disgust.
"Sloane! You filthy, shameless bitch!" Sterling's face turned a mottled purple, spit flying from his lips. "The night before our wedding, and you're spreading your legs for this gutter trash! You're nothing but a used-up whore!"
I dug my nails into my palms until they ached, forcing my eyes to widen and my shoulders to tremble. I had to play the broken victim.
A sudden shift in the crowd outside caught my attention. The bodyguards quickly parted. An elderly woman with silver hair, leaning heavily on a polished obsidian cane, stepped forward. She wore a tailored Chanel suit that cost more than this entire motel.
Genevieve Kensington. The true matriarch. The puppet master.
Her eyes, cold and reptilian, scanned me, then Tack, and finally landed on her grandson. "Is this how you handle family business, Sterling?" she snapped.
Sterling instantly deflated. "Grandmother, she... she betrayed me!"
Genevieve ignored him. She pointed her cane at me. "Put your clothes on, you disgusting little stray. You're coming with us to do damage control."
I held my ground. Tack stepped squarely in front of me, completely blocking her view. "I don't think so," he drawled. "I was highly satisfied with her services last night. I think she should stay right here."
A stunned, breathless silence fell over the walkway. People usually bowed and scraped before Genevieve Kensington.
Genevieve narrowed her eyes, studying Tack's cut and his ink. "Who exactly are you?"
"Just a guy who hates being interrupted," Tack said, unfazed.
One of Sterling's cousins gasped. "I know him! That's Kane Montgomery. The bastard son they kicked out. He runs with a biker gang now!"
The revelation hung in the air. Genevieve's lip curled in disgust. To her, Tack was nothing but a violent mistake.
"Jane's bastard boy," Genevieve scoffed, her voice dripping with venom. "I'll give you ten thousand dollars to crawl back to the gutter and forget you ever touched this trash."
Tack laughed. He pulled the black prepaid card I'd given him out of his pocket, flipping it between his knuckles. He shot a knowing, dangerous glance over his shoulder at me, fully aware he was the loaded gun in my orchestrated play. "Ten grand? Old lady, you're severely out of touch with current market rates."
Before Genevieve could respond, the screech of tires echoed through the parking lot. A van slammed to a halt, and four photographers jumped out, cameras flashing wildly. The anonymous tip I had scheduled to send to the tabloids worked perfectly.
Genevieve's composed mask cracked. Panic flared in her eyes.
A sleek Mercedes pulled up right behind the press. My adoptive parents, Arthur and Martha, spilled out, dragging my "sweet" sister Aubrey with them. Aubrey took one look at Sterling and immediately burst into perfectly timed tears.
Martha charged forward, pointing a shaking finger at me. "You ungrateful, diseased little slut!" she shrieked, her face twisted in pure hatred. "We took you out of the dirt, and this is how you repay us? You've ruined the White family name!"
Aubrey threw her arms around Sterling, burying her face in his chest while shooting me a triumphant, venomous glare over his shoulder.
The stage was set. I was surrounded by the crushing weight of the Kensington arrogance, the White family's toxic greed, and the flashing cameras.
I lowered my head, letting a single tear slip down my cheek.
Genevieve slammed her cane against the concrete. "Enough!" she barked, silencing the chaos. "Sloane Reynolds, you are a filthy embarrassment, no longer fit to breathe the same air as this family. The engagement is permanently severed. Aubrey will take your place."
Sterling and Aubrey exchanged a look of pure elation.
Beneath the sheet, my lips curved into a razor-sharp smile.
