Page 29 of The Rival’s Obsession (The Black Ledger Billionaires #3)

T he office is quiet—too quiet. Just the hum of the AC and the dull echo of the city below.

I sit at my desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled, tie loosened like a noose I can’t quite get rid of. My fingers drift to my mouth without thinking—just a brush, a memory.

Of Dante, the elevator and that goddamn kiss.

I can still feel it—still taste the blood he left behind.

I lean back in the chair and exhale, but it doesn't ease the pressure. Everything is pressing in on me. The board. The vote. The dark shadow that follows me. The truth I’ve spent five years burying deeper than any grave.

And now it’s all clawing its way back to the surface.

The door opens.

I don't need to look up. Her heels are too familiar. Too precise.

“Still here?” Corrine’s voice is soft. Honeyed. Dangerous.

She glides in without invitation, setting a bottle of my favorite whiskey on the desk. Two crystal tumblers beside it like it’s a peace offering.

“Thought you might need a drink,” she says, already uncorking it.

I don’t respond. Just watch her, wary.

She pours slowly. Controlled. Like always.

“I just came from visiting Mom,” she adds after a beat, almost like an afterthought. “She didn’t move. Obviously. Same as always.”

She looks up at me with a brittle smile. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

My fingers brush the rim of the glass she poured me, but I don’t drink. I keep my eyes on her instead while she toys with her necklace.

“I should’ve told you what I was going to say today,” she says, sliding one glass toward me. “I’m sorry for that.”

I arch a brow. “That’s what you’re apologizing for?”

She tilts her head, that perfect mask of remorse never slipping. “I did what I had to do, Grant. For the firm. For you.”

“Framing Dante? Dragging some woman into it who has nothing to do with anything?”

“I didn’t frame anyone,” she says smoothly. “I raised concerns. If they’re unfounded, he has nothing to worry about.”

I stare at her. Hard.

She shifts, smile faltering just enough to show the steel beneath. “He’s always had a hold over you. Even now, you can’t see it, can you?”

I clench my jaw.

She leans forward, her voice dipping. “He used you then. He’s using you now.”

“Stop.”

But she doesn’t stop.

“That day,” she says, almost a whisper. “When I walked in before it went too far. I protected you, Grant.”

“You didn’t protect me,” I say, cold. “You humiliated him. You made assumptions, accusations—and I let you.”

“You let me,” she repeats, eyes narrowing. “You let me because you needed someone strong enough to do it for you.”

I stand. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her gaze holds mine. “Don’t I?”

There’s a long silence. The kind that echoes with everything that’s been left unsaid for too long.

I glance down at the whiskey she poured, running my finger around the rim of the glass. I don’t drink. Just keep it there between us like a line I haven’t decided whether to cross.

Corrine doesn’t sit. She paces slowly behind the chair opposite mine, hands clasped lightly in front of her. Like she’s giving a presentation. Like this is all still just business.

“I’m not asking you to make any irrational decisions,” she says. “The board’s vote is coming. We both know that. All I’m asking is that you give it a good, clear thought. What’s best for you. For the company.”

I don’t respond. I already know what she’s circling.

Her voice softens, persuasive. “You and I… we have history, Grant. Stability. A shared understanding of what’s necessary. And we’ve kept each other’s secrets for a long time.”

She finally sits. Smooths the hem of her skirt.

“I’ve protected you,” she continues. “Your reputation. Your legacy. Even your shame.”

That lands heavier than it should. I shift, fingers still at the glass.

“I never told anyone about the other day,” she says quietly. “The day your mother died.”

My spine stiffens.

She’s watching me now. Carefully. Measuring every flicker of reaction.

“That it was you,” she says. “At the top of the stairs. Just… standing there. Looking down at her body. It was you.”

The room tilts.

She leans forward, voice low. “Everyone blamed your father. No one ever asked where you were. But I knew. And I never said a word.”

My throat dries, but I don’t let it show. I won’t give her the satisfaction.

“I’ve carried that, Grant. For years. And not because I had to—but because I chose to. Because I’ve always had your back. Even when it cost me.”

I say nothing. Just stare past her, past the glass, past the memory she’s trying to resurrect.

She sits back, calm and patient. Like the bomb she just dropped is a kindness.

Like she thinks she’s won.

But the only thing I feel right now is the slow rise of nausea curling behind my ribs.

Corrine watches me over the rim of her glass like she hasn’t just shifted the ground under my feet. Like she’s done me a favor.

Then, so casually it almost doesn’t register, she adds, “Of course… secrets like that aren’t easy to keep. One day, I might slip. Say the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

My blood stops moving.

She’s not smiling. She’s not playing coy. She’s just… floating the possibility like it’s an accident waiting to happen. Like a weather forecast.

Something in me snaps.

I move without thinking. Cross the room in a single breath and grab her face in my hand—my fingers pressing into the sharp line of her jaw until her lips go tight, her eyes wide.

“You’re going to threaten me now?” I say, my voice so quiet it scrapes.

She flinches just a little. “Grant—no,” she mumbles, the words thick and warped through my grip. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“The fuck it isn’t.”

Her pupils flicker, but she doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t even try to pull away. She just stares up at me, stunned and silent, like she finally miscalculated.

“Please.” She whispers. Actual fear in her eyes. “You’re hurting me.”

I lean in closer, my voice razor-edged now. “You don’t ever speak of that day again. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

Her breath hitches.

Then I let go. Hard. Like her skin burns.

She exhales sharply, but still doesn’t move.

I turn my back on her. Walk straight to the office doors, the silence pressing in from all sides. I don’t look at the whiskey. I don’t look at her.

I just leave it all behind?—

The bottle.

The lies.

And the goddamn ghost of my mother at the bottom of the stairs.