Chapter 153
KESTER.
The room still smelled of her–faint traces of sweat and sex, the sheets tangled from
where I had fucked her until her voice broke.
I had brought the sex from the mini room to the main bedroom. I wanted to mark every corner of this room with our sin. And I almost did.
Just a few more corners left.
She had clawed at my back, bitten into my shoulder, screamed my name like she had nothing left in her world but me.
And for a while, that was all I needed.
Now, reality had crept back in.
I sat at the edge of the bed, naked, one hand dragging through my damp hair while the other scrolled through the endless stream of disaster flooding my inbox.
The Scotland branch was bleeding money. Someone was pulling strings behind the scenes.
and cutting off my supply chain.
I exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Valor Lante was behind this. That much was clear. But they weren’t attacking directly. They were using Belinzo.
The contract between Belinzo and Valor Lante had seemed harmless on the surface–just a standard supplier agreement, nothing more. But now it was obvious what was happening.
They were prioritizing Valor Lante’s shipments, pushing Zamford Tech to the bottom of
the list.
They had cut me off from the very materials I needed to keep my projects moving.
My fingers tapped on the keyboard of my laptop as I typed out an email to Rhys Carter, my Operations Manager.
Me: I need you to get to Scotland ASAP. Dig into the supply chain. Find out exactly where
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the chokehold is. If Belinzo is the problem, I want proof. If Valor Lante is pulling the strings, I want leverage. We can’t afford another quarter like this. If you need to put pressure on the smaller suppliers, do it. But I want shipments moving. Call me the second you get anything useful.
I hit send, then reached for my phone. There were other fires to put out, and I had to do it myself. Not because there wasn’t someone who could help–June could. With a single
word, she could smooth this over.
Her father’s connections stretched farther than the Mediterranean Sea. That’s how
connected he was.
He could twist Belinzo’s arm, put pressure on Valor Lante, and make sure the Scotland
branch stopped bleeding before the next quarter collapsed on me.
That was why my father wanted this marriage so fucking badly. It wasn’t about me, or
love, or family. It was strictly about power.
And maybe that was what I should do. Maybe I should stop being so fucking stubborn, marry June, let her fix this, and be done with it.
But I wasn’t going to.
I wasn’t going to crawl to her. Wasn’t going to let my father push me into a life I didn’t want with a woman I felt nothing for.
If I couldn’t pull my company back from the edge on my own, then I had no business
running it.
Jaw tight, I dialed Logan Drake, my legal advisor. The moment he picked up, I didn’t waste
time.
“Look into the Belinzo contract with Valor Lante. I want to know if there’s a loophole we can use to break their exclusivity deal.”
Logan sighed on the other end. “This again? Kester, if Belinzo signed a priority contract with them, they’re within their rights-*
“I don’t give a fuck about their rights.” My voice came out sharp, low. “I care about getting my shipments. Find me a way in. Or better yet, find me a way to fuck them over.”
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A pause. Then. ‘I’ll see what I can do.”
I hung up.
The TV was on, and the low hum of the news already felt like a distraction to me. I felt like turning it off already. But before I picked up the remote, a name mentioned by the reporter hit me.
Elliot Greyson.
I looked up, and his face was on the screen. Again.
His picture was on display–the one he had obviously taken before he got on the flight. The one before I killed him.
Breaking News: Elliot Grayson, Young Entrepreneur, Found Dead Mid–Flight to Maldives.
The reporter’s voice trailed off when I heard angry footsteps ascending the stairs.
They still hadn’t stopped broadcasting the fucking thing, still running theories, still digging for answers they’d never find because the only answer was me.
“Kester!”
Fuck. Not now.
The sound of her bare feet against the marble stairs sent a pulse through my skull. I already knew why she was coming.
I sat back, muscles coiling, bracing myself just before the door slammed open.
She stood there, wrapped in my shirt, her hair still a mess from what we’d done earlier.
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