Chapter 8 Chapter 8
His phone chimed with a text from his mother: "Dinner with the Prestons tonight. 7 pm. Wear the blue suit. Eleanor will be there."
Tony grimaced. Eleanor Preston was the daughter of his father's banking partner, poised, educated at all the right schools, and utterly boring. His mother had been pushing them together since they were teenagers, convinced they would make a perfect match. On paper, they probably did, which was precisely the problem.
He texted back a noncommittal response and closed his eyes, thinking of Iris instead. She was nothing like the women his mother approved of, no pedigree, no connections, just raw talent and determination. The exact qualities that drew him to her would make her unacceptable to Helga Kennedy.
As Iris hurried across campus to her first class, the winter wind bit at her cheeks and nose. She'd overslept after her late night working on designs and barely had time to grab coffee before her colour theory lecture. She slipped into the back row just as Professor Whitman began speaking, pulling out her notebook with a quiet sigh of relief.
"Today we'll be discussing the psychological impact of colour choices in branding," Professor Whitman announced, her voice carrying effortlessly across the lecture hall. "Your midterm project will require you to create a brand identity for a fictional company, with particular attention to your colour palette justification."
Iris jotted down notes automatically, her mind already racing with ideas. This was exactly the kind of project that could help her refine her business branding. She'd been torn between several colour schemes for her future design house, unsure which would best represent her aesthetic while appealing to her target market.
Three rows ahead, Christy Miller was whispering to her friend, occasionally glancing back at Iris with a smirk. Since the competition results had been announced, Christy had been unusually attentive to Iris's movements, as though waiting for an opportunity. Iris ignored her, focusing instead on Professor Whitman's explanation of colour psychology.
After class, Christy intercepted Iris as she gathered her materials. "So, Metropolitan Design winner, huh? Pretty impressive for someone with no connections."
Iris looked up, her face carefully neutral. "Thanks."
"Some of us were wondering," Christy continued, leaning in with faux confidentiality, "if you're entering the Lawson competition too. It seems like everyone who's anyone is submitting designs."
Iris shouldered her bag, recognising the trap. If she admitted her entry, Christy would find a way to undermine her confidence or steal her ideas. If she denied it, she'd appear intimidated.
"I'm considering several opportunities," she replied evenly. "What about you, Christy? Still relying on your father's connections to get noticed?"
A flash of genuine anger crossed Christy's carefully made-up face before her practised smile returned. "At least I have connections to rely on. Must be hard, having no idea where you came from."
The barb struck deeper than Iris would ever admit. She tightened her grip on her portfolio. "I know exactly where I'm going, and that matters more."
She walked away, spine straight, feeling Christy's glare burning into her back. The encounter left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she refused to let it distract her. Christy Miller was exactly the kind of designer who coasted on family name rather than talent, everything Iris despised about the industry.
Across campus, Tony sat through his corporate finance lecture, unable to focus on the professor's monotonous delivery. His thoughts kept drifting to the Lawson case and to Iris. The dinner with the Prestons loomed ahead of him, another reminder of the life his parents had planned for him, a life that felt increasingly suffocating.
As the lecture ended, his phone buzzed with a text from his father: "Call me immediately."
Tony's stomach tightened. Julius Kennedy rarely contacted him directly, preferring to relay messages through his mother or assistants. Direct communication usually meant trouble.
He stepped outside the business building and dialled his father's number, bracing himself.
"Antony." His father's clipped voice answered on the first ring. "Explain to me why you've been accessing the company's background check system."
Tony froze, his mind racing. He hadn't considered that his late-night searches might trigger an alert. "I was researching for my business ethics paper. The case study involves corporate responsibility in hiring practices."
The lie came smoothly, but the silence on the other end suggested his father wasn't convinced.
"The system logged searches for a student named Iris Maxwell," Julius said finally. "Is she relevant to your paper?"
Tony's pulse quickened. "She's a classmate who agreed to be interviewed for the project. I was doing preliminary research."
"Interesting," his father replied, his tone suggesting it was anything but. "Because our security team flagged unusual search patterns. Multiple searches on the same individual, focusing on birth records and adoption documentation."
Tony remained silent, knowing any explanation would only dig him deeper.
"Whatever you're doing, stop it," Julius continued. "The Preston dinner tonight is important. Eleanor's father is considering a significant investment in Kennedy Holdings, and your mother tells me you've been distracted lately." Julius's voice hardened. "Focus, Antony. The family legacy depends on it."
"Yes, sir," Tony replied automatically, the familiar weight of expectation settling over him.
After ending the call, Tony leaned against the building's brick wall, cursing himself for being so careless. His father's security team would now be monitoring his searches, making any further investigation impossible. More importantly, he'd drawn unwanted attention to Iris.
The thought of his parents looking into her background made his stomach turn. They had resources and connections that could uncover things even Iris herself might not know about her past. If there were any connection to the Lawsons, his parents would find it and use it to serve their interests.
That evening, Tony sat stiffly at an elegant restaurant table, nodding politely as Mr Preston discussed market fluctuations and Eleanor detailed her recent charity gala. His blue suit felt too tight around the collar, his smile too practised. His mother watched him with hawkish attention, subtly nudging him whenever his focus drifted.
"Tony was just telling me about his business ethics project," his mother said smoothly during a lull in conversation. "He's taking his studies very seriously this semester."
"Excellent," Mr Preston nodded approvingly. "Ethics are the foundation of good business. Though sometimes, practical considerations must take precedence."
Tony's father chuckled. "James always was the pragmatist. It's served him well."