Chapter 7

The family meeting was in Sterling's study. He threw a stack of printouts onto his desk. Gossip columns. Financial news sites.

Simmons Heir and Fiancée on the Rocks?

Tension at Hamptons Gala Raises Questions.

"At the exact moment we need to project stability to McCarthy, this is what you give me?" Sterling's voice was a low growl.

Arley's mother, Meredith, a woman with perfectly coiffed hair and eyes like a hawk, spoke up. "The board needs to see a united front, Arley. Especially with Portia making her own play for this deal. There can be no scandals."

Her sharp gaze landed on Hope.

"Which is why your father and I have decided. Hope, you'll be moving in with Arley. Today."

"No," they both said in unison.

"This is not a discussion," Sterling said flatly. "It's a directive. You will move into the Park Avenue penthouse. You will be seen by the press. You will act like a couple in love."

Meredith added the final, chilling instruction. "And Arley, it's time you and Hope started working on the next generation. A pregnancy would silence all rumors and solidify your position."

Hope felt sick. They wanted to use a child as a press release.

Arley, for all his dislike of her, hesitated. An heir. The ultimate trump card against Portia. He looked at Hope, his eyes filled with cold calculation.

She knew she couldn't refuse. They would just apply pressure through her father, and she'd be forced into it anyway. Better to gain some ground.

"Fine," she said, her voice clear and steady. "But I have a condition."

She looked directly at Sterling. "I want a position at Simmons Group. In the marketing department. I want a front-row seat to watch Arley win this McCarthy deal."

She needed to be inside the fortress to find its weaknesses.

Sterling and Meredith exchanged a look. It was a small price to pay to keep her under their thumb. They agreed.

The deal was struck. She was being moved into a gilded cage.

That afternoon, the movers were at her apartment. She directed them with a numb detachment. When they got to her bedroom, she looked at the large king-sized bed, the stage for her year-long act of rebellion with Drake. A wave of irritation washed over her.

"This bed," she told the foreman. "Throw it out."

In his office, Algernon's assistant delivered the daily report on Hope.

"Ms. Perry moved into Arley Simmons's Park Avenue penthouse this afternoon, sir. It appears to be at the family's request."

Algernon's hand, signing a document, stopped mid-stroke.

"Living together?" The question was quiet, but laced with ice.

"Yes, sir. And our source inside the Simmons household reports that Meredith Simmons is pressuring them to produce an heir as soon as possible."

Crack.

The expensive fountain pen in Algernon's hand snapped in two, splattering black ink across the document.

A savage, primal jealousy ripped through him. His. She was his. The thought of her living with another man, of them wanting her to bear another man's child... it was unacceptable.

He stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down on the city. His city. His kingdom.

And his queen was in another man's castle.

He would not allow it.