“Not just that,” I replied, my tone steady.

“No?” His eyes narrowed, as if daring me to prove it.

“I’ll ruin your life,” I said, letting the words hang in the air.

Jorel’s jaw tightened. “I’m getting a DNA test. I swear we can’t share the same blood, Gabe. Listen to what you’re saying!”

“You could be Mom’s baby, Jorel, but you’re not mine,” I shot back. “You know my time’s too valuable to waste on you. I wouldn’t have called you here to mess around.”

He fell silent, his brow furrowed in thought. I knew him well enough to guess what was eating at him. The idea of being tied to one woman for the rest of his life was torture for someone like Jorel, who lived for variety.

“Let me make this clear,” I said, leaning forward. “All I’m asking is that you marry Olivia Abertton. I never said you had to stop living the way you always have. And didn’t I mention a bonus on top of your allowance?”

His eyes widened, a spark of interest flickering. “So, you’re saying… if I marry this Olivia girl, I can keep doing everything I’ve always done? And I’ll get an even bigger allowance?”

“Exactly,” I confirmed.

“That includes…” He trailed off, testing the waters.

“Yes, it includes sleeping with as many women as you want,” I said, cutting to the chase. “The media? I don’t care. Get photographed at clubs, out with your buddies, living your same pathetic little life. If I see a headline like ‘Jorel Clifford, Olivia Clifford’s Husband, Caught Kissing Mystery Brunette Outside Luxury Hotel,’ I’ll double your allowance.”

Jorel’s grin widened as he leaned back, clearly warming to the idea. “You’re paying me twice what you give me now to marry a hot girl, sleep with her, keep sleeping with everyone else, and you don’t care if our precious family name gets dragged through the mud by every tabloid out there? Sounds too good to be true.” He lounged comfortably in the chair, smirking. “Where do I sign?”

I smiled, satisfied. I knew my little brother wouldn’t let me down. He’d do the dirty work of making “Daddy Abertton’s little girl” cry rivers of tears. And that would hurt her father more than anything. Best of all, he’d be powerless to stop it. Olivia Abertton—the middle child, the illegitimate one, the orphan—was Ernest Abertton’s favorite. And I’d use her to destroy him.

Could I have had him killed? Taken him out myself? Sure. But where’s the satisfaction in that? I wanted Ernest Abertton to suffer the way I had—to watch his daughter crumble into nothing, driven to despair by the web I’d spun for her.

No one was better suited for this than Jorel Clifford. Unlike me, my brother loved too much. He loved life, loved money, and loved women—physically, at least. He’d had the most beautiful and famous women in his bed, and not one had ever touched his heart. His heart beat between his legs. Poor little wallflower Olivia didn’t have the charm to change that.

“You know I can’t put this kind of deal in writing, right?” I said, making sure he understood.

“Fine by me,” he replied, shrugging.

“But the moment you say ‘I do’ and sign those marriage papers in the church, you’ll get a contract from me doubling your allowance. Plus, bonuses if your name—and those hot girls you’re with—end up in the headlines,” I added, sweetening the deal.

“The escorts?” he said, stifling a laugh.

“Escorts? I’d never call them that,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure they’re with you for your… impressive assets. As big as your ego.”

“Say that again?” he teased, grinning.

“Not a chance,” I shot back.

Jorel burst out laughing. “Alright, I’m following Olivia Stick on Instagram,” he said, tapping his phone. “She’s not big on posting. Most of her photos are with some girl… looks about sixteen.”

“She’s thirteen. Her sister,” I clarified.

“Girls are growing up fast these days,” he said, shaking his head. “Already on social media.” He sighed. “I liked her post. Now I’m sliding into her DMs to ask her out.”

“No way!” I lunged across the desk and snatched the phone from his hands.

Jorel froze, his fingers still poised as if typing. “Gabe, I don’t know what this Abertton guy did to you, but I almost feel sorry for him.”

“That’s none of your business,” I said sharply. “Forget her father. Your job is to smile and do what I tell you. Don’t ask her out. Her father will make her marry you. Simple as that. I want her to resent him for it.”

Jorel’s eyes narrowed, confusion flickering across his face. I didn’t owe him an explanation. His role was to follow orders and get paid handsomely for it.

“Can I at least sleep with my wife?” he asked, half-joking.

“Sure,” I said. “Her and every other woman in the country. Just don’t fall for the wallflower, and we’re good.”

“Me, fall in love?” He laughed heartily. “You’re more likely to fall in love than I am.”

I didn’t bother responding to his nonsense. Most of what Jorel said wasn’t worth the air it took to say it.

“Now get your lazy ass out of that chair and do something useful,” I ordered.

“Like charm Olivia Stick?” he quipped.

“Your job isn’t to charm her, damn it!” I snapped, losing my patience. “Treat her like the wallflower she is.”

“I… kinda like wallflowers,” he said, smirking.

“No, you don’t, Jorel. Nobody likes wallflowers. They’re tasteless. You only tolerate them because they’re served with something else.”

“I had squid with wallflower once. Liked it. The sauce had some nice spices,” he said, clearly enjoying himself.

“Take out the wallflower, and the dish would taste the same,” I countered.

“I don’t think so.”

“Are we really arguing about wallflowers, for God’s sake? Do you know how much my time is worth?”

Jorel stood, looking slightly dazed, pointing both index fingers at me as if mentally cataloging his to-do list. “Marry Olivia Stick, double my allowance, sleep with as many girls as I can for extra cash, and I get to sleep with the wallflower… but I can’t like her. Because squid’s better than wallflower.”

“Get out!” I barked.

He backed out of the room, muttering to himself, his face so serious it was almost comical, as if he were genuinely trying to piece it all together. Poor Jorel. He didn’t need to understand a thing. Just sign the marriage papers, ignore Abertton’s little princess, and sleep with every woman in his path.

I buzzed my secretary, who, as always, appeared within a minute. “Yes, Mr. Clifford?”

“Arrange a business dinner with Ernest Abertton for tomorrow night,” I instructed. “Pick the most expensive restaurant in North Noriah’s capital. Tell him to bring his entire family, on my invitation. Then call the restaurant and ensure they create a bespoke menu with their finest offerings—no budget options. I want an exclusive menu and a private dining area for me and the Aberttons.”

“I’ll take care of it immediately, Mr. Clifford. Anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

Ingrid left, and I leaned back in my chair, exhaling deeply. After all these years, the moment was finally near. Ernest Abertton had no idea what was coming. The worst days of his life were knocking at his door, disguised as psychological torment aimed at his precious daughter.