Joanna paused. She looked up, offering Catherine a flawless, polite smile. "Grandmother felt it was a fitting heirloom for the future lady of the house. I simply couldn't refuse her generosity."
Catherine's face tightened. She snapped her mouth shut, unable to argue against the matriarch's decision.
Freddie gripped his steak knife so hard his knuckles turned white. His phone had been blowing up all afternoon with declined card notifications, and Jessie's number was completely disconnected. He was a ticking time bomb.
He opened his mouth, ready to explode.
Before he could speak, the massive double doors of the dining room swung open.
A freezing gust of air seemed to follow Carlton Madden into the room. He strode in, wearing a dark, tailored suit that emphasized his massive frame. The low murmur of conversation around the table died instantly. Everyone put down their silverware. The sheer authority radiating from him demanded absolute submission.
Carlton walked to the empty chair at the head of the table, right next to Eleanor. Before sitting, his gray-blue eyes swept over the room.
His gaze stopped on Joanna for a fraction of a second.
Joanna stared down at her plate, but her stomach dropped. The invisible weight of his stare felt like a physical touch, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
"Carlton," Eleanor said, breaking the silence. "How is the Silicon Valley acquisition proceeding?"
Carlton sat down. He didn't reach for his napkin. He looked directly at Freddie.
"It's delayed," Carlton said. His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, but it echoed through the silent room like a death sentence.
Eleanor frowned deeply. "Delayed? Why?"
"Because the group's stock dropped three percent in the last forty-eight hours," Carlton replied. He gestured to his assistant, Leo, who stepped out from the shadows and began placing thick financial reports in front of every board member at the table.
Carlton leaned back in his chair. "Wall Street does not like instability. And unfortunately, one of our heirs decided to turn a Hampton pool party into a tabloid spectacle, and then used company PR resources to try and hide his mistress."
Freddie shot up from his chair. His face was purple with rage. "That's a lie! The media blew it out of proportion! And she pushed her!" He pointed a shaking finger at Joanna.
Carlton's eyes darkened. He didn't raise his voice, but the lethal warning in his tone made Freddie's knees buckle.
"If you cannot control your zipper, or your fiancée," Carlton said slowly, "you have absolutely no business managing the Hudson Project."
The dining room went dead silent. The Hudson Project was Freddie's only real source of power in the company.
Freddie looked desperately at Eleanor. "Grandma, you can't let him do this. I've worked on Hudson for two years!"
Eleanor looked down at the financial losses printed on the report. Her face turned to stone. "Carlton is right. You are a liability right now. You are suspended from the Hudson Project indefinitely. A management team will take over your duties."
Freddie collapsed back into his chair, looking like he had been physically struck. He had lost his money, his mistress, and now his power.
Joanna's heart soared with vicious satisfaction. But she knew her role.
She immediately stood up and walked around the table. she placed a gentle, comforting hand on Freddie's shoulder.
"Freddie, it's okay," Joanna said, her voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. "It's just temporary. I know you'll prove yourself to the board."
Freddie jerked away from her touch like she had burned him. "Get your hands off me!" he snarled, his eyes wild with hatred. "You did this!"
Joanna stumbled backward, letting out a soft gasp. She brought a hand to her chest, her eyes widening in perfect, wounded shock.
"Freddie!" Eleanor slammed her hand on the table. "Control yourself! Go to your room immediately!"
Humiliated and broken, Freddie kicked his chair back. It crashed to the floor. He stormed out of the dining room, slamming the doors behind him.
Joanna stood frozen, pressing a napkin to the corner of her eye as if wiping away a tear.
But as she lowered her head, she shifted her gaze toward the head of the table.
Carlton had picked up his wine glass. He was taking a slow sip of red wine, his eyes locked directly onto hers. Beneath the cold, ruthless exterior, she saw a dark, knowing gleam in his eyes. He was watching her perform, and he was enjoying it.