I stood frozen, unable to make sense of her words.

Clay had his own company. How could he have become chairman of mine?

And when, exactly, had he gotten his hands on the shares...

"Margery, last month your family lost a core client. Then the downstream payments stopped coming in, revenue collapsed, and morale had already been crumbling for weeks."

"On top of that, your father died without warning, and the rumors were everywhere. People kept saying Avalon was finished, so a lot of shareholders started dumping their stock at rock-bottom prices. I'm the one who scooped it all up in time."

Reading the confusion on my face, Clay rose and smoothed his collar.

"I hold forty percent of the shares now. That's more than your father left you. The board is made up of smart people, and they know who can actually take this company somewhere better."

"I can bring back the core clients, recover the unpaid balances, and offer them even higher returns on top of it all."

He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"But what about you, Margery? What could you possibly give them? Your tears?"

"You're a delicate little flower raised in a greenhouse. Your father sheltered you too well. A good girl like you doesn't understand the first thing about running a company. How could you survive the bloodbath of the business world?"

"Be good. From now on you just stay home and enjoy the easy life, collect your dividends at the end of the year. As for the entertaining and the social functions out there, I've got Priscilla with me. She's far better suited to that kind of thing than you."

A tremor I couldn't stop ran through my whole body.

I might not understand business, but I wasn't a fool.

Yesterday Clay had let his contempt for my father slip, and he had always been a man with ambition.

Every single one of these moves bore his fingerprints.

Yet watching him paint himself so casually as some kind of savior, my heart still cramped with pain.

Senior year of college, my classmates and I went to play at a small shooting club nearby.

One of the guys, someone who had once confessed to me and gotten turned down, sneered.

"Well, look at the good little girl, daring to touch a gun. You even know how? Don't go wetting yourself. By the time you're begging to be with me, I'll think you're too dirty to bother with."

That was when Clay appeared.

He guided my hands and fired nine shots in a row. Nine bulls-eyes, dead center every time.

On the tenth shot, the muzzle suddenly swung around and pointed straight at the boy's head.

I was scared out of my mind, but I still knocked the barrel aside fast. The bullet grazed past his ear.

The boy went white with terror, a dark stain spreading across his pants, the stench rising off him.

Clay lowered his gaze and laughed softly.

"See that? Now it's trash like you, who only bullies the weak and cowers before the strong, who should be thanking someone else for being sweet and kind."

When I asked why he'd helped me, he winked and said, half teasing,

"Ever read a fairy tale? A sweet little princess always has a knight to protect her."

We got together after that, and he really did make me feel safe.

But reality isn't a fairy tale.

In the end, the sword in the knight's hand swung down on the princess.

I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into my palms.

"Clay, I'd rather die than be your mistress."

Before he could say a word, Priscilla took my arm, smoothing things over.

"Silly Margery, stop being so stubborn. We're doing this to protect you."

"Everyone knows Clay's been sleeping with you for five years and that you can't have children anymore. What decent family would ever want you... You're better off with him. At least we won't mistreat you. I honestly don't mind you being the mistress."

Priscilla's family had always favored sons over daughters. Back then, her brother had shown up wanting to drag her off by force and sell her to some old man in the countryside as a wife.

When I went to pull her free, a knife went into my womb, and I lost the ability to bear children for good.

If Clay hadn't arrived with help when he did, I might not even have survived.

Priscilla had been crying her heart out at my bedside, her face a mess of tears.

"Margery, you took that knife for me. From now on, every storm in your life, I'll shield you from it."

I laughed at that, a hollow, bitter sound, then lifted my hand and slapped her across the face.

"This protection of yours means betraying my father and asking me to be the mistress between you and my fiancé?"

"Priscilla, I really do regret not letting that knife finish you off."

Priscilla's face went a shade paler, her eyes rimming red in an instant.

Clay shot up from his seat and shoved me hard.

He pulled her into his arms and said in a frozen voice,

"Margery. Apologize."

"I won't! The ones who should be apologizing are the two of you—a man and woman with no shame!"

Clay's expression sank completely. He sneered.

"Margery, you really are spoiled rotten by your father. That's fine. I'll teach you how to grow up."

"Now get out. Don't keep me from comforting my Priscilla."

I stumbled out of the office tower in a daze and tilted my head up at the company sign.

When my parents started the business, I'd just been born.

They named the company Avalon, hoping it would keep me safe and happy for the rest of my life.

Two short words, brimming with all the love they had for their daughter.

But now, Avalon was gone.

The new name that had replaced it was 'Southbound.'

Clay returning to Priscilla, racing toward the one he loved.

Five years of pouring out my heart, nothing more than Clay's calculated revenge.

Even the company my father had built with his own hands had become a prop for them to flaunt their love.

I dialed a string of numbers.

