Chapter 318
Chapter 318:
Alistair Thorne sat in a high-backed leather chair, swirling a glass of amber liquid. He looked every bit the underworld king he was rumored to be. Opposite him sat Liam Kensington.
It was a meeting that shouldn’t have happened. Liam had practically broken down the door to get in, demanding an audience.
“You look tired, Liam,” Alistair said, his voice a low rumble. “Being stripped of your chairmanship must be exhausting p>
“I’m still the CEO,” Liam retorted, though his voice lacked conviction. “Grandmother is just a figurehead. I run the day-to-day p>
“You’re on a sinking ship,” Alistair corrected. “Why are you here? To beg me to stop Skye p>
Liam’s hand tightened around his glass. “I’m here to warn you. Skye is using you. She’s using your money to get revenge on me. Once she’s done, she’ll leave you too. She’s a Sterling. They don’t mix with… people like you p>
Alistair laughed. It was a dark, genuine sound. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not buying her affection, Liam. I’m investing in her rage. And right now, her rage is the most valuable commodity in the city p>
“She’s my wife,” Liam whispered, leaning forward. “Legally. She’s still mine p>
“A piece of paper,” Alistair said dismissively. “She stopped being yours the moment you let Seraphina wear her necklace. Now get out of my club before I decide to finish what the stock market started p>
Liam stood, his face flushed with humiliation. He had come here looking for leverage—for a weakness in Alistair’s armor—but he had found none.
“You’ll regret this,” Liam spat. “When the Sinclair merger goes through p>
“The Sinclair merger?” Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Liam, you really haven’t checked your email, have you? The Sinclair Group pulled out ten minutes ago. They cited ‘reputational risk p>
Liam went pale. “No… that’s impossible p>
“Check your phone,” Alistair suggested, taking a sip of his drink.
Liam fumbled for his phone. There it was—an email from Chairman Sinclair.
𝘛𝗵i𝗌 𝗰on𝗍en𝘵 i𝘀 а𝘶𝗍h𝖾ոt𝗶𝖼 𝘧ro𝗺 b𝘦𝘭ո𝘰𝘃е𝘭𝗌.с𝗈𝗆
Termination of Letter of Intent.
Liam stared at the screen. That was it. The last lifeline. Gone.
“Skye didn’t even have to touch that one,” Alistair mused. “You did it to yourself p>
Liam turned and stumbled out of the club, looking like a man who had just seen his own ghost.
Skye stood in the walk-in closet of her new penthouse. She wasn’t preparing for a date. She was preparing for war.
“Mrs. Davies,” she called to her assistant.
“Yes, Ms. Sterling p>
“Call the stylist,” Skye said, staring at her reflection. “I need something for the Vance Media takeover. Something that says ‘Eviction Notice.’ Sharp lines. No softness p>
“Black?” Mrs. Davies asked.
“Midnight blue,” Skye corrected. “Like a bruise. And get the security team ready. Felix says Julian Vance is barricaded in. We might need a crowbar p>
She picked up a file from the island counter. It was the employee roster for Vance Media. She scanned the names until her finger stopped on one.
Whitney Vance.
“She’s still there,” Skye murmured. “Good p>