Chapter 5 - The Trap Snaps Shut
Grant was trapped.
Every escape route was sealed. The socialites who had laughed with Grant five minutes earlier were now taking three steps back, distancing themselves as if he were carrying a contagious disease.
"Mr. Vale, listen to me," Grant whispered, his voice trembling so violently his bowtie vibrated. "Whatever you think you know, it's a lie. Claire is bitter! She lost the company fair and square in court! I have the legal patents! I have the proprietary server keys!"
"You have nothing," Claire’s voice broke through the silence.
It was clear. Steady. Resonant.
Claire placed her hands flat against the cold stone, ignoring the glass shards around her, and looked Grant dead in the eye.
"You stole my password vaults," Claire said, every word hitting the room like a hammer blow. "You forged my signature on the share transfer while I was in the ICU after my mother’s funeral. You used an offshore shell company called Ironclad Holdings to wash the stolen capital."
Grant’s face drained of every drop of color. "Shut up! You have no proof! You signed those documents!"
"She doesn't need to prove anything to you," Roman’s voice cut in, sharp as a guillotine.
Roman slowly knelt on one knee in front of Claire. The entire ballroom seemed to hold its collective breath. Roman Vale—a man who had never bowed to senators, mayors, or foreign dignitaries—lowered himself right onto the wine-stained floor.
He looked at Claire. His expression, previously unreadable, softened into something fierce, protective, and unmistakably respectful.
He extended a broad, steady hand toward her.
"Get up, Claire," Roman said softly, loud enough for every ear in the room to hear. "A woman like you doesn't bow to small men."
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