The curb was damp, and the air in the city felt heavy with the scent of exhaust and impending finality. Vivian stood at the corner of her large condo building, a solitary figure in a perfectly tailored, knee-length cocktail dress. Her black, red-bottom heels clicked rhythmically against the pavement—a sharp, nervous sound.
Travis Smart, her lead bodyguard and driver, stood silent, though. He had a million thoughts running through his head and even more words he wanted to say. But he was an employee. So he stood straight, silent. Four other bodyguards in dark suits remained visible but spread out, a quiet perimeter of muscle. Vivian's hair was sleek and completely straightened, half-draped in front of her shoulder and half behind. Even though she knew what tonight would hold and she had been told prior, it didn't lessen the anxiety coiling in her gut. Even though she looked the part of elegant crystal, she couldn't relax.
The expanding dark of night and the soft click of streetlights changing colors—the mild sounds of a sleeping city were broken by the low purr of a black Bentley pulling to the curb. Her father's head of security was at the wheel, but before he could even kill the engine, Travis was already moving. Even if he wanted to, Travis couldn't say a word. Not even a simple word of comfort before he closed the door. As she slid into the leather interior, he stood at the other side of the closed door for less than half a second before he took the passenger seat, shaking off his worries as they began the twenty-five-minute drive to the heart of the city in total, deafening silence.
The KVC Group headquarters was a beacon of glass and steel that seemed to pierce the sky. When the Bentley stopped, Travis was already out, offering his hand to help Vivian onto the sidewalk. She paused, staring up at the 107-story giant. She hadn't set foot here since she was a child, back when the company felt like a playground rather than an identity.
Inside, two workers pulled the heavy glass doors open in perfect unison. Guided by her father's driver, they entered the elevator and rose rapidly to the 107th floor. As she approached the glass-enclosed conference room, Vivian could see the silhouettes of the families through the transparent walls. They were still standing, drinking tea and coffee. She took a deep breath, felt the leaden butterflies in her stomach, and fixed her best fake smile into place.
Two junior attorneys—serving as little more than glorified servants—pulled the doors open. Every head turned as she entered. On one side stood the Westbrook family; on the other, the Kanes.
Click.
The resounding lock of the soundproof doors signaled the start. Leonardo Kane took his seat at the head of the long table on the left, with Warwick Westbrook sitting beside him on the right.
Gunner was already seated at the opposite end of the table. He didn't look at her, his eyes fixed firmly on the grandfathers. Vivian's mother, Charlotte, gave her a sharp, meaningful look toward the empty chair beside Gunner. Vivian took her place.
The Kane side was a wall of family: Charlotte, Conrad, Grandmother Eleanora, and Arthur Sterling, the lead attorney. Opposite them: Orlando, Aubrey, and their attorney, Julian Smith. As Vivian sat, she and Gunner did not touch or speak. He stared strictly forward, making her wonder if their previous conversation had become null and void, if he had changed his mind about being a united front. As these thoughts circled her mind in a panicked spiral, under the table Gunner reached out and rested his palm on top of her knee—a silent promise of support. The small action made Vivian release the breath that felt stuck in her chest, sliding her hand over his and lacing their fingers together. It was a pact, a promise.
The lawyers began speaking in "layman's terms," but Vivian's mind went blank as words like sovereign immunity, non-liability, and indemnity drifted past her. She only snapped back into focus when the topic shifted to lineage.
"We require four children to be made in this union," Orlando Westbrook stated casually. "At their minimum."
"That's an unreasonable ask," Charlotte countered. "We will meet somewhere closer to the middle. I'm comfortable saying two children."
The Westbrooks shook their heads. "No. You have a company; we have two. There needs to be more assurance."
"We will concede to three," Conrad said, "but not four."
The Westbrooks whispered among themselves. Vivian's body tensed. Gunner felt it, but he couldn't react. He looked forward, feeling sick that they were haggling over the number of children they would have as if the two people actually involved weren't sitting right there.
"This is perfect," the lawyers finally said. "Let's sign."
The junior associates printed the contracts on the spot. Arthur and Julian did a final read-over before sliding the papers to the parents. Once they signed, the junior lawyers swapped the copies so both families had a set. Then, a junior associate picked up the copies and began the walk down the table toward Vivian and Gunner. The sound of his shoes on the floor was jarring—a death march.
The contracts were set down. "Sign. Everything is in order," their parents said from the far end.
Neither moved.
"When do you expect us to get married?" Gunner asked suddenly. "How quickly?"
"Within the month," Leonardo replied.
Vivian began to shake her head unconsciously, but she stopped the moment Charlotte's eyes narrowed on her.
"It's too soon," Gunner argued.
"It's not as if you aren't already dating," Aubrey chuckled. The room joined in, a chorus of condescending amusement.
"There is no difference between now and later. You will soon realize this," Orlando said.
