Chapter 3 - The Wolves Unleashed
The grand double oak doors of the St. Regis ballroom opened before me. Flashbulbs from paparazzi and wedding journalists exploded instantly. News traveled at lightspeed in Manhattan; within minutes of the livestream leak, the sidewalk was already swarming with reporters.
Behind me, the ballroom erupted into total chaos. Dylan’s mother was screaming at Dylan; investors were loudly demanding their checks back from Dylan’s father; and Brooke was sobbing hysterically behind the marble pillars, trying to shield her face from the cameras.
I moved through the private side exit into the underground VIP valet terminal. The cold subterranean air hit my bare shoulders, sending a shiver through my spine, but the adrenaline burning in my veins kept me standing straight.
“Ava! Ava, stop!”
Heavy leather shoes sprinted across the concrete behind me.
Dylan burst through the fire exit doors, his bow tie ripped open, his tuxedo jacket gone, and his face twisted into an ugly, manic rage I had never seen before.
“You psychotic bitch!” he roared, catching up to me and grabbing my wrist with enough force to leave a bruise. “Do you have any idea what you just did? You destroyed a two-hundred-million-dollar IPO! The banks are already pulling their underwriting! You ruined my life!”
“Let go of my wrist, Dylan,” I said, my voice dangerously low.
“You’re going to walk back in there right now,” Dylan snarled, his spit flying onto my cheek. The veneer of the cultured, sophisticated partner had vanished, revealing the feral, desperate predator beneath. “You’re going to tell those reporters that it was a sick prank! You’re going to sign the merger paperwork, or I swear to God I will bleed you dry in the courts! I have contracts signed with your grandfather before he died—I will tie up Reynolds Architecture until you don’t have a penny left to your name!”
“She told you to let her go.”
A deep, quiet voice echoed through the concrete garage.
It wasn't loud, but it carried the kind of lethal weight that stopped Dylan dead in his tracks.
From behind the tinted glass of an armored black Maybach parked ten feet away, a man stepped out into the fluorescent light.
Julian Vance.
He was thirty-two years old, tall, with broad shoulders clad in an impeccably tailored charcoal Savile Row three-piece suit. His silver-flecked obsidian eyes were cold, assessing, and legendary in the financial district for dissecting corporate raiders before breakfast. He was the founder of Vance Global Capital—the single most ruthless hedge fund in North America, and Dylan Carter’s primary institutional lender.
He was also the boy who had grown up across the lake from my family’s summer home, the quiet prodigy who had once promised my dying grandfather that he would watch over me from the shadows.
Dylan froze, his grip on my wrist slackening slightly. “Vance? What the hell are you doing down here? This is a private family matter.”
Julian closed the Maybach door with a quiet *thud*. He walked toward us, his steps measured and deliberate. Two towering security operatives followed closely behind him.
“A private matter?” Julian asked, his voice silky, almost conversational. “Not when my fund holds fifty-five million dollars of Carter Holdings’ senior secured debt, Dylan. And not when you’re laying hands on the woman who owns the collateral.”
Julian stopped two feet away. He didn't even look at Dylan. His eyes locked onto mine, searching my face with an intensity that knocked the wind out of me. He noticed my bruised wrist immediately.
When Julian turned his gaze to Dylan, the temperature in the garage plummeted below zero.
“Remove your hand from Miss Reynolds before my security director removes it from your arm,” Julian said softly.
Dylan yanked his hand away as if he had been burned by high voltage. He swallowed hard, trying to summon an air of executive defiance. “Julian, you don't know the full story. Ava set me up. She orchestrated a public ambush—she’s acting out of emotional instability—”
“I listened to the audio file twenty minutes ago, Dylan,” Julian interrupted, stepping between me and my ex-fiancé, his wide frame shielding me completely. “You committed corporate wire fraud, embezzlement of partnership assets to purchase real estate for your mistress, and intentional breach of fiduciary duty. While you were sprinting down this hallway, my legal team filed a petition for immediate asset freeze in the Southern District of New York.”
Dylan’s face went from pale to ghostly green. “You... what?”
“Your accounts are locked, Dylan. Your cards will decline by noon. And by tomorrow morning, the SEC will be reviewing every single ledger your father handed you,” Julian continued smoothly. “Now, get out of this garage before I decide to make this personal.”
Dylan looked between Julian and me. The realization that he was completely surrounded, entirely outmaneuvered, and financially obliterated broke through his rage. He pointed a shaking, pathetic finger at me.
“You planned this with him!” Dylan yelled, his voice echoing shrilly off the concrete walls. “You were sleeping with Vance! You’re no better than me, Ava!”
Julian didn't even raise his voice. He merely inclined his head toward his head of security.
The two-hundred-and-forty-pound operative took one step forward, cracking his knuckles. Dylan gasped, stumbled over his own patent leather shoes, and scrambled backward toward the stairwell, fleeing into the darkness like a beaten dog.
The garage fell dead quiet.
Julian turned around to face me. The lethal coldness in his posture vanished, replaced by an expression of raw, guarded concern.
“Ava,” he murmured, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “Are you all right?”
My knees suddenly felt like water. The adrenaline that had propelled me down the aisle, through the crowd, and out of the ballroom began to drain away, leaving behind the crushing weight of the betrayal.
I swayed slightly.
Before I could fall, Julian’s strong arms were around my waist, catching me effortlessly against his chest. His coat smelled of cedarwood, rain, and clean linen.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered near my ear. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you out of here.”
He helped me into the plush leather interior of the Maybach. As the door closed, sealing out the flashing cameras and the noise of the dying world I had left behind, my hand found its way back to my abdomen.
I wasn't just surviving for myself anymore.
May you like
“Julian,” I said, looking at him as he sat beside me. “Take me to my grandfather’s office. Dylan thinks he only lost a wedding today. He hasn't seen what happens when the Reynolds family actually fights.”
***
