Chapter 4 - The Golden Cage
Later that afternoon, Grant arrived at the Langford estate in the historic district. The mansion was an opulent Victorian masterpiece, filled with flower arrangements, crystal chandeliers, and dressmakers preparing for the high-society wedding of the decade.
Monica Langford sat in the parlor, sipping tea while a seamstress adjusted the lace train of her silk wedding gown. When she saw Grant enter, she waved the seamstress away.
"Grant," Monica said, standing up. She looked elegant, wealthy, and perfectly composed—the ideal trophy wife for a mob king. "My father called me. He was furious about the board meeting."
Grant walked over to the mahogany bar, poured himself two fingers of bourbon, and drank it straight. He turned to face her.
"Your father should be worried about his investments, Monica," Grant said calmly. "Not my temperament."
Monica walked toward him, her silk gown rustling softly against the rug. She stopped two feet away, looking at him with a sharp, perceptive gaze.
"You saw her yesterday, didn't you?" Monica asked suddenly.
Grant didn't flinch, but his eyes locked onto hers. "What?"
"At the baby store on Brotton Street," Monica said smoothly, her voice cool and unbothered. "You stopped dead in your tracks. You turned pale. I’m not blind, Grant. I’ve known for five months that you were marrying me like a man walking to his execution. I knew there was a ghost behind your eyes."
Grant stared at his fiancée, re-evaluating her in an instant. Monica wasn't just a spoiled heiress; she was Arthur Langford’s daughter, raised in a house of wolves.
"She isn't a ghost," Grant said directly. "She’s alive."
Monica took a slow breath, setting her teacup down on a side table. "And she’s pregnant."
"Yes."
Monica let out a quiet, bitter sigh. She walked over to the grand window overlooking the manicured gardens. "My father told me three months ago that if I married you, the Langford family would inherit half the Holloway shipping routes. He told me love didn't matter in our world."
She turned back to Grant, her expression surprisingly honest. "I don't love you, Grant. I like your power, I like your status, and I like the safety your name provides. But I am not my father. I don't want to spend my life sleeping beside a man who is dreaming of another woman."
"Then break the engagement," Grant said.
"If I break it, my father will strip my trust fund and Desmond will initiate a hostile takeover of your board tomorrow," Monica warned. "Desmond holds forty percent of your debt bonds. If the wedding is canceled, those bonds default immediately."
Grant stepped closer to her, his posture radiating absolute authority. "Desmond thinks he holds the cards because he controls the money. What he doesn't realize is that I control the guns."
Monica stared at him, a faint, dangerous smile touching her lips. "What are you planning, Grant?"
"I'm planning a wedding," Grant said softly. "The most spectacular wedding Savannah has ever seen. And at the reception, I’m going to tear my uncle’s empire to the ground."
May you like
Monica looked at him for a long moment, then held out her hand. "If I help you play the part for three more weeks... I want ten percent of the northern shipping terminal freed from my father's control. I want my independence."
Grant took her hand, shaking it firmly. "Deal."
