Chapter 25: A Contest of Wills

The board room shone like a diamond coffin. Long golden streaks across the polished ebony conference table were created by soft light streaming through floor to ceiling glass panels overlooking the city. The air smelled aged whiskey, mild cigar smoke, and sharp edge of costly ink mixed with the quiet hum of conversations, glassware, and cutlery being laid by a gloved service staff. The boardroom supper was a demonstration of domination, power, and placement, not only a function. Every face in the room was a chess piece on Tucker Beaumont's company board, and tonight he was the master moving them. Walking two steps behind him, Scarlet Langston wore a tight dark blue dress that hung to her figure like shadows caressed by moonlight.

Her dark hair hung in loose waves down her back, a small silver pendant just above the hollow of throat. Should nerves chew at her chest, nobody would know. Her chin was high, her steps under control, her eyes fixed on a cool fire burning under her serene demeanor. Beside her broad-shouldered, dressed in a charcoal suit more expensive than her first automobile, Tucker's presence was thunder. His jaw carried stress even if his face was shaped into incomprehensible tranquility.

The room went quiet as he arrived. From respect rather than from announcement. Every glance, every half-smile tinted with inquiry, judgment, or subdued threat, scarlet felt the weight of it. These were men and ladies dining mercilessly. Kindness was weakness here, and every phrase was like a sword. "Mr." A silver-haired CEO at the far end of the table said Beaumont. "Welcome," says Tucker gave one quick nod. "Mr., Vance". And Mrs. Beaumont, Vance said, with a courteous but sharp glance toward Scarlet. Her smile was seamless. "It's a delight. Tucker's fingers made a quick, practiced possessive motion across the small of her back.

She moved forward letting him pull out her seat. But his fingers stayed for a second too long on her waist, an invisible warning she sensed deep in her bones. Dinners started with the first course. Wine glasses clinked softly, talks about mergers, development initiatives, and overseas assets faded about. Benevolently, though, conflict coiled like a serpent between Tucker and Scarlet. She observed his low, deliberate, dominating attention without force, therefore controlling the room. Still, it was always computed, chilly, detached. a ruler in a fortress he created personally. And she was the queen on show, immaculately polished and exactly positioned. Up till she said. Setting down her wine glass, Scarlet asked, "I'm intrigued," her voice cutting through a quiet moment of talk. "With all this rhetoric about global expansion, who's looking at the ethical compliance issues on your mining contracts from South Africa? „ Silence fell like a glass running on stone. Many heads spun.

Tucker froze. Mr. Vance gave a blink. "Well, Revens & Co. hired the ethics team to " Scarlet interrupted, "They're behind on their audits." And Revens has a public lawsuit ongoing for Namibian regulatory infractions. It will influence your following quarter forecasts. Especially when media takes it up. One long beat went by. Mr. Vance slanted back in his seat. " Mrs. Reluctantly amused, Beaumont remarked, "you have obviously done your homework." "I'm not only a beautiful face," she answered fluidly. " Though my husband insists on treating me like one." Tucker's jaw stiffened. Laughing followed modest, startled, but polite. Executives cast sidelong glances at one another with subdued interest. A small number even nodded, silently impressed. Tucker kept his eyes riveted on her. Not pleasant. Not happy. Just chilly fire.

The supper went on but something had changed. Scarlet became curious when she observed the minute changes executives asked her questions and leaned slightly in her way. She also bit away at the marble wall Tucker had constructed around her with every response and point she raised. He avoided talking to her through the rest of the supper. Not a glimpse. Not a term. She could sense the storm building next to her, though, and the heat rising under his suit. Tucker stumbled suddenly when the last course was cleared and wine glasses were emptied. "Thank you for your time, fellas.". Not a toast was present. Not farewell. Just ask. His eyes like twin razors, he kept the door open for Scarlet. She passed him without saying anything. He detonated the instant they were in the corridor, away from the polished eyes of the elite. "What the hell was that?" His voice was deadly and low. Scarlet did not show any flinches. "A chat. You ought to try one occasionally. You embarrassed me. "I fixed a blunder." You undercut me before my board. "I kept your board out of a public crisis intact." His hand flew inches from her face against the wall next to her. "You not get to challenge me like that." Scarlet stepped forward, almost brushing his chest. Tucker, I am not a pawn. Simply because you put a ring on my finger does not let you silence me. Now his breath was laboured and his body radiated heat.

