Chapter 115: The Vintage Threat

Leitana descended the stairs on silent bare feet, the cold tiles sending a faint shiver up her legs. Halfway down, she froze. Low, hissed voices drifted from the living room.

“You’re hurting me, Jim. Stop.”

Willow’s voice, quiet, strained, almost pleading.

Jim’s reply came low and venomous. “Shut up. I don’t know what that little cunt’s game is, or what yours is in all this, but I know you’re not here just because you want to taste what’s between her legs. I don’t care what you want to do but you’d better keep your mouth shut if she asks you anything about me, the sponsors, or any of it. Do you understand?”

Willow’s breath hitched.

“She’s not a cunt,” she whispered, voice trembling yet firm. “And I’m not going to say anything.”

Jim’s laugh was soft. Cruel. “You’d better not. Or you’ll end up back on the street selling your ass for pennies again. You think you’re hot shit now because you’ve landed a few covers? You’re nothing without me. Remember that.”

A sharp intake of breath.

Then the sound of Willow’s wrist being released.

Leitana stood motionless on the stairs, heart hammering against her ribs.

She took one more step, smoothed her expression into perfect calm, and walked into the living room.

They both turned.

Willow’s face snapped into a smile that never reached her eyes. Jim’s arrived slower—sharper, more predatory.

“Leitana,” Willow said quickly, voice artificially bright. “Wow… I love the sundress.”

Jim leaned back on the sofa, legs spread wide in ownership of the space. “Mrs. Ashbourne,” he drawled. “Nice of you to join us again.”

Leitana offered a gentle smile.

Before she could reply, Maya appeared with a tray: crystal wine glasses, a bottle of red, and a small plate of chilled grapes glistening like dark jewels.

Maya set it down in front of Jim.

He leaned forward, lifting the bottle by the neck, eyes glinting as he studied the label.

“Wow,” he said, voice thick with mock awe. “Château Lafite Rothschild. 1982. That’s… what? Thirty-five, forty thousand a bottle?”

He looked up at Leitana, smile turning razor-sharp. “The privilege of being rich, I suppose.”

Leitana’s smile never wavered. “Anything for our guest,” she said sweetly, the words soft as silk.

She flicked a glance toward the front door.

Lafu had texted earlier, right after she finished dressing: “On our way. 8 mins out.” They’d originally left New York hours ago to visit her in Connecticut and help sway Willow—but they’d made a quick detour to see Stacy’s grandma, who also lived nearby. The moment Leitana called, Lafu had packed up immediately.

Leitana sank gracefully into the seat across from Willow, every movement composed.

Jim poured himself a generous glass, swirling the deep red liquid slowly.

“So,” he said, leaning back again. “What’s the occasion? You invite my top girl over for lunch… alone… and suddenly I’m crashing the party. Should I be flattered?”

Willow shifted, uncomfortable.

Leitana tilted her head, smile gentle. “Mi jus’ wan’ talk to Willow. About work. About life. Mi new to all dis. Mi t’ought… maybe she can tell mi more about dis industry.”

Jim’s laugh rang false, theatrical. “Tell you about the industry? Sweetheart, Willow’s still learning herself. But she’s quick. Very quick. Especially when the right… incentives are offered.”

Willow’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Leitana turned to her, voice softening. “Yu okay, Willow?”

Willow forced another smile. “I’m fine. Just… surprised Jim came.” The words carried a quiet edge of defiance since he’d claimed earlier that she had invited him.

Jim took a long, deliberate sip, eyes never leaving Leitana. “She needed supervision,” he said smoothly. “Can’t have my best girl wandering off without me knowing where she’s going… or who she’s talking to.”

Leitana nodded slowly, innocently. “Dat make sense. Manager mus’ protect talent.”

Jim’s smile widened, pleased and arrogant. “Exactly.”

Then he leaned forward, elbows on knees, glass dangling loosely between his fingers.

“You know, Mrs. Ashbourne… people talk. They say Ravial’s been distracted lately. Less time at the office. Less time in meetings. Less time being the ruthless CEO we all know and fear. They say he’s… soft now. Because of you.”

Leitana blinked once, genuinely surprised for a heartbeat.

Then she recovered, smile sweet and utterly serene. “Mi no t’ink Ravial soft,” she said quietly. “Mi t’ink him… focused. On what matter most.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

Willow shifted again.

Leitana held his gaze. “Yu t’ink him distracted?” she asked, voice gentle, almost curious. “Or yu t’ink him… dangerous in a different way now?”

Jim’s smile froze.

Leitana tilted her head slightly. “Mi husband… him love very deep. When him love, him protect. Him no play. Him no pretend. Him act. And when him act… tings finish quick.”

The room went still.

Jim’s knuckles whitened around the stem of the glass.

Willow stared at Leitana, wide-eyed, something like awe flickering behind the fear.

It sounded like a wife defending her husband. But if you listened closely, it carried the weight of a veiled promise, one Jim heard crystal clear.

Leitana simply kept smiling.

“So mi hope yu enjoy de wine,” she said brightly, switching back to lightness. “It old. Strong. Like some people… it look nice from outside. But inside? It bitter if yu no careful.”

Jim stared at her.

For the first time, the arrogance in his smile cracked.

Leitana glanced toward the door again.

Headlights swept across the windows, a car pulling smoothly up the drive.

Lafu and the others.

She rose as gracefully as a swan taking flight. “Mi t’ink mi other guests arrive,” she said softly.

She looked back at Jim. “More people to talk to.”

Jim’s jaw clenched.

Willow’s eyes darted between them, nervous but hopeful, maybe now she could finally slip out from under his gaze.

Leitana gave her a small, reassuring smile.

Then she walked toward the door.

Behind her, Jim slammed his glass down so hard wine sloshed over the rim. “I hate that bitch,” he muttered, “just like her asshole of a husband.”

Willow stared after Leitana, a soft, genuine smile curving her lips. “She’s wonderful.”

He scoffed. “It’s your attraction to the illiterate that’s speaking.”

She ignored him.

As Jim looked back down at the spilled wine, a dark, calculating plan began to take shape behind his eyes. Slowly, he smiled. He lifted the glass and downed what remained in one long swallow.

“Damn good,” he murmured, smirking into the empty crystal.