Jilted Girlfriend? I Am The Tycoon's Wife

The office went completely quiet.

Beck didn't move. He simply stood there beside Cara, his large, warm hand resting calmly over her fingers.

Across the desk, Mrs. Croft's coffee cup began to rattle violently against its saucer. The haughty, generational arrogance that had coated her features moments ago peeled away, leaving behind raw, pale panic.

Beside Beck, Cara maintained her grip on his bicep. Under the pristine charcoal wool of his tailored sleeve, she could feel the iron ridge of his muscle—warm, solid, and utterly unyielding.

A tall man in a bespoke navy suit slipped silently through the door behind Beck, carrying an ultra-slim titanium briefcase. Korbin Mckee, Beck's chief of staff.

"Sir," Korbin addressed him in a muted, clinical tone.

Beck didn't spare the school administrators a second glance. His glacial blue eyes remained locked on Mrs. Croft.

"Korbin," Beck said, his voice quiet, flat, and absolute.

"Sir?"

"Call legal. And get a real doctor down here from Presbyterian." Beck's cold eyes finally shifted, resting on Mrs. Croft until the woman stopped breathing. "If that boy's nose isn't broken, I'm suing Croft Capital for extortion by morning."

He hadn't raised his voice by a single decibel. Yet every syllable landed like a wrecking ball.

Mrs. Croft swayed on her feet. Her family ran a mid-tier real estate holding firm; compared to the Greer financial empire, they were an ant waiting beneath a steamroller.

"No! That won't be necessary!" Mrs. Croft shrieked, frantically hauling her son up by his blazer collar. "It was a misunderstanding! Mark instigated the argument! His nose is barely grazed, look, it's completely fine!"

She shoved the boy toward Cara and Beck, bowing with desperate, humiliating apologies. "Mrs. Greer, Mr. Greer, please! We blew this entirely out of proportion! We are so dreadfully sorry!"

Dean Peterson hastily reached for his stamp, his bald head dripping with sweat. "The matter is resolved! A minor disagreement between peers! The expulsion is entirely rescinded!"

Beck ignored their groveling. He tilted his dark head down, his ice-blue eyes focusing entirely on Cara.

"What do you think, darling?" he asked, the corners of his lips curving with dangerous, unreadable subtlety. "Should we let them off?"

Cara felt a delicious shiver run down her spine, but kept her expression regally gracious. "Since it was just boys being boys, let's not waste our evening on it. Julian, apologize to Mark for your lack of restraint."

Julian, still trying to process the fact that his gaming buddy had domesticated his terrifying uncle, swallowed hard and muttered a quick, "Sorry."

"We're leaving," Beck announced, turning smoothly toward the hallway.

Dean Peterson and Mrs. Croft flattened themselves against the wall, bowing low as the group swept past.

The heavy front doors swung open, welcoming them into the cool, biting midnight breeze of Madison Avenue.

All three of them let out a breath.

Julian stole a terrified glance at Cara, then looked at his uncle, shrinking his neck into his blazer like a turtle.

Cara felt the lingering heat on her cheeks. Now that the performance was over, she gently tried to slip her arm free from Beck's grip.

The moment she moved, Beck's large hand came down, his long fingers lightly but firmly pinning hers against his bicep.

Cara stopped, looking up into his sculpted profile.

Beck kept his eyes fixed on the empty courtyard ahead, the corners of his lips curving upward into a slow, devastating smirk.

"'Nemesis'?" he murmured in a low, teasing baritone.

Cara's heart violently slammed against her ribs. She stared at him, her pulse spiking. "You... how do you know that name?"

Beside them, Julian gasped, slapping both hands over his mouth.

Beck finally turned his head, his ice-blue eyes gleaming with profound amusement under the streetlights.

"Earlier, in the lobby," Beck explained smoothly, "my nephew panicked and hissed, 'Nemesis, don't break character.' My hearing is exceptionally sharp."

A wave of heat flooded Cara's face, dusting the tips of her ears pink.

"You knew," Cara hissed, applying firm pressure to pry her fingers away. "And you played along just to watch me squirm?"

Beck let her pull her hand back this time. He shoved his hands casually into his trouser pockets, watching her flushed, indignant expression with undisguised fascination.

"On the contrary," Beck said, his lips twitching. "I found your performance... remarkably authentic."