Page 114 of The Rival's Obsession
She tilts her head, that perfect mask of remorse never slipping. “I did what I had to do, Grant. For the firm. For you.”
“Framing Dante? Dragging some woman into it who has nothing to do with anything?”
“I didn’t frame anyone,” she says smoothly. “I raised concerns. If they’re unfounded, he has nothing to worry about.”
I stare at her. Hard.
She shifts, smile faltering just enough to show the steel beneath. “He’s always had a hold over you. Even now, you can’t see it, can you?”
I clench my jaw.
She leans forward, her voice dipping. “He used you then. He’s using you now.”
“Stop.”
But she doesn’t stop.
“That day,” she says, almost a whisper. “When I walked in before it went too far. I protected you, Grant.”
“You didn’t protect me,” I say, cold. “You humiliated him. You made assumptions, accusations—and I let you.”
“You let me,” she repeats, eyes narrowing. “You let me because you needed someone strong enough to do it for you.”
I stand. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her gaze holds mine. “Don’t I?”
There’s a long silence. The kind that echoes with everything that’s been left unsaid for too long.
I glance down at the whiskey she poured, running my finger around the rim of the glass. I don’t drink. Just keep it there between us like a line I haven’t decided whether to cross.
Corrine doesn’t sit. She paces slowly behind the chair opposite mine, hands clasped lightly in front of her. Like she’s giving a presentation. Like this is all still just business.
“I’m not asking you to make any irrational decisions,” she says. “The board’s vote is coming. We both know that. All I’m asking is that you give it a good, clear thought. What’s best for you. For the company.”
I don’t respond. I already know what she’s circling.
Her voice softens, persuasive. “You and I… we have history, Grant. Stability. A shared understanding of what’s necessary. And we’ve kept each other’s secrets for a long time.”
She finally sits. Smooths the hem of her skirt.
“I’ve protected you,” she continues. “Your reputation. Your legacy. Even your shame.”
That lands heavier than it should. I shift, fingers still at the glass.
“I never told anyone about theotherday,” she says quietly. “The day your mother died.”
My spine stiffens.
She’s watching me now. Carefully. Measuring every flicker of reaction.
“That it was you,” she says. “At the top of the stairs. Just… standing there. Looking down at her body. It was you.”
The room tilts.
She leans forward, voice low. “Everyone blamed your father. No one ever asked whereyouwere. But I knew. And I never said a word.”
My throat dries, but I don’t let it show. I won’t give her the satisfaction.
