Chapter 4Her Assistant Can Have Her

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Arthur barked.

“Everyone in this city knows what’s going on,” I said, a cold smile touching my lips. “Except, apparently, the Victors.”

The hotel manager, who was sitting nearby, chimed in. “That Dominic is a glorified assistant. How does he get off barking orders at a Beaumont?”

The waitstaff nodded in agreement.

“Miss Victor protects him like he’s the one wearing the ring,” one of the servers muttered.

“Three years and another three? She’s playing him for a fool.”

“Everything is 'for her own good' when Dominic says it, but God forbid Harry asks for a shred of respect.”

Arthur’s face turned bright red. He looked at the staff, then back at me, his lip curling.

“Harry! I am your future father-in-law! You’re going to let these servants talk to me like this?”

He slammed his hand on the table. “So what if there was a little drama? You’re going to throw away a five-year relationship over a bruised ego? You’re being incredibly small-minded. You’re embarrassing us.”

Like father, like daughter. The arrogance was genetic.

“Did you ever consider my embarrassment?” I asked.

“What embarrassment? You get to marry my daughter! Isn't that enough? If you loved her, if you were actually sincere, you’d wait ten years if she asked.”

Arthur huffed, straightening his coat. “I’m setting up a press conference for tomorrow morning. You’re going to apologize. You’ll say you had too much to drink and the stress got to you.”

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a hiss. “Don’t let the ‘Mr. Beaumont’ talk go to your head. You’re only a prince because we allow you to be in our circle.”

Over the last three years, as the Victor firm grew—largely due to my family’s silent backing—Arthur had started to believe his own hype. He truly thought they had built their empire on their own.

“Show him out,” I said, not even looking at him.

Arthur sputtered, threatening me with everything from lawsuits to social exile, but I ignored him. My security team physically removed him from the premises.

I had planned to stay at the hotel, but then a text came through from Madeline.

I’m sorry. I messed up.

Come home. Let’s talk, please?

My heart gave a traitorous little thump. A tiny spark of hope—the last ember of five years of devotion—flickered to life. I rushed back to our shared penthouse, my mind racing with ways we could fix this.

But as I stepped through the front door, the apartment was quiet, save for a low, muffled voice coming from the master bedroom.

“Dominic, stop… don’t…”

I froze. I crept toward the door, my blood turning to ice. I peered through the crack in the doorframe.

Dominic was on the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around a half-dressed Madeline.

“Madeline,” he groaned, his voice thick with a hunger that made my stomach turn. “You told me you loved my body. You said I made Harry look like a boy. Touch me.”

He pulled her hand down his torso. “You said you’d give me one wish. I want you. Now.”

He leaned in and kissed her.

Madeline made a weak, half-hearted attempt to push him away, a soft protest that died in her throat as she melted into him.

I felt a sharp, agonizing pain in my chest, followed by a terrifying cold. I pulled out my phone, recorded thirty seconds of the scene, and then turned around and walked out of the apartment.

The cold New York rain lashed against my face as I stood on the sidewalk. I lit a cigarette, my hands shaking, and called my father.

“Dad. I’m sure. She isn't worth it.”

Maybe he heard the tremor in my voice. Maybe he knew exactly what I’d found. He didn't ask questions.

“What do you want to do?”

“The Victors only exist because I built them a foundation,” I said, my voice hardening. “I want to be the one to tear it down.”

My father’s response was immediate. “Consider it done.”

The orders were sent out that night. Every Beaumont-backed resource, every silent partner, every line of credit—gone. Anyone who did business with the Victors was now an enemy of the Beaumonts.

My father also mentioned he was sending over an associate to help me manage the transition.

The next morning, Madeline woke up feeling hollow, the adrenaline of the night before replaced by a sickening sense of dread.