The Heir They Humiliated

CHAPTER 9

 

I was relieved the board meeting didn’t last as long as I’d feared. Every suit around that massive, round mahogany desk had stared at me as if I were a glitch in the system. The shock was universal: the new heir to the Van Alen Dynasty was far younger—and far more of a nobody—than they had prepared for.

The New York headquarters was a sprawling glass-and-steel cathedral of commerce, towering over the city. With every new property I encountered, my sense of wonder grew. The moment the session concluded, I rose to my feet. A man with a flawless white beard and equally snowy hair caught my hand in a firm, dry grip.

"How about you join us for a small celebration we’re hosting in your honor, Mr. Van Alen?" the man asked. His green, glassy eyes crinkled with a polished smile. "It would be a pleasure to have you grace the event tonight."

A party? For me? My ego, bruised by years of Elara’s dismissals, hummed with a new, dangerous frequency. I kept my composure, nodding slowly. "I’ll certainly make an appearance, Mr...?"

"Neville," the old man smiled. "Henry Neville."

I nodded, but as our eyes locked, a strange chill ran down my spine. For a split second, I thought I saw a flash of pure, unadulterated hatred behind his polite expression. Before I could process it, Helen, who had stepped out earlier, rushed back into the room.

"No, no, no!" she whispered, dodging directors to reach my side. "Come, Mr. Van Alen, we’re in a hurry. We have to leave now."

I frowned. "We are?"

She gave me a desperate, pointed look. I offered a quick nod to Neville and let her lead me toward the private elevators.

"What was that?" I asked as the doors slid shut. "I thought my schedule was clear?"

"It is. I just had to get you out of there," Helen replied, her voice tight. "You can’t interact with them freely, Carter. You can’t trust anyone in that room. Most of them have spent years plotting to carve up this company the moment your grandfather died. They aren't looking for a leader; they’re looking for a weakness."

I pressed my lips together, feeling like a child who had just been caught stealing. "Oh, shit."

"What?" Helen asked, her eyes narrowing.

"I may or may not have already accepted Neville’s invitation to a celebration tonight. In my honor."

Helen’s eyes widened. "You what?"

Two hours later, I walked out of my bedroom suite to find Helen pacing the hallway of the penthouse. She looked up at my tuxedo—a midnight-blue masterpiece—and reached out to adjust my tie, even though it was already perfect.

"Jeez, Helen, relax," I said. "It’s just a dinner."

"No, it isn't. It’s like dining with a wake of vultures!" she hissed. "My grandfather warned me about Neville. Those shareholders want to wipe out the Van Alen bloodline once and for all. Those smiles are masks. Please, Carter... be careful."

I caught her hands, stilling her movements. "Why are you this concerned? Your eyes are shouting with worry."

She fell silent, trapped by my gaze. Then she looked away, her voice softening. "I’ve dedicated my life to this legacy. You’re the heart of this consortium now, Carter. If you stop beating, the whole thing dies. You are my responsibility."

"Where is all this danger coming from?" I asked huskily. "The guns in the cars, the constant guards... it feels like a movie."

"The danger is everywhere. You’re only safe if you know everything. And I have to teach you." She turned back to me, her face deadly serious. "Rules for tonight: Decline every drink, even from a waiter. Don’t eat a single bite of food. And most importantly, refuse any woman thrown your way. A scandal is the easiest way to shatter a reputation. They’ll use anything to strip your voting rights."

I smirked. "The ladies? Really?"

"I’m serious. The media doesn't care about facts," she replied. "They care about the story."

I laughed softly. "What else? Should I strap a gun to my belt under this tux?"

Her eyes brightened. "Can you?"

"Hell no! This is nuts. I feel like bait for an undercover sting mission."

Her face dropped, genuine regret clouding her features. "I’m sorry. I know you aren't used to this. I just want you to survive it."

"And what if I said I don't feel like going anymore?" I asked softly.

"I'm not trying to talk you out of it—"

"Actually, you did a great job of it," I said, seeing the wave of relief wash over her. "I don't like parties anyway. Especially not with vultures."

She hid a nervous smile. "They’ll be mad that you stood them up."

"I don't give a shit," I said flatly.

"So... what do you plan to do instead?"

I looked at her, my heart thumping. It had been years since I felt wanted. Elara had treated me like furniture, but staring at Helen now—smart, loyal, and fierce—I wanted her more than anything in the world.

"Do you have plans tonight?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave.

She shook her head, biting her lower lip as she recognized the shift in the air.

"Then you should hang out with your boss. It's your fault I'm staying in, so you have to make up for it."

I stepped into her space, my arm sliding around her waist to pull her flush against me. Her breath hitched as our eyes locked. As my hand moved lower, I felt the cold, hard press of metal against her thigh.

"Really? A fucking gun?" I whispered.

She smiled dangerously. "Don't let that bother you."

I pressed my lips to hers, and the world outside the penthouse ceased to exist. In one fluid motion, I lifted her. My hands fumbled with the zipper of her gown, and in my haste, I heard the faint, expensive sound of silk tearing.

"You owe me a dress," she gasped against my neck.

"I’ll buy you a thousand," I replied, my hands working at her waist.

The vengeance could wait for tomorrow. Tonight, for the first time in my life, I was finally the one in control.