Chapter 5 Terms of Surrender

Sloane

Finding Cade hadn't been difficult, which was a bitter pill to swallow. I didn't need to dig through the social registers or family contacts. I had simply typed his name into a search engine, and the results had been a flood of headlines: Whitmore Holdings Disrupts the Market, Cade Whitmore: The Self-Made Titan Outshining the Family Legacy.

He hadn't just moved on, he had ascended. He had moved out of his father’s shadow and into his own business headquarters that bore only his name, not his father's. As the revolving doors swept me into the lobby of Whitmore Holdings, the sheer scale of the place made my skin crawl. The air smelled of expensive filtered oxygen and cold ambition.

Don’t do this, Sloane, my mind hissed. Turn around. You can find another way. But there was no other way. I had seen the blueprints in Melissa’s townhouse. I had seen the look in her eyes as she described gutting our history. If I turned around now, I wasn't just walking away from Cade, I was walking away from Maria, from the twelve hundred employees, from the only home I had ever truly known, from my grandmother.

You’re a Hartford, I reminded myself, digging my nails into the leather of my clutch until it hurt. You aren't here for him. You’re here for them. He is just a means to an end. A tool. A contract.

I approached the reception desk. The receptionist looked up, her expression a mask of practiced, expensive politeness.

"Tell him Sloane Hartford is here," I said, before she could even open her mouth. "He’ll see me."

I was led not to his office, but to a minimalist conference room. Then, I was left alone.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then Fifteen.

The delay felt like a calculated power play, a silent reminder that he was the one with the clock and the capital now. I spent the time pacing, observing the space. The design was nothing but wealth, modern furniture that looked uncomfortable to sit in. On the walls were framed photos of massive skyscrapers and successful projects that he had completed. There wasn't a single personal touch. Just success.

My anxiety rose again, and so did a bitter taste in the back of my throat. The last time I had been this close to him, he had destroyed my world with a cowardly silence. Now, I was waiting for him like an employee.

The door clicked open.

Cade walked in, and for a heartbeat, the air left the room. The boyish softness was gone, replaced by a man who had rose to way to the top. He wore a charcoal suit fitting his broad shoulders perfectly. He looked annoyingly, but undeniably successful. His expression showed control, but as his eyes met mine, something flickered in the depths of his gaze. Maybe a ghost of a memory, or perhaps it’s just who him in his business element.

"Sloane," he said, his voice deep and steady. "It’s been a long time."

"Not long enough," I snapped, my voice ice-cold.

He didn't flinch. He merely gestured toward the door. "Follow me. We’ll talk in my office."

I followed him down a corridor that felt miles long until we reached a corner office. I noticed a single silver frame on his desk, but the photo was turned away, facing only him.

"Care to sit down, Sloane," he said, moving behind his desk.

"I won't be here long," I refused, staying on my feet. My muscles were tensed and ready to bolt if ever necessary

He sat anyway, leaning back with a relaxed grace that made my skin crawl. He looked entirely too comfortable. "Then why are you here? Are you considering the will again?"

"Believe me, I don't want to," I spat. "I'd be willing to rather burn the Hartford name to the ground than tie it to yours."

Cade’s expression didn't change, but the tone of his voice dropped. "Even if twelve hundred people lose their jobs?"

I whirled on him, my hands balling into fists. "Don't you dare! Don't act like you care about those people. You don't know their names, you don't know their faces. Don't use them to manipulate me."

"I don't care about them," he said calmly, locking his fingers together. "Yes, I don’t know their faces or even their names. But you do. That’s why you’re here. You found out about Melissa’s plan to sell to the tech groups, didn't you?"

The fact that he knew, that he was already steps ahead, made me feel exposed.

"Please, sit, Sloane," he repeated, his voice less of an invitation and more of a command. "When we last saw at the funeral, I was going to make you an offer."

Curiosity and the desperate need to find a way out of this trap won. I sat, perched on the very edge of the leather chair, my bag clutched in my lap.

Before saying another word, he reached out to press a button on his intercom. "Hold my calls. No interruptions." He looked back at me, his gaze heavy and direct. "This will take some time."

I crossed my arms over my chest, a physical shield. "I'm listening. But let’s be clear, don’t feel so confident that what you say will just make me give in and marry you."

A slight, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the look of a man who had already seen the end of the game.

"We'll see," he murmured.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. "You want the hotel saved. I want something only a Hartford can give me. If you agree to this marriage, it won't be a romantic reunion. It will be a contract. And by the time it’s over, you’ll have your legacy, and I’ll have exactly what I need to get justice."

I stared at him, my heart hammering.

“Justice for who?”, I ask, almost sounding confused.

“Justice for Lily, Sloane.”.