Chapter 20
Meanwhile, at Windsor Estate.
Charles was feeling a bit anxious because he hadn't been able to meet Elizabeth during the day and thus hadn't obtained the shares from her, when Will respectfully delivered an exquisitely crafted invitation. "Mr. Brown, this just arrived for you. Personal dinner invitation from Pacquiao."
Pacquiao?!
Charles's heart damn near stopped. His pulse kicked into overdrive.
Pacquiao was the guy—core member of one of the city's oldest mob families, with roots that ran deeper than subway tunnels. His private dinners? They were the kind of events where power players rubbed elbows, where deals worth millions got made over expensive scotch. The kind of party people would kill to get into.
Charles had been scratching and clawing at the edges of that world for years, never quite making it past the velvet rope. He'd never received a formal invitation like this.
Was it because Hughes was out of the picture? Had his status finally been recognized?
His hands actually trembled as he reached for the invitation, fingers fumbling to break the wax seal. His heart hammered against his ribs.
But the second his eyes landed on the name, his euphoria shattered like cheap glass.
The invited guest read: Elizabeth Windsor.
Not Charles Brown.
Not even "The Windsor Family."
Just Elizabeth. Solo.
What the hell?! He was the head of the Windsor family, for Christ's sake!
And Elizabeth? What was she? Nobody!
Yet Pacquiao was rolling out the red carpet for her?
Just because she'd gotten cozy with Jacob Smith?!
The whiplash of emotions—from sky-high to rock-bottom—left Charles gasping. It felt like someone had backhanded him across the face in front of a crowd.
He squeezed that invitation so hard his knuckles went white, nearly tearing the damn thing in half.
That's when he heard the front door. Elizabeth, back with Jack.
Charles's head snapped up, his eyes turning mean.
He sucked in several deep breaths, forcing down the rage that threatened to explode. He slammed the invitation on his desk with a sharp crack and barked toward the entrance, "You! Get in my study. Now."
His tone was harsher than it had ever been. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow but kept her cool. She handed Jack off to Nia—one of the few staff members she actually trusted—signaling her to take the kid upstairs. Only then did she follow Charles into the study, her pace deliberately unhurried.
"Close the door." Charles had his back to her, his voice tight and controlled.
Elizabeth shut the door as instructed, her expression neutral. "What is it, Father?"
Charles whipped around and shoved the invitation across the desk toward her, his words coming out through gritted teeth. "What the hell is this? An invitation from Pacquiao—addressed to you?"
Elizabeth glanced at the invitation. Truth was, she didn't know Pacquiao personally, though she knew damn well who he was—a major player in the city's underworld.
She kept her face blank. "Maybe it's out of respect for Mr. Smith."
"Respect for Mr. Smith?" Charles's voice shot up like someone had stepped on his tail. "Then why the hell didn't he invite me? Why just you?! Elizabeth, don't forget—you're still part of the Windsor family!"
Elizabeth had zero interest in entertaining this petty argument. "If that's all you wanted, I can make this simple. You take the invitation and go. Just tell them I'm not feeling well."
Her indifference only stoked Charles's fury. If only it were that simple. But it wasn't. If he showed up in her place without permission, Pacquiao would lose his shit, and Charles would be the one paying for it.
He forced himself to calm down, walking back behind his desk and sitting down, trying to project paternal authority. "Elizabeth, I called you in here because there's something more important we need to discuss."
He paused, his gaze sharpening. "It's about those shares Hughes left you. The fifteen percent stake in Windsor Group."
Finally. Here it came.
Elizabeth smirked inwardly but kept her face neutral. "What about the shares?"
"Elizabeth, you're young. You don't understand how cutthroat business can be." Charles leaned forward, his tone taking on that fake concern he'd perfected over the years. "Those shares in your hands? They're not an asset—they're a target. You're about to marry into the Smith family, and their situation is... complicated. Holding onto those shares will make you vulnerable. It'll invite trouble—trouble that could threaten your marriage."
He watched her face carefully, then continued, "So, as your father, I've been thinking. For your own good, and for the stability of the Windsor family, it would be best if you transferred those shares to me before the wedding. I have the experience to manage them properly. Once you've established yourself in the Smith family and everything's settled, I'll return them to you. What do you say?"
He made it sound so reasonable, like he was doing her the biggest favor in the world.
But Elizabeth, staring at that hypocritical face, almost laughed out loud.
In her past life, he'd used this exact playbook—partnering with Henry to systematically strip her of every asset she'd inherited, bit by bit.
And now, this lifetime, he dared to try the same con again.
She lifted her eyes, her gaze dripping with mockery. "Father, you're overthinking this. Hughes left those shares to me, so I'll hold onto them. As for whether anyone will come after them, I'm confident Mr. Smith is more than capable of protecting me. You really don't need to trouble yourself."
Charles's face darkened instantly. "Elizabeth! How can you be so damn stubborn?! I'm trying to help you! Jacob is using you! Once he gets what he wants, you think he'll give a damn about those shares? You'll end up with nothing—no man, no money. And it'll be too late for tears!"
"Helping me?" Elizabeth let out a cold laugh. "Father, let's drop the act. What you really care about is that fifteen percent, isn't it? You're terrified that once I marry into the Smith family, you'll never get your hands on it."
"You—!" Charles shot to his feet, jabbing a finger at her, his whole body trembling with rage. "Ungrateful brat! How dare you speak to me like that!"
Elizabeth met his furious glare without flinching, her voice cutting like steel. "I'm not giving you those shares. Ever. So do yourself a favor and let it go, Father."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving him fuming behind her.
"Elizabeth! Don't you walk away from me!" Charles roared after her, but the only answer he got was the thunderous slam of the study door.
Charles collapsed back into his chair, chest heaving, his eyes filled with bitter resentment and something darker.
So the soft approach didn't work.
Fine.
Then he'd have to play hardball.
One way or another, that fifteen percent was going to be his.