Chapter 18
The man seated two chairs down added, "And the kind of level where they don’t want people assuming too much, too early. They want the freedom to confirm quietly, behind closed doors, not under flashing lights and award speeches."
Bartholomew looked James in the eyes again, then said, "But from everything we’re hearing—and I mean everything we’ve heard long before this event—the story has always been the same. It’s done. You’re the one. The Victor family has already chosen. This public announcement is a smokescreen."
There was a pause in the room. The kind of pause that hung with silent validation.
"Because the Victors don’t flip decisions on a whim," Bartholomew said finally. "They don’t change their minds the night before the biggest contract reveal in the region’s history. That’s not even possible."
At that moment, hearing what Bartholomew just said, James couldn’t stop the wide grin spreading across his face. He leaned slightly into the backrest of his chair, his once-tense shoulders finally relaxing.
All the weight that had been sitting heavily on his chest since the incident at the Victor event began to fade. The shame, the fear, the rising doubt—all of it felt like vapor now, disappearing into the air as the truth became clear.
So the Victor family wasn’t abandoning him. They weren’t pulling out of the deal because of Cora or some random, humiliating slap that went viral on half the social media platforms. No, none of that. They were just trying to take the pressure off. Quietly.
James chuckled to himself. Not loud, just enough to feel it roll in his throat. "So this was all part of the plan?" he thought, amused. "They could’ve just told me that from the start. Would’ve saved me from dying ten times inside today."
But hearing it now—from Bartholomew Ainsley, of all people—meant it wasn’t a bluff.