Victor Hargrove didn't believe in loose ends. Yet as he walked into the private lounge of the Braddock Hotel that evening, he couldn't shake the feeling that tonight was a mistake.
Margaret Rivers was already there, seated at a corner table, her posture regal as always. She wore a sleek black dress, understated but powerful, her dark hair swept into a low chignon. A faint smile played on her lips when she saw him, though her eyes betrayed nothing.
Victor approached with measured steps, his tailored suit fitting like armor. As he slid into the chair across from her, he noted the faint scent of her perfume—something floral, familiar, and disarming.
"Victor," she said smoothly, her voice like silk. "You haven't changed."
He smirked. "Neither have you, Margaret. Still confident enough to invite your competition for a drink."
Her smile widened, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Let's not insult each other with pleasantries. You're not just competition—you're the executioner. I assume you're here to savor the final blow?"
Victor leaned back in his chair, studying her. Margaret's calm demeanor had always been her greatest weapon. She had a way of making her opponents feel like they were the ones under scrutiny, even when the tables were turned.
"I'm here because you asked," he said. "So why don't we skip the theatrics and get to the point?"
Margaret took a slow sip of her wine, her gaze never leaving his. "I know about Jared," she said finally.
Victor's expression didn't falter, but he felt a flicker of unease. "What about him?"
She set her glass down, her fingers tracing the stem. "He's been making moves. Quietly, but deliberately. Whispers about deals, alliances—things that could complicate your plans. And given our history, I thought you'd appreciate the courtesy of a warning."
Victor's jaw tightened. Jared was becoming a problem, and Margaret's involvement only made things murkier. "And what do you get out of this?"
She tilted her head, her smile faintly amused. "Is it so hard to believe I might still care, in some small way, about your survival?"
He laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. "You don't care about my survival, Margaret. You care about leverage."
Margaret leaned forward, her voice dropping. "You're right. I do. Because leverage is power. And right now, you're playing a dangerous game with someone who has nothing to lose. Jared knows things, Victor. Things that could destroy you, your company, and everything you've built."
Victor's stomach tightened, though he kept his face neutral. "You're being cryptic. If you have something to say, say it."
Margaret's gaze sharpened. "He knows about Avalon."
The name hit him like a punch to the gut, but Victor didn't flinch. He couldn't. Avalon was the skeleton in his closet, the deal that had made him—but also the deal that had cost him everything with Margaret.
"It's ancient history," he said coolly.
"Not if Jared drags it into the light," she countered. "You think you've buried it, but you haven't. And when it surfaces, it won't just be you who burns. It'll be everyone tied to you—including me."
Victor studied her, weighing her words. Margaret had always been a step ahead, but her fear of collateral damage rang true. She wasn't warning him out of kindness; she was protecting herself.
"What do you want?" he asked finally.
"I want Jared neutralized," she said bluntly. "He's a threat to both of us, and we both know he won't stop until he's dismantled everything we've built."
Victor's lips pressed into a thin line. "And what makes you think I haven't already considered that?"
"Because you haven't done it yet," Margaret said, leaning back. "Which means you're hesitating. Maybe it's guilt, maybe it's sentimentality—whatever it is, it's a liability. And liabilities are dangerous, Victor. You taught me that."
Her words cut deeper than he wanted to admit. Margaret had a way of holding up a mirror, forcing him to confront truths he would rather ignore.
"I'll handle Jared," he said finally.
Margaret's smile returned, faint but triumphant. "Good. Because if you don't, he'll handle you. And I won't be there to save you this time."
Victor stood, his expression unreadable. "We'll see about that."
As he walked away, Margaret's voice stopped him.
"Victor," she said, her tone softer now. "Be careful. Jared's not the only one with secrets. And some of them might surprise even you."
He didn't turn back, but her words lingered as he left the lounge.
The night air hit him like a wave, cold and sharp. Victor's mind raced, the weight of Margaret's warning pressing down on him. Jared knew about Avalon. And if he knew about Avalon, then he knew about the one thing Victor had sworn to bury at any cost.
Trust was a currency Victor no longer dealt in, but Margaret's words echoed in his mind.
Some secrets weren't just dangerous. They were deadly. And the cost of keeping them buried was growing higher by the day.