Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 229: I Protect Them

"You blackmailed Mr Kane into staying married to you in exchange for dropping the assault complaint you filed against Miss Sylvia Kane? The drugging of Mr. Kane to force him to sleep with you to produce an heir? Your entire contract marriage has been a walking, screaming breach."

"The only weapon left in your arsenal is attempting to tarnish Mr. Kane’s image. And we. Don’t. Care. You have gotten away with it in the past because I wasn’t brought on board soon enough."

Sharona’s lips parted, outrage trembling on them, but Maurice raised a hand calmly—shutting her up.

"The Orchard family is my family. I protect them. And the fact that you would blackmail Winn into staying married to you, or threaten charges against Sylvia Kane for an altercation you provoked, still annoys the hell out of me."

Maurice shifted forward, face inches from hers. "So here I am," he said quietly, "speaking not just as the Orchard family lawyer...but as a guardian." He tapped the table once—hard. "You. Are. Done."

He flipped her file closed with a crisp snap.

"And for the record...it’s Miss Priestley from now on."

Maurice offered a cold, polite smile.

"I am completely done humoring you."

"You do not want to make an enemy out of me, Mr Heathcliffe. I bite."

Sharona held his gaze stubbornly, chin tilted up. Sharona knew how men like him worked—uptight, polished, convinced they were immune to seduction or manipulation. Men who thought themselves fortresses.

"You can leave now," he said. "You will be summoned."

Sharona rose slowly, letting the legs of the chair drag a fraction too long against the marble to make Maurice grimace. She glanced at Winn, her greatest failed investment. Maurice was becoming a pain in her ass, and pains needed to be treated. Raphael had nothing on this one. Maurice was disciplined. No gambling scandal, no mistress, no secret child tucked away in some countryside home. Even his social media footprint was boring. But Sharona knew better than anyone: every man had a weakness. Every man.

A thrill curled up her spine. She loved puzzles, and Maurice Heathcliffe just became her favorite one.

Back in the conference room, Maurice wasn’t done. In fact, he had only just begun his warpath.

"Your grandfather always bragged about how you had a good shoulder on your head," Maurice snapped. "But what have you done? You have made mistake after mistake after mistake. And now—" he jabbed a finger toward Winn, "—I am telling you this too. You are done! You will not take any legal decision without informing me."

Shame prickled Winn’s spine. He had always been the golden boy.

"Actually," Winn said softly, lifting his eyes, "I am not done, Maurice."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I killed a man," he said. "And I intend to do it again."

Maurice’s pulse stuttered.

He had thought Sharona was the worst problem today.

He had been very wrong.

"Jesus Christ! I need a drink!"

He paced toward the minibar in the corner of the conference suite. Maurice swallowed a mouthful of liquor the way a lesser man might swallow holy water.

"Just giving you a heads up in case I need your expertise," Winn said quietly. "Before you judge me, they raped and left my fiancée for dead. I do not plan on forgiving that."

Maurice slammed the glass down. "Stop talking!" he barked, holding up one hand. "For the love of God, just—stop. Talking."

He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. The wrinkles across his forehead deepened, forming canyons of pure exasperation. "Tell me one thing. Only one. Were you careful?"

Winn nodded. Slowly. Gravely.

"I got help from Luca Valentino."

Maurice’s head snapped up. "At what cost?"

"I don’t know yet."

Maurice staggered back. "This just keeps getting better and better."

He threw both hands in the air, palms skyward.

*****

Ivy and Eugene were enjoying a picnic at the park.

The blanket Eugene had spread out was soft, cozy, their little oasis in the middle of the bustling public garden. Ivy felt her lungs relax.

"I’m glad you came up with this," she said, taking a sip of her drink.

Eugene leaned back on his palms. "We’re so used to extravagant stuff," he said, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Sometimes something simple is reasonable. Smell the flowers, gossip about pedestrians..."

Her laughter bubbled out. She felt the knot in her chest loosen another inch.

"I need to ask you something, though. Actually... two things."

He watched her carefully.

"The first answer determines if I will ask the next."

Ivy arched a brow, intrigued.

"Alright then, shoot!" Ivy said, popping a grape into her mouth and brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

"Do you still have a thing going on with Kane?" he asked.

That definitely came out of nowhere. Ivy froze mid-chew. "Uh... no. Why do you ask?"

Eugene shrugged, his boyish charm giving way to insecurity. "Nothing. I just get a vibe he wants to kill me in my sleep."

Ivy burst into laughter. She clamped a hand over her mouth. "Yeah, he is intense like that," she admitted, wiping her eyes. "What’s the next question?"

Eugene inhaled deeply. "Do you think maybe we could give us a try?" he said. "I mean... I know what you said before. And I know the timing is weird and messy. But I like you, okay? You are a breath of fresh air. And I would like to see if this can work out."

Ivy’s heart stumbled.

"Eugene, I am not..." she started, but the words tangled in her throat. She paused, staring at him.

And then... fuck it.

She’d spent months suffocating under grief, running, pretending she was fine.

"You know what... yeah," she said slowly, surprising even herself. "Sure. Let’s try it out."

Eugene blinked. "Ooookay... I was getting ready for a big fat no." He laughed, relief pouring out of him in messy waves.

Ivy shrugged with a tiny smile. "Maybe I am ready."