His storm-gray eyes glittered, savoring my discomfort.
"Oh, don’t play coy, Tiffany." He leaned closer, his tone mockingly sweet. "Why don’t you enlighten everyone here about your father’s... creative accounting techniques?"
My stomach churned. My nails bit into my palm, grounding me in the chaos.
I wanted to scream at him, to lash out. But this wasn’t the place—or the crowd.
"You don’t know what you’re talking about," I said, forcing steel into my words.
"Don’t I?" Nathaniel chuckled darkly, stepping closer. His voice dropped, a cruel whisper for my ears alone. "Should I show them the proof? The footage of your dear father, palms greased with dirty money?"
My blood ran cold.
Proof? He couldn’t have—
"You’re lying," I hissed, barely able to keep the panic from breaking through.
Nathaniel’s smile widened, a predator scenting fear.
"You can leave now," he announced, turning back to the audience. "The Aldridge heir is clearly overwhelmed by memories of their illustrious legacy."
Laughter bubbled around the room, cruel and biting.
My vision blurred, tears threatening to spill. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.