“Sit down, William.”
Cynthia Sharpe didn’t ask; she commanded. The boardroom of Croft Holdings was silent. The stock crash had stopped bleeding, largely due to Cynthia’s brutal PR spin that the liquidation was a ‘strategic restructuring’ rather than a husband’s meltdown.
William remained standing by the window, staring out at the grey skyline. “I need to see Victoria. Valerius is making a move.”
“You need,” Cynthia said, standing up and smoothing her crimson skirt, “to stop acting like a jealous schoolboy and start acting like a CEO.”
She walked over to him, her heels clicking rhythmically on the hardwood. She was a different kind of predator than Seraphina. Seraphina played the victim; Cynthia played the kingmaker.
“I am the only reason you still have a chair at this table,” Cynthia murmured, stepping into his personal space. She reached up and adjusted his tie, her fingers lingering on the silk knot, brushing against his throat. “Seraphina is a liability, yes. But Victoria? Victoria is a distraction. She is public enemy number one right now.”
“She’s my wife,” William said, though his voice lacked its usual fire. He was exhausted.
“She is Dominic Valerius’s pet project,” Cynthia corrected, her eyes locking onto his. “Let her go, William. Stop chasing a woman who walks into ballrooms on another man’s arm. Focus on the people who are actually loyal to you.”
She flattened her palm against his chest, right over his heart. It was a possessive, claiming gesture. “I can rebuild your empire. I can give you the world. But you have to stop looking at her and start looking at me.”
William looked down at her. He didn’t push her away. He felt trapped in a web of his own making, and Cynthia was the only one offering to cut him loose–for a price.