"Hello. I agree to marry you. This week, I'll fly to Harbor City and we'll have the wedding."

"I don't need any betrothal gift. I only need you to do me one favor."

Not wanting to go back to that empty house, I drove to the cemetery on the outskirts of the city.

But the moment I arrived, I found a crowd hurling paint and eggs all over my father's headstone.

They were livestreaming on their phones, faces blazing with righteous outrage.

"Folks, we found that dirty old creep's grave!"

"Lucky bastard, dying this early. But that doesn't mean he gets off easy. Justice comes late, but it always comes!"

Only then did I see that both my father and I had been dragged into the trending headlines.

There were photos of my father kindly giving Priscilla money to pay for her family's medical treatment.

And of me slapping Priscilla in the office.

At the time, Priscilla had wept with gratitude, swearing she'd repay my father. I remembered it clearly—my father said there was no need, that it was hard enough for a young person making her way in the world.

But now it had been twisted into my father using his wealth to tear apart a loving couple, coercing and threatening a young woman into giving herself to him.

Even the red, swollen rims of Priscilla's eyes had been recast as the look of someone too afraid to speak her anger, swallowing her grief.

They were praising Clay as a hero who'd endured humiliation for years and finally made his name, taking back the woman he loved.

Praising him for the clever new name he'd given the company.

And my father had become a piece of human filth, someone everyone wanted to beat down.

Messages kept flooding into my phone.

All from the elders who'd once been close to my father, and from friends in the same circle, wanting to confirm whether it was true.

But I couldn't spare a hand to answer, because that man was shouting in excitement.

"Folks, you wanna see this dirty old pervert wiped off the face of the earth?!"

"Send five hundred Sky-Piercing Arrows and us brothers will dig up his ashes right now and pour piss all over them!"

"Ten more thirties! A vicious old animal like this who preyed on women—can we let him rest in peace after death? He doesn't deserve it! Push harder, folks!"

Enough. That was really enough!

I couldn't listen to another word. Just as I was about to charge over, someone yanked me back hard.

Clay, with several bodyguards trailing behind him.

He looked at me, his brow knotted.

"Are you out of your mind? Those are men with their blood up. Who do you think you can stop? Going over there will only get you hurt for nothing!"

I wrenched my hand out of his grip and screamed,

"Don't pretend you care. You think I don't know you're behind all of this?!"

"Clay, my father never forced Priscilla into anything. She chose it!"

"He's the one who saw your potential, who gave you everything. Is this how you repay him?!"

I had called it out, and not a flicker of guilt crossed his face.

He let out a soft scoff.

"That's exactly why I didn't dirty my own hands. Compared to your father stealing Priscilla away from me back then, I've been generous."

"You're his daughter. Of course you'd defend him. But I trust Priscilla. She wouldn't lie to me."

"Now that you know, Margery, you should know what to do."

Clay raised his phone and, without a moment's hesitation, sent three hundred tips into the stream.

On screen, the man let out a thrilled shriek.

"Holy crap, thank you to this champion of justice! Only a hundred to go. Come on, people, push a little harder!"

"Every second you hesitate is mercy this old animal doesn't deserve!"

My fist clenched. He'd actually go this far.

I dragged in a breath.

"Fine. I'll apologize to Priscilla."

But Clay only shook his head.

"Priscilla has a kind heart. She knows your pride is fragile, so forget the apology."

"Just sign over the fifteen percent of shares your father left you. Give them to her as your apology. That's all."

I stared at him, unable to believe it.

"Clay, that's the last thing my father left me."

He gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Silly girl. With me to take care of you, what use do you have for any of that?"

"Your father robbed Priscilla of five years of her youth. Think of it as her compensation. You love me so much. You won't disappoint me, will you?"

His tone was as gentle as ever.

And yet all I could hear was the cold beneath it.

In the livestream, they were fifty tips short of five hundred.

Clay lifted his phone again, fingertip hovering lightly over the send button.

"Margery, Priscilla's still waiting for me. I can only give you three seconds."

"Three."

"Two."

My nails dug into my flesh until threads of blood seeped out.

"Fine. I agree!"

Satisfied, Clay made a call, shut down the man's livestream, and pulled every trending topic offline.

At the same time, he had his bodyguards drive away the crowd raising hell at the cemetery.

Watching me sign the contract, he pinched my cheek.

"This is what I love about you, Margery. Sweet and obedient."

"See? Now there's no one left for you to lean on but me. You'll stay this good from now on, won't you? I'll take good care of you in your father's place."

"Friday, the courthouse registry office. Be there to take photos for me and Priscilla. Don't be late, and I promise you a grand wedding at the end of the month."

After Clay left, I stumbled to my father's headstone.

I tried to scrub the paint off his photo with my sleeve.

But the crowd had come back, shovels in their hands.