Free Web NovelChapter 15: Back home
"He’s looking to solidify his holdings in the States," the chairman continued, picking up a fountain pen. "His daughter, Catalina, is back from overseas. She’s polished, she’s wealthy, and she understands the weight of a name like Grant. I think it’s time we discuss a formal arrangement."
Julian felt a surge of irritation.
"Eleanor Windsor?" he said. "I am not interested in a political marriage, father. Especially not now."
"Interested?" the chairman gave a dry, humorless laugh. "This isn’t a hobby, Julian. You are not getting any younger. Your mother and I would like to see our grandchildren before we’re in the ground, and we’d like them to have the right pedigree."
"Hold on with the matchmaking," Julian said. "I have enough on my plate with the leak and the current mergers. I don’t have time for a trophy wife."
"Then make time," his father replied, his gaze returning to his monitor, dismissing him. "Lisette will be at the mansion over the weekend with her parents. Make sure you’re present. If you can’t manage your own legacy, I’ll manage it for you."
Julian sat there angrily but said nothing, his grip tightening on his phone until his knuckles turned white.
....
Lyvana stepped out of Julian’s Bentley in front of her apartment building.
She barely had time to straighten before she saw Clarisse standing there, her eyes wide with surprise. Clarisse’s gaze followed the car as it pulled away.
"Well," Clarisse said coolly, "Mark has been worried sick about you. And here you are, stepping out of a half a million dollar car like you’ve been having the time of your life."
Lyvana felt nauseous just by seeing her. She could see the subtle twitch in Clarisse’s jaw. The girl was clearly reeling.
Last night’s plan to ruin her had failed, and now Lyvana was returning home in a car that made Clarisse suddenly aware of how small her life really was.
Lyvana didn’t bother hiding her disgust. "What do you want, Clarisse?"
"In case you’ve forgotten," Clarisse sneered, stepping closer, "you have a fiancé. One who’s been scouring the city for you since you bolted last night. You have a lot of explaining to do."
Lyvana scoffed. "Why? Is he tired of you already?"
The color drained from Clarisse’s face, replaced instantly by a cold annoyance.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"Tell Mark I’m home," Lyvana said coolly. "But you look exhausted, Clarisse. All that worrying over someone else’s fiancé must be tiring. Why don’t you go home? I’m sure Mark will come by to... comfort you once I’m done with him."
Clarisse’s eyes flashed. "You think you’ve won something? You have no idea who you’re dealing with."
At that Lyvana swept past her into the building leaving a fuming Clarisse standing on the sidewalk.
The moment she stepped into the apartment, the wall-mounted intercom phone began to ring.
She answered it, half expecting it to be Julian.
"Lyvana? Is that you?" Mark’s voice exploded through the line. "Clarisse said you arrived in some absurdly expensive car. Who the hell just dropped you off? I’ve been calling you for twelve hours. Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?"
Lyvana closed her eyes for a moment, already tired.
"Relax, I am home now. I had some things to take care of."
"What things could have kept you away all night?"
"Work."
"What work? And what the hell happened to your phone?"
"I lost my phone," she said. "It happens."
"That’s not an answer," Mark shot back. "And you still haven’t told me what kind of work keeps you out all night."
The audacity almost made her laugh. This jerk was cheating on her, lying to her face, and still had the nerve to pretend to be the boss of her.
"Not everything is your business Mark," Lyvana replied calmly.
There was a sharp breath on the other end of the line. "You’re my fiancée. It is my business... you know what," Mark said coldly, "I’m coming over. We’re going to talk face to face. Right now."
"No," she said. "Let’s meet at my grandma’s home. She requested to have dinner with us." She lied. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
He hesitated. "Dinner?"
"Yes," she continued. "Tonight."
"Lady Glowen didn’t mention anything to me," Mark said after a pause. "But alright. I’ll see you there."
She hung up before he could say more.
She wished she could tell him to go to hell. But she couldn’t. Her grandmother liked Mark too much, and Lyvana couldn’t bear to break her heart.
So she had no choice.
She would go through with her plan — and expose Mark and Clarisse.
Lyvana arrived at her grandmother’s mansion just as the sun began to dip behind the trees.
The moment she stepped inside, Lady Glowen looked up in surprise.
"Lyvana?" she said, rising from her chair. "I wasn’t expecting you."
Lyvana crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her grandmother, breathing in her familiar scent.
"I know," she said softly. "I wanted to surprise you."
Lady Glowen smiled, holding her close. "You could never be an unwelcome surprise, my dear."
Lyvana pulled back slightly. "I invited Mark too."
"Oh, that’s wonderful, Lyva darling," her grandmother said warmly. "It’s been far too long since we’ve all had dinner together."
Lady Glowen studied her.
"You look a bit pale, darling," she said, cupping her face with her soft, ring-adorned hands. "Did you get enough sleep? I do hope Mark hasn’t been keeping you awake at night."
Lyvana flushed. "Grandma."
Lady Glowen laughed lightly. "What? I was young once."
She turned toward the hallway. "I’ll have Mrs. Higgins prepare the dining room."
Lyvana walked to the window overlooking the back of the house.
The garden stretched beyond the glass, just as it had always been. Roses climbed the stone walls in careful rows.
Lyvana rested her forehead against the cool window and let out a slow breath.
Moments later, strong arms wrapped around her from behind.
She gasped and spun around. It was Mark. He pinned her against the wall.
"Mark, what are you doing?" she whispered.
"Don’t play innocent," he said as he leaned in kissing her neck.
"Mark, stop. We’re not alone," Lyvana protested, trying to push him back.
"Who’s watching?" he sneered, then crushed his mouth against hers.
