Married to the Bastard Who Will Save Me

For three full seconds, no one in the banquet hall moved.

Champagne hissed across the marble at Lucas's feet. A shard of green glass had sliced the hem of his trousers but missed his skin.

I caught Rowan by the forearm before he could make the situation worse.

"My apologies," I told the room with a bright smile. "Rowan spends more time around farm equipment than vintage glass. He forgets how fragile expensive things can be."

A few guests laughed because they were relieved to have permission.

Lucas looked down at the wet ruin of his suit, then at Rowan. The hatred in his eyes lasted only a moment before his public face returned.

"Enjoy the party," he said.

He left without another word. Celeste hurried after him, glaring at me over her shoulder.

Rowan glanced at my hand on his sleeve. "Fragile?"

"It kept Grandfather from calling security. Walk."

We crossed the terrace and stepped into the cold night.

I released him. "You could have put glass in his eyes."

"I knew where the bottle would break."

"We need the board to see us as stable. Throwing weapons at the acting CEO does not help."

"You asked me to wear a suit and defend the arrangement." Rowan loosened the cheap tie at his throat. "You did not ask me to stand still while he humiliated you."

"I can defend myself."

"Then do it faster next time."

He walked toward the valet station, leaving me alone on the steps with the unpleasant realization that his anger had not been for himself.

At seven the next morning, the North District faucet coughed once and went dry.

A white envelope waited on the kitchen table. Lucas had signed the notice inside.

Effective immediately, the North District's utility allocation, equipment budget, and access to shared vehicles were suspended pending a financial review.

Rowan entered with grease across his knuckles. He read the notice, opened his toolbox, and selected a steel wrench.

"The old manual pump can draw from the well," he said. "I can have water on the vines in two hours."

I blocked the door. "Put it down."

"The vines do not care about your pride."

"This is not pride. Lucas is testing whether he can cut us off without consequences. If you repair the pump, he shuts down the greenhouse power. If we install a generator, he blocks the access road."

"I survived five years without the main house."

"The Red Heather crop did not. Not at this scale."

His grip tightened around the wrench. "What is your plan? Let the roots dry while you request a committee meeting?"

"I am going around Lucas. You keep his people off the property."

An hour later, I entered the estate's financial wing with the North District budget under my arm.

Richard Garrison, the chief financial officer, sat behind a mahogany desk large enough to hide a body. His gray mustache twitched when I closed the office door.

"Ivy. Security should have stopped you."

"Security remembers who controls the trust. Cancel your meeting with Lucas."

I placed the budget in front of him.

Garrison did not touch it. "The acting CEO suspended those accounts. I cannot override him."

I opened the budget to the emergency maintenance page. Three invoices had been rejected within the hour: water service, greenhouse electricity, and a replacement pump seal. Lucas had not ordered a financial review. He had selected the systems most likely to kill the crop before we could appeal.

"This is not cost control," I said. "It is deliberate spoilage of a company asset."

"You can authorize essential agricultural spending when a crop is at risk. Section twelve of the operating bylaws."

His eyes narrowed. "You came prepared."

"Restore the water, greenhouse power, and equipment line."

"No."

I leaned across his desk. "Then I will demand an independent forensic audit covering the last three fiscal years."

The color left his face.

"You have no grounds."

"Apex Holdings. Cayman account ending in four-two-eight-nine. Fake vendor invoices routed through the domestic operating account."

His gold pen stopped tapping.

The vision at the gala had given me only fragments, but his reaction confirmed every one of them.

"Who told you that?" he asked.

"The same person who will testify if the water is not running by noon."

He looked toward the door. "You would damage the company over a utility dispute?"

"Lucas is damaging the company. I am giving you one chance not to help him."

Garrison opened a drawer and removed the emergency authorization form. His hand shook as he completed it.

"He will know I signed this."

"Then decide whether you are more afraid of Lucas or an audit."

He stamped the form and pushed it across the desk.

I photographed the signed page and emailed it to the facilities director while I still stood in front of him. Then I copied Grandfather's legal office and the board secretary. Garrison watched every recipient appear on the screen.

"You are creating a record," he said.

"Lucas has survived because everyone keeps his orders verbal. That ends today."

"This buys you a day," he whispered.

"A day is enough to start."

By noon, water moved through the North District lines again. A facilities technician tested each valve while Rowan stood beside him with crossed arms. The greenhouse lights returned before sunset, and the first irrigation cycle ran long enough to soak the upper rows.

By nightfall, I had copies of the authorization stored in three places and a list of every account Garrison had refused to discuss. I also had proof that Lucas had tried to destroy a viable harvest within twenty-four hours of learning it existed.

The cabin was dark when I returned.

"Rowan?"

No answer.

The water worked, but the overhead light did not. I stepped inside and smelled wet earth, machine oil, and something metallic.

I drew out my phone and switched on the flashlight.

A shadow moved behind the door.

A hand covered my mouth. An arm drove me against the wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

I tried to scream, but the grip only tightened.