Chapter 182
Nora's POV
The chrome and glass facade of the Silverhilt Hotel rose before me. I sat in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel, watching the parade of designer gowns and tailored suits flowing through the entrance.
Just work, I told myself, reaching for my camera bag. This is just an assignment.
The lobby smelled of expensive perfume and fresh lilies. I showed my credentials and invitation at the registration desk, then made my way toward the third-floor ballroom.
I was reviewing my shot list on my phone when a familiar voice hit me. My head snapped up.
Kyle stood twenty feet away, conversing with three men in expensive suits.
Then his gaze found mine.
The conversation around him continued, but his body went still.
I turned and walked in the opposite direction.
I pushed through the alternate entrance to the ballroom. The cavernous space was already half-filled with round tables. A stage dominated the far end, flanked by massive screens displaying the Vaughn Mining Group logo.
I focused on my camera, adjusting settings, framing test shots of the venue. Professional. Detached.
The industry development symposium started at six sharp. I claimed a seat in the media section, notebook open, recorder ready. Thomas Vaughn took the stage first—silver-haired, commanding, every word measured for maximum impact. He spoke of legacy, of thirty years building an empire from nothing, of expansion plans that would "revolutionize mineral extraction in three states."
Kyle followed, talking numbers—profit margins, acquisition targets, market dominance.
I typed rapidly, capturing quotes, noting the rehearsed applause points. Around me, other journalists scribbled notes or held up phones to record. None of them knew that months ago, I'd sat in the Vaughn family mansion and been told I'd never be good enough for their world.
The symposium ended with a promotional video—sweeping aerial shots of mining operations, interviews with workers praising the company, glossy statistics about community investment.
I looked around, hoping to spot Julian. He'd been delayed by business and would arrive later. But I still couldn't see him anywhere.
I headed for the exit, leaving the ballroom, ready to check the entrance. I pressed the elevator button.
"Nora."
My name on his lips still had the power to make my stomach clench. I turned slowly.
He stood ten feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on my face. For a moment, neither of us moved.
He said quietly, "I thought... can we talk?"
Every instinct screamed at me to step into that elevator and let the doors close between us. Instead, I found myself straightening my shoulders, camera bag clutched against my side like armor.
"There's nothing to talk about, Mr. Vaughn." I kept my voice level, professional. "I have other things to do."
Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or frustration. "You're still angry. I get that. But Nora, seeing you here, I—" He took a step closer. "I miss you."
"That's not my problem anymore. What we had is over, Kyle. When you made your choice."
"It was a mistake." His voice dropped, urgent and pleading. "A huge mistake. I've ended things with her. The engagement is off."
I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "You think that magically erases what you did? That I'm supposed to be grateful you finally grew a spine?"
"Nora—"
"No." The elevator chimed again and I cut him off. "You had your chance. Multiple chances. And every single time, you chose your family over me. Your inheritance over me. Your comfort over me."
The doors opened, but before I could move, another set of elevator doors across the hall slid apart.
I recognized them immediately. Victoria emerged first, resplendent in wine-red silk. Behind her, Kyle's fiancée, Amelia, glided out in sapphire blue, the kind of dress that required a team to get into.
Victoria's eyes found me instantly. Her expression went from cordial to glacial in the space of a heartbeat.
"What," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass, "are you doing here?"
I reached into my bag with deliberate calm and withdrew the gold-embossed invitation, holding it up like a shield. "I'm a journalist, Mrs. Vaughn. I was invited to cover your company's anniversary symposium." I kept my tone perfectly professional. "This is my press credential."
Victoria's nostrils flared. She didn't even glance at the invitation. "How dare you show your face at a Vaughn family event."
"It's not a family event." I stood my ground. "It's a corporate publicity function. Open to media. Which I am."
The woman had moved to Kyle's side, her hand sliding through his arm with practiced ease. I noticed the way he stiffened, the micro-movement as he tried to pull away. She tightened her grip, smile never wavering.
"Kyle," she said sweetly, "weren't you just telling me how excited you are about the merger announcement tonight?"
He didn't answer. His eyes were still on me, and in them I saw something that looked almost like desperation.
Victoria stepped forward, her hand shooting out to grab my wrist. I jerked back, and her fingers caught empty air.
"You manipulative little—" Her voice dropped to a hiss, pitched just low enough that the security cameras wouldn't pick it up clearly. "You think you can worm your way back into my son's life through some press credential? Is that your game now?"
"My game," I said, my own voice going cold and hard, "is doing my job. Which doesn't involve you, your son, or this conversation." I moved to step around her.
She blocked my path, slamming her hand against the open elevator door, and suddenly we were standing too close, the air between us crackling with the kind of tension that precedes violence. I could see the first telltale signs.
"Go ahead," I said softly. "Put a hand on me. There are cameras everywhere. Security. Other guests. I'm sure the press would love that story—prominent businesswoman assaults journalist at charity gala."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You think you're so clever."
"I think I'm tired of being your son's dirty secret and your personal punching bag." The words flowed out of me, each one sharp and clean. "So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to get in that elevator. You're going to remove your hand from the door. And we're all going to pretend this conversation never happened."
"Nora, please." Kyle's voice, rough with emotion. "Don't go like this. Let me explain—"
"There's nothing to explain." I didn't look at him. Couldn't. "You made your choice. Multiple times. I hope you're happy with it."
Victoria's hand was still on the door.
Just then, the chime of an arriving elevator.
The doors slid open slowly, and several men in dark suits emerged, led by Julian.
He wore a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit, his silver-gray eyes sharp and penetrating under the lights. His assistant Ethan and two other federal agents followed behind him.
Julian's gaze swept over the people in the hallway—Victoria, Kyle, Amelia—before finally landing on my face.
The moment I saw him, my taut nerves suddenly relaxed.
Julian strode quickly to my side, positioning himself between Victoria and me, his voice low but filled with protectiveness: "Told you to come with me, but you wouldn't listen."
Though his words sounded like a reprimand, his tone was full of indulgence and concern.