"An engagement holds far more weight,"
Vivian said. "It takes more time. It requires it."
"You both are too young to truly understand. This is how things are done," Conrad snapped, feeling a growing migraine begin to set in at the irritation of these youthful brats.
"Six months is not enough time to know whether or not we will be compatible," Gunner said. "But it's a reasonable amount of time to understand what we would be signing up for. There are a lot of factors to take into account." Gunner gave his grandfather a look filled with meaning. He had a son. He wouldn't marry someone who wouldn't be good to his son. There were factors that required patience.
"Six months," Gunner pushed. "I want six months."
Gunner looked to his grandfather with an almost pleading look in his eyes. But before he could open his mouth, his grandfather spoke first.
"You have three months," Warwick finally barked. "Not three months to decide, but three months to make it work. We sign the contracts now."
Gunner looked at Vivian. With a small, defeated shrug, he looked back to their grandparents with a firm nod of approval.
"Accepted," he said. Then, his voice dropped as a nervous energy racked his body. Reaching up, he rubbed the scar above his eyebrow, feeling unsure of how to continue the conversation, but he needed to assure his son's future. Without any preamble, he simply said what he had been hiding for almost two years now. "I assume we all know I have a son."
The table nodded. Everyone except Vivian.
She felt the world tilt. Her hand tried to jerk away instinctually from Gunner's, but he held her grip tight. She had never imagined that of all the truths he hid from her, there was still more to come.
"My son should have an equal opportunity in this agreement when it comes time to choose the next head of Brook Corp," Gunner stated. "He should have the same probability of procuring the seat as any child created in this union. I'm unwilling to bend on that."
"No," Charlotte snapped. "Absolutely not."
"Then we're not getting married," Gunner said.
Vivian sat in a state of total, terrified shock. She was being cast as a stepmother to a child she didn't even know existed.
Charlotte leaned in and spoke in hushed whispers to her husband, trying to find a way of gaining a benefit before they had to scrap the entire deal. With a tight, lit smile, she straightened as she rolled her shoulders.
"We are willing to be amenable to that term," Charlotte countered after a moment, "but we will not help fund any of the children's living trusts. They will have to be funded by the Westbrooks in their entirety. Also, your biological son will not benefit from our daughter's trust. He cannot inherit any Kane properties, companies, anything."
Gunner nodded instantly. "That's perfectly fine."
Conrad gave a slight smirk at his wife as he relaxed into his chair.
Feeling the growing tension in the room, Orlando laughed mockingly at the couple. "You found a wife who's as big of a cheapskate as you are, Conrad. Must be the banker's blood," Orlando said, in reference to Charlotte's maiden family being owners of some of the largest banks all over the world.
"And," Charlotte added after Orlando's jab, "we will not be funding the financial stipend to start off with either."
Orlando winced, feeling as if his joke was one of the most expensive he had ever made. That was a hit of several billion, but after a quick, hushed conversation with Aubrey, he agreed. Charlotte cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention as she ran her fingers through her bob. She was waiting for Vivian to speak, but Orlando feared she would say something else that would hit his pockets.
"Are we ready to sign, Gunner?" Arthur asked.
"Yes," Gunner said.
Vivian's eyes connected with her mother's, knowing what her mom wanted her to do—to make her own demands, to help chart her own path. But at this point, Vivian didn't need to be told that she was getting the short end of the stick. It was clear as day, paraded in front of her eyes.
Without fear, she said, "I'm not signing."
The room groaned. "Oh my God, why is everyone being so difficult?"
"Why would I sign?" Vivian asked, her voice rising. "I'm not getting anything out of this."
"You are getting a lot," Arthur argued. "The companies will do business at a discounted rate—"
"I'm not KVC," Vivian cut him off. "I don't have stock. I don't work there. That's a benefit for my parents. What do I get?"
"You'll work for your father's company," Orlando offered. "You'll have a good position, a title, great money—"
"I don't remember work ever being a benefit," Vivian said, looking around the table, watching their faces twist in irritation at her words. "Also, I'm wealthy. I don't need money." Vivian leaned forward, the grip Gunner had on her hand tightening, but she stared at her parents unflinching. "So I ask again, what am I getting?"
A small chuckle, bitter and brutal, left her lips as she leaned back in her chair.
"Because from where I sit, I get to be a stepmom to a child I don't know. I have to deal with the mother of that child who I don't know. I have to give birth to three children. Where are my benefits? What am I gaining?" Vivian said to the silenced room, truly eager for their opinions and understandings.
Before anybody could throw in their opinions and try to worm their way into her mind and whittle her down, Vivian was quick to keep going.
"I want a few things," Vivian said. "I want control over all shares given to each kid produced and previously acquired in our union. I want controlling power. I decide which child gets how many shares, and when. All of it. I want to choose."
