Chapter 5

My grandfather's shock was palpable even through the phone.

"That marriage," he finally said, each word glacially calm, "was my handshake to Arthur Young. My personal assurance. Are you telling me this is serious?"

My own fury reached its peak. "Grandfather, I would never joke about a breach of trust like this."

"The guy who stole her even threatened to have me killed."

I summarized the events. I could hear his breathing grow heavier with each detail—the degrading contract, Wesley's manipulation, Preston's theatrical entrance.

When I finished, there was a long silence.

Then: "Put me on speaker."

I obliged. The room fell silent as the voice of Reginald Shaw—founder of Shaw Studios, the man whose name adorned half the buildings in this city—filled the dressing room like a gathering storm.

"Preston Vanderbilt. I know your father. He's a capable man. Shrewd, even."

Preston straightened, a flicker of unease crossing his face. But his bravado held. "Mr. Shaw. An honor. I've always admired—"

"Shut up."

The two words hit the room like a physical force. Even Wesley took a step back.

"Your father built Vanderbilt Global by being smart enough to stay in his lane. You, apparently, did not inherit that gene."

Preston's jaw tightened. "With all due respect, Mr. Shaw, this is between me and Ms. Young. Sebastian walked away from the engagement himself—"

"He walked away from a rigged game. One that you and that weasel beside you orchestrated."

Wesley's face went chalk white.

"Now listen carefully, because I will say this only once." Grandfather's voice dropped to a register I'd only heard once before—the night he'd dismantled a hostile takeover with a single phone call.

"Shaw Studios controls the distribution pipeline for sixty-three percent of domestic theatrical releases. We hold first-look deals with every major streaming platform. Our insurance arm underwrites the production bonds for half the tentpoles in development."

He paused.

"That means every studio, every distributor, every exhibitor in this country needs my blessing to operate. Including Vanderbilt Global Media."

The color drained from Preston's face.

"If my grandson tells me he was humiliated and threatened at his own wedding, by a glorified trust-fund brat and a crooked assistant, then as of this moment, Vanderbilt Global's distribution deal with Shaw Studios is under review."

"You can't—" Preston sputtered.

"I just did. And Preston?" The old man's voice turned ice. "If I hear so much as a whisper that you or anyone connected to you has interfered with Sebastian's career or personal life, I won't review your deal. I'll terminate it. Retroactively."

The phone call ended.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Preston stood frozen, his publicist's phone still recording. The cocky media smile was gone. In its place was the expression of a man who'd just realized he'd brought a squirt gun to an artillery fight.

I straightened my cuffs and turned to Isabella.

"Still think I'm a freeloading loser?"