Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT MARCUS LOST HIS TEMPER
Pressure does strange things to men who are used to being obeyed.
Three days after I stalled the management packet, Marcus stopped pretending patience was part of his personality. We were in my West Loop office after hours, finalizing guest logistics for the wedding, when he closed the conference room door and dropped his pleasant voice entirely.
“I’m trying to help you, Danielle.”
“No,” I said. “You’re trying to rush me.”
His jaw flexed. “My family is putting your company in a position to grow.”
“My company is doing fine.”
“That’s not the point.”
There it was.
“What is the point?”
He stepped closer. “The point is that once we’re married, things need to be simpler. No separate strategies. No separate loyalty. No separate power centers.”
For a second neither of us moved.
Then I asked, very quietly, “Is that what happened to Clara?”
He stared at me.
Not shocked. Not confused.
Caught.
The change in his face lasted less than a second, but it was enough.
“Clara is unstable,” he said. “If she’s been talking to you, that ends now.”
I took one step back, partly for my own space and partly so the security camera in the conference room would have a clean angle of us both.
“You need to leave.”
Instead of leaving, he gripped the back of my chair so hard his knuckles whitened.
“You are not going to embarrass me after everything I’ve invested in this wedding.”
Invested.
Another useful word.
I let my expression go cold. “You don’t sound like a groom. You sound like a creditor.”
He released the chair, realized what he had revealed, and instantly tried to smooth it over. But the damage was done. His next apology was too fast. His next kiss at my temple felt rehearsed.
After he left, I emailed the conference room footage to Naomi and Sam.
By midnight, Naomi had one conclusion: Marcus was close to losing control.
Which meant whatever he was hiding about Clara and Julian was now urgent enough to make him careless.
May you like
So we stopped waiting.
The next move would be ours.