He snarling said, "I own that ring." " You do not own me." She hardly noticed his quick hand movement. She was talking one minute, then smashed against the wall, his palm flat against hers close to her head, his body pushing into hers. The air thickened in front of them. His eyes looked at hers, something raw flickering under the wrath longing, suffering, hunger. One thousand unsaid sentences wriggling at his throat. "Don’t ever challenge me again in public," he said, voice low and hostile. And what would happen if I did? "" Their breaths intertwined. His mouth barely matched hers in inches. The wall separating them cracked just for a second. The conflict between hate and hunger temporarily blurring. Tucker leaned in forward. She could sense his heart hammering, the minute change in his muscles as though his body lacked direction on whether to hurt or hold her. Then he started to distance himself. Cold came again. Distance corrected itself like iron doors. Heart beating, breath faltering, he fixed his jacket and turned without saying, leaving her against the wall. Standing alone in the corridor, Scarlet's fingers curled into her palm and her body shook with rage and something far more terrible need. She had seen it at that instant, as he pinned her against the wall. Not alone the beast Tucker had developed. Still, the shattered lad under the man. She also asked herself for the first time just how far those cracks ran and what would happen if she persisted on pushing? By the time Scarlett arrived at the eastern Beaumont estate, the rain was falling more forcefully. Like veins on a dying heart, long, glittering streaks down the glass panes.

The low, rumbling reminder that even the heavens had its turbulence tonight came from distant thunder. She had not scheduled a visit here. Not following the manner Tucker had left her, like a firestorm put out by ice. Still, the heat of their previous meeting danced on her skin, and the anguish of the questions in her head pressed more forcefully than it had ever done. The mother of Magnolia Prescott Tucker wore veiled silence. But Scarlet had begun to perceive holes in that mask. Little glimmers of suppressed realities. And tonight she meant to probe more. The corridor leading Magnolia's chambers was darkly lighted, quiet, heavy with lavender and old book smells. Scarlet's heels deliberately matched the stillness of the house by clicking the softest on the marble flooring. Her hair was just loosely wrapped at the nape of her neck, delicate strands curling over her cheeks as she had transformed from the dinner gown into a black velvet robe that hung to her curves. Tall before her elegant, carved from black cherry wood, like sentinels guarding secrets, were double doors. She just knocked once. Not a response. Once more knock, firm this time. At last a voice quiet, scratchy, but clear. "Come in." Scarlet opened the doors and entered a chamber as though time had forgotten it. Pulled back just enough to let in weak moonlight, heavy velvet drapes framed lofty windows.

Dressed in royal blue, an ancient chaise rested beneath a large oil painting Magnolia in her childhood, her face tilted somewhat away from the painter's view. The room smelled somewhat like old perfume and rose water, a terrible sweetness. Magnolia swathed in a silk robe the hue of fading smoke, seated close to the fireplace in a high-backed chair. Her tiny fingers curled around a porcelain teacup, her silver-blonde hair pulled loosely in a free twist. Her eyes unreadable, she looked up as Scar arrived. "You ought to be sleeping," Magnolia said. "I was unable to fall asleep." There is a pause. Both couldn't I. Scarlet entered gently, hands folded in front of her. "I assumed we might have some conversation." "There's little left to talk about in this house," Magnolia said while drinking her tea. "There's always more," Scar replied in a quiet but firm voice. Particularly when everyone is too terrified to talk. The eyes of Magnolia swung toward her.

Through them something illegible passed through. After a time, Magnolia added, "I saw you at the dinner." "You behaved rather well." Tucker refused to treat it lightly. Scarlet grinned tiredly. "He hardly considers anything to be light. Magnolia nodded, saying, "No." "He picked that from his father." Scarlet moved in closer. "Exactly what I wanted to talk about." The fingers of Magnolia stiffened around her cup. Scarlet said, "Wyatt." "He has never been merely dictatorial. There is something darker as well. Something turned beneath. And it relates, in part, to my family. Magnolia did not respond. "I need the truth," Scar pushed. " Whatever you are aware of. Whatever you have been keeping secret. Magnolia looked across at the fire. "You believe explanations will calm you?