Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT SUMMONS
By 11:30 p.m., both of Lydia’s arms were neatly dressed in clean white medical gauze, secured with breathable medical tape. The burning agony had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache under the influence of a fresh dose of prescribed pain relief that Grant had insisted she take.
“Try to sleep,” Grant said, standing up from the vanity and washing his hands at the basin. “I’ve had the guest suite across the hall prepared for you so you don’t have to worry about changing dressings alone.”
Lydia stood up slowly, clutching her ruined emerald dress around her shoulders. “What about your mother and Brielle?”
Grant dried his hands on a plush white towel, his expression hardening slightly. “They left fifteen minutes after the dinner ended. My mother tried to stage a final confrontation in the foyer, threatening to cut ties with Holloway Enterprises if I didn't apologize by morning.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told her that if she ever stepped foot on this property again without an explicit invitation from both of us, I would audit every single philanthropic foundation she currently chairs and cut off her personal expense accounts.” Grant’s lips twitched into a cold, humorless smirk. “She left very quickly after that.”
Lydia couldn't help the small, breathless laugh that escaped her lips. “You didn't have to do that, Grant. They’re your family.”
“Family is earned, Lydia, not inherited,” he said, walking her to the door of the master suite. He paused in the doorway, his dark eyes scanning her face. “Get some rest. We have a quiet day tomorrow. No guests. No events.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, her heart doing a strange, unfamiliar flip in her chest. “For the bandages. And... for standing up for me.”
Grant nodded once, stepped back, and watched as she walked across the hall to her room.
Lydia closed the door behind her, leaning back against the wood in the quiet darkness. The room was spacious, elegant, and entirely impersonal—just like the rest of the house. Yet, for the first time since she had signed the marriage contract six months ago, the house didn't feel like a cage. It felt like a sanctuary.
She changed into a soft cotton nightshirt, careful not to strain her bandaged arms, and crawled into the oversized bed. Exhaustion pulled her under almost immediately, dragging her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She woke up to the sound of soft tapping on her bedroom door.
Lydia stirred, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the sheer silk curtains. The digital clock on the bedside table read 7:15 a.m.
“Lydia?” Grant’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” she called out, her voice raspy with sleep. “Just a minute.”
She threw on a light cardigan over her nightshirt and opened the door. Grant stood in the hallway, dressed in casual gray cashmere knitwear and dark denim, holding a silver tray with steaming black coffee and toast.
“Morning,” he said, his eyes scanning her face to ensure she was recovering. “How are the arms?”
“Better,” she lied slightly, though the pain had indeed dulled into a manageable ache. “What time is it?”
“Seven-fifteen. I brought coffee. But that’s not why I’m knocking.” Grant’s expression turned serious. “My phone has been ringing since six o'clock.”
Lydia’s stomach dropped. “Your mother?”
“Worse,” Grant said, stepping aside to let her see the screen of his phone flashing in his hand. “The board of directors. Specifically, Thomas Sterling. My mother must have called an emergency breakfast meeting at the metropolitan club. They’re claiming my behavior last night constitutes a public relations liability for the firm.”
Lydia’s breath hitched. “Because of me?”
“Because of us,” Grant corrected sharply. He set the tray down on the small table by the window and turned back to her. “They think you’re a liability, Lydia. They think a girl from a bankrupt diner with unpaid debts is dragging down the Holloway name. And they’re meeting right now to vote on whether to strip me of my CEO voting shares until I ‘resolve my domestic situation.’”
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The room seemed to tilt. All the progress, all the fierce protection from last night, suddenly collided with the brutal reality of the corporate empire Grant commanded. Her past—the debt, the diner, the struggle—was a weapon his enemies were ready to use to tear him down.
And she was the handle of that weapon.
