Chapter 3: The Price of a Sun
“Grant, thank goodness,” Victoria said, her voice instantly transitioning back into its smooth, high-society purr as she reached out a gloved hand toward him. “Your staff has become completely insolent. This woman’s brat just ruined my new Chanel coat with grease, and she had the nerve to speak to me as if she owns the property.”
Grant didn't take her hand. He stepped past her entirely, standing in front of Clara and Kira like a stone wall. He didn't look at the white coat or the orange smudge. He looked at Victoria’s green eyes, his own narrowed into slits of pure, unadulterated calculation.
“The coat costs twenty-five thousand dollars, Victoria,” Grant said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Write a number on a piece of paper, and my accountants will wire it to your father’s office by noon. But you will never, as long as you breathe, use the word 'brat' or 'trash' under my roof again.”
Victoria’s mouth opened slightly, her perfect posture stiffening. “Grant, are you insane? It’s a maid. She’s a live-in servant from an agency. My father is preparing to sign the port terminal merger next week—a merger that gives Mercer Properties access to the entire Pacific trade network. You are risking a three-billion-dollar partnership for a cleaner?”
“The merger is based on numbers, Victoria, not your vanity,” Grant said, stepping closer until she had to tilt her head back to look at him. “Your father needs my dry-dock facilities more than I need his ships. If he wants to cancel the contract because his daughter doesn't know how to speak to children, tell him to call my legal team. Now, get out of my house.”
“You’re making a mistake, Grant,” Victoria hissed, her polished exterior cracking to reveal a bitter, venonous pride. “You’re going to end up alone in this mausoleum, just like your father did. You don't know how to love anything that doesn't have a corporate seal on it.”
She turned on her heel and stormed out, the heavy oak front door slamming behind her with a sound that vibrated through the limestone floor.
The foyer fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Clara stood up slowly, her hands still clutching Kira’s small fingers. She looked at Grant’s back—the broad shoulders tense beneath his shirt, his chest rising and falling in deep, angry breaths.
“Grant,” Clara whispered softly. “You shouldn't have done that. The port merger... your career... I can find another placement. I can take Kira to a regular apartment in town.”
Grant turned around. The fury in his eyes vanished the moment he looked at Clara, replaced by a profound, raw exhaustion that made him look thirty-two going on sixty. He looked down at Kira, who was staring up at him with her big, violet-gray eyes, still holding her small red ball.
“Are you okay, Kira?” he asked, kneeling on the floor so he was at her level.
“The mean lady smells like old grass,” Kira said, wrinkling her nose. “But she’s wrong, Mr. Grant. You’re not in a moss-lee-um. You have a sky on your face. Remember?”
A choked, ragged sound came from Grant’s throat—a laugh that sounded like it had been broken in half before it could reach the air. He reached out and touched Kira’s dark curls with a tenderness that made Clara’s heart ache.
“I remember, sweetheart,” Grant said softly. He stood up, turning his gaze back to Clara. His dark eyes were intense, searching her face for something she wasn't sure she was ready to show him. “Don't talk about leaving, Clara. If you leave... the lights in this house go out again. And I’ve spent twenty years in the dark.”
Before Clara could answer, his private satellite phone hissed in his pocket. It was his lead maritime analyst from the port authority.
He pulled it out, looking at the encrypted screen. His face went completely serious.
“Mercer,” he said into the receiver. He listened for thirty seconds, his jaw tightening until the muscle in his cheek twitched. “Are you sure? The Vane logistics office? Block the terminal access codes immediately. Put the entire Magnolia site on lockdown.”
He ended the call, looking at Clara with an expression that made the cold rain outside feel like an oncoming storm.
“Victoria’s father didn't wait for her to get to the car,” Grant said, his voice flat and hard. “He just initiated a hostile corporate audit on my secondary holding company. They’re trying to freeze my construction permits for the waterfront towers by dawn. They think they can squeeze me until I drop the house and the staff to save the empire.”
May you like
He looked down at the butcher paper on the kitchen island, where Kira’s crooked orange chimney sat drying in the dim light.
“They want a war,” Grant whispered, a cold, dangerous smile touching his lips. “They’re going to find out that a man who built his first house out of plywood doesn't care about a little broken glass.”
