"Reconsidering my offer? A shame—you'd have had your own restaurant by now."
Armand Beaumont's voice slithers across the alley like something that belongs in a sewer, and my cigarette break transforms from a moment of peace into a waking nightmare.
I turn to find him emerging from the shadows beside the dumpster, because of course a man like him would materialize near garbage.
His smile stretches across his face with reptilian precision, all teeth and no warmth. The Armani suit tailored to perfection around a frame that makes my skin crawl with visceral revulsion.
"Mr. Beaumont." My voice comes out flat, professional, betraying none of the fury clawing at my throat. "I have nothing to discuss with you."
"Such hostility." He steps closer, and I force myself not to retreat. Predators chase prey that runs. "I'm merely expressing disappointment. You showed such promise at our last meeting. Such... willingness to negotiate."
The memory of that hotel suite rises like bile—white lace that made me look like a virgin sacrifice (accurate), a transaction I almost completed (terrifying), three men who arrived just in time (complicated).
"My answer hasn't changed," I say, crushing my cigarette against the brick wall with more force than necessary. "I thought you figured it out last time."
His laugh sounds like someone taught a snake to giggle.
"Everyone has a price, Ms. Delacroix." His calculating eyes travel down my body with the leisure of someone browsing merchandise. "Yours simply requires... adjustment. The offer still stands, you know. You could still fix your mistake."
"Walking away from you wasn't a mistake. It was the smartest decision I've ever made."
"We'll see how long that conviction lasts when your little arrangement falls apart." His eyes glitter with knowledge that makes my stomach drop. "Nothing built on secrets survives forever."
Ice crystallizes in my veins.
What does he know? What the fuck does he—
"Armand." The voice cuts through the alley. "I didn't realize you conducted business meetings next to dumpsters. How very... authentic."
Winnie Wagner emerges from the shadows near the service entrance, and I realize with dawning horror that she's been there the whole time.
Watching. Listening.
Calculating behind those perfectly contoured cheekbones.
"Winifred, darling." He inclines his head with the courtesy of old money recognizing its own. "Just catching up with an old acquaintance. I'll leave you ladies to your chat."
He slithers away, and suddenly I'm alone with the woman who has everything I want—namely, a legal claim to Jared Spencer and the kind of bone structure that makes angels weep.
Winnie's smile could freeze hell and charge admission for ice skating. "Interesting company you keep, Ms. Delacroix."
"I keep no company with him," I say carefully. "Whatever you saw—"
"The help should be more careful about where they smoke." She steps closer, and her perfume makes my eyes water. "These alleys are dangerous. All sorts of unsavory characters lurking about."
Including you, apparently.
"I can handle myself."
"Can you?" She tilts her head, studying me like I'm a stain she's considering having removed. "You strike me as someone who consistently overestimates her capabilities."
My hands curl into fists. "Is there something you wanted, Ms. Wagner? Or do you just enjoy harassing employees?"
"Harassing?" Her laugh tinkles like crystal being thrown at someone's head. "I'm simply concerned about the quality of staff at my fiancé's restaurant. Particularly staff who seem to forget their place."
And there it is.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Don't play dumb, sweetie. It's unbecoming." She moves closer, practically backing me against the brick wall. "I've seen how you look at Jared. More importantly, I've seen how he looks at you."
"Mr. Spencer and I are strictly professional."
"Mr. Spencer?" She actually laughs. "How formal. Yet I've noticed he's quite informal with you. Sitting at your table during service. Learning sign language for your sister. Transferring large sums of money for her surgery."
"He's a generous employer…"
"He's my fiancé." The words come out sharp enough to draw blood. "And I don't appreciate the help getting ideas above their station."
She examines her manicure, each nail a tiny weapon.
"I know about your mother." The words land like a slap. "Margot, isn't it? The alcoholic who was arrested six times for public intoxication. I know about the custody battle you fought at eighteen. The desperate measures you've taken to keep your deaf sister clothed and fed."
Blood drains from my face. Every shameful secret I've buried, every skeleton I've hidden—she's exhumed them all.
"How did you—"
"I have resources you can't imagine, Ms. Delacroix." Her smile is a weapon, sharp and merciless. "Private investigators who specialize in digging up dirt. Your entire tragic little life story, documented and ready for distribution should I feel so inclined."
"You had me investigated?"
"I protect what's mine." Her smile is pure predator. "And Jared is mine. Has been since we were five years old."
"Then you have nothing to worry about from someone like me."
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Her laugh is sharp, brittle. "Stay away from my fiancé. No more cozy chats. No more sign language lessons with your sister. No more lingering looks across the dining room."
"We work together. Perhaps you should discuss your concerns with him, not with the kitchen staff."
"Oh, I intend to. But first, I wanted to make something absolutely clear."
She leans in, and her whisper is venomous.
"If you don't disappear from his orbit immediately, I will destroy you. I'll make sure every restaurant in this city knows exactly what kind of baggage you bring. I’ll make you completely unemployable."
Rage burns through the fear, hot and clarifying. "You don't scare me, Winnie."
"I should." She leans in close enough that I can see the cold calculation in her eyes. "I've been destroying girls like you since prep school. It's remarkably easy when you have unlimited resources and no conscience."
"And yet here you are, threatening a sous chef." I hold her gaze, refusing to flinch. "That doesn't exactly scream confidence in your position."
Something dangerous flashes across her features.
"You think a few months of playing with the help will change anything? Our families planned this union before either of us could walk."
"Maybe he doesn't want what was planned for him."
"What Jared wants is irrelevant." She straightens, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her jacket. "This marriage is happening. The contracts are signed, the announcements are prepared, and no amount of kitchen trash throwing herself at him will alter that reality."
She turns toward the exit, then pauses, delivering her final blow over one Chanel-clad shoulder.
"Jared's kind. He feels sorry for strays. But don't mistake pity for interest. You're a charity case to him, nothing more. Whatever delusions you've entertained about belonging in his world—they're fantasies, and it's time to wake up."
The door slams behind her, and I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the filthy alley floor, shaking with rage and fear and something else.
Determination.
I'm done being threatened. Done being manipulated. Done existing in the dark about whatever tangled history binds Jared to that viper in designer clothing.
My feet carry me through the restaurant on autopilot.
Past the bustling kitchen, past the concerned glances from staff who know better than to question my expression. I don't knock. I just burst through Jared's office door like the hounds of hell are chasing me, which, emotionally speaking, they are.
He looks up from his computer, surprise shifting immediately to concern when he sees my face. "Raegan? What happened? You look—"
"Tell me about Winnie." The words come out like bullets. "All of it."
His face goes pale. "She talked to you…"
"The truth, Jared." My voice cracks, and I hate how desperate I sound. "I just had your fiancée threaten everything I care about while standing in garbage juice. I deserve the fucking truth."
He stands slowly, comes around the desk, and when he reaches for me, I let him pull me against his chest even though I want to scream.
"Well," he says against my hair, and his voice sounds broken. "This is going to take a while."