The room froze, knowing that Vivian having controlling power over so many shares was no small thing.
"I want thirty percent shares total," she continued. "Fifteen from each of you seems like an appropriate inheritance for the forced children I'll have. And personally? I want five percent shares from each family."
The patriarchs laughed hysterically. "You've lost your mind!"
"I'm not done!" Vivian raised her voice, unwilling to be deterred by their mocking laughter, and the laughter died. "I think I'm being quite reasonable considering I will be the sole heir to my family estate. What more could I want than shares?"
The conversation turned into a shouting match. Finally, Charlotte looked at the two of them. "You two, out. Let the grown-ups speak."
"It's my life—" Vivian started.
"Now," Charlotte cut her off.
Vivian and Gunner walked out into the hall. Vivian stood aloof, putting distance between them. When Gunner tried to approach, she stepped back.
"I'm really getting fucked in all of this," she hissed. "I mean, Christ. This is so fucking bad."
"Why would you ask for controlling interest in the kids' shares?" Gunner asked, his old distrust surfacing. "What are you planning?"
"Why didn't you tell me you had a son?" she shot back. "You had so many chances. But I guess if I were you, I wouldn't do it, right? Why be honest with someone as insignificant as me?"
"That's not fair—no one knows," Gunner defended. "I haven't told anyone."
"I'm not anyone! I'm supposed to become your wife! Stupid me for expecting honesty from the person getting everything while I'm getting screwed in every way possible."
He couldn't understand why he was being attacked. "Neither of us is getting everything we wanted," Gunner snapped. It felt as if their prior conversations about remaining united had just left her mind. He had left out a detail, and he could admit it was a large one, but what did she expect? It wasn't the easiest thing to tell someone.
"You don't understand!" Vivian cried, her voice cracking. "In that room, they are bartering over my womb! My father has a brother with sons—my family doesn't need my kids for succession. This is for you. You want a mother for your son? Now I'm a mom. Tomorrow I have a kid. I don't know if I wanted kids, but I don't have a choice. My life is going to change, and it's not fair that I have to take the most shit while you benefit."
"I wanted to marry normally," Gunner said, his voice lowering. "To meet a woman I actually wanted to marry who knew everything about me. I didn't expect to have no choice. It's not as if I got to choose everything. We're both in the same position, Vivian."
"Yeah, we're exactly the same," Vivian said sarcastically. "I guess I should be as grateful as you should be, right? Because I would be grateful if I were you if your only burden is falling in love normally. How lucky. Because of my influence, you'll end up CEO of your family's company over your sister. You're getting the technology of my family's company, the materials, the shipping for practically nothing. How lucky it is to be you! But yeah, we're in the exact same boat. No differences."
A traitorous tear slipped out of her eye without permission.
He hated hearing the details plainly, reasonably laid out in front of him. He wasn't stupid enough to think that he didn't benefit. But he knew that they both had certain similarities, and because of those, he had negated everything else. Watching her break in front of him made him feel like garbage, an unabashed wave of self-loathing crashing over his system as he stared at her. In his head, he wrestled with feeling wronged in the situation, but also having the appropriate amount of empathy for someone in a far worse situation.
Striding forward, he wrapped his arms around her. Her small form was tightly coiled in his arms as she fisted her hands into the back of his shirt, silently sobbing into his chest.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
The chaos of the room felt miles away as the elders watched their grandchildren through the glass. They didn't know what was being spoken, but there was a level of empathy and tenderness between them that seemed important, meaningful.
Leonardo knocked his fist twice on the table. "We agree. Five percent personal shares to Vivian. Fifteen percent for the kids."
Conrad was livid—his daughter had just secured an equity stake that rivaled his own fifteen percent. Warwick nodded at Orlando, who grumbled his agreement to cover the Westbrook half.
The team of lawyers were stressed at the fierce negotiations when they thought everything was more or less settled beyond a few minor details. The chaotic room had been far more than they had ever expected. When the associate called them back in, Gunner used his thumbs to wipe the mascara from Vivian's cheeks, making sure that she looked perfect when she re-entered the room.
When they entered the room, there was no conversation. The junior lawyers just handed them the contracts, still warm from the printer. Vivian took a deep breath, smoothing her face into that reserved, inauthentic smile. They walked back in and sat in their exact same seats. Gunner put his hand on her knee. Vivian kept her hands on the table.
She read, and he waited. Once Vivian had made sure that all of her demands were met in the contract, she lifted the pen and signed. Gunner, who had remained casually poised beside her, didn't touch his contract or read a word. He waited for Vivian. If she signed, he would. It was as simple as that.
Once her pen lifted from the paper, Gunner leaned forward, signing his own before sliding the documents toward her as they switched papers to sign each other's. The room seemed to exhale a resounding sigh of relief.
"Finally," Orlando muttered. "I need a drink."
Author's note:
Hope your are liking this book.