Page 159 of Down Knot Out
Harrison whispers urgently to Gregory again, who raises a hand to silence him.
“I’ll need time to consider?—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You decide right now.”
Dominic’s free hand hovers over the recording device again in a silent threat.
Gregory’s lips flatten into a thin line, the weighing of options, the assessment of risk versus reward. It’s the same expression he wore when deciding which companies to acquire, which rivals to destroy.
Simon watches with growing horror as he realizes Gregory might actually agree. His hands grip the arms of his chair, knuckles white with tension.
The moment stretches, taut as a wire ready to snap. My pulse pounds in my ears, but I keep my face neutral, refusing to show the fear twisting my stomach.
This is the moment that determines whether I walk out of here free or remain shackled to the Sinclair legacy forever.
“You’re spiteful,” Gregory says at last, each word aimed to hurt. “Just like your mother.”
The barb should sting. Maybe it does. But what I feel most is grief for the woman Vivian might have been if hate hadn’t blinded her. She taught me to survive, though.
I lift my chin. “Then I guess I learned from the best. But I’m not the one being used by men in power.”
Gregory’s fingers tap once on the document before him before he turns to Harison, cutting me out just like he did as a child. “Draft the paperwork.”
Simon erupts, his palm slamming against the polished table with enough force to rattle the water glasses. “What? You can’t be serious! After everything I’ve done to get us here?”
Gregory doesn’t even acknowledge him. “Harrison, make sure the NDA is ironclad.”
Simon’s face flushes crimson, the color climbing from his neck to his hairline. “You’re just giving up? Letting her walk away?”
“She’s not worth the scandal.” Gregory’s dismissal cuts through Simon’s protest, cold and final.
Simon rises from his chair, his body trembling with rage. “But she’s mine!”
The possessive fury in those two words sends ice down my spine. I’ve never seen Simon like this, not even when he killed Louie. Now, his careful mask is stripped away to reveal something ugly and twisted beneath.
“Mr. Sullivan,” Milo begins, lifting his hands in a calming gesture, “perhaps we should?—”
Simon lunges across the table toward me, hands outstretched like claws. “You ungrateful little?—”
Dominic pulls me backward, his body blocking mine as Nathaniel shoves Simon with enough force to knock him off balance, sending him stumbling into a side table. A vase crashes to the floor, water and flowers spilling across the carpet.
Simon rights himself, chest heaving as his crazed gaze fixes on me. “You think you can hide behind them? They can’t protect you forever.”
The conference room door bursts open, and two security guards rush in, drawn by the commotion. They take in the scattered papers, the broken vase, and Simon’s contorted face.
Gregory flicks his wrist. “Take him out of here.”
The guards move toward Simon, who backs away, his hands raised.
“Don’t touch me.” He goes still, hatred radiating off him in waves. “This isn’t over, Chloe. You’re going to regret this.”
One of the guards reaches for his arm, but Simon jerks away, knocking over a chair.
“I gave you everything,” he snarls at me. “I was supposed to?—”
“You were supposed to obey.” Gregory doesn’t even blink. “Escort him out.”
The guards grab Simon’s arms. He struggles, his face contorting as they drag him toward the door.
