Chapter 22
Elizabeth glanced up to see a girl striding in, decked out in the latest haute couture.
Drop-dead gorgeous with makeup applied to perfection—early twenties, if she had to guess.
Right now, the girl was giving Elizabeth a blatant once-over, her lips curled in unconcealed contempt.
This must be Samantha Smith, the daughter supposedly doted on by the former Don.
Tina offered a slight bow. "Ms. Smith."
Samantha didn't even acknowledge her. She walked straight over and dropped into the chair across from Elizabeth, arms crossed, chin tilted up. "So you're Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth's expression remained calm. She reached for her water glass, took a leisurely sip, and didn't even glance up—completely ignoring the question.
The blatant dismissal lit Samantha's fuse. Her voice shot up an octave. "I'm talking to you! Zero manners. Honestly, I have no idea what Jacob sees in you. A used-up whore who got knocked up with some bastard—you think you're good enough for the Smith Family?"
The words dripped venom, cruel and cutting, with zero awareness of the dignity she was trampling.
Elizabeth set down her glass. Finally, she lifted her gaze—ice-cold, utterly unbothered, like she was watching a circus act. "Ms. Smith, is this your idea of good breeding? Trash-talking Jacob behind his back and hurling insults at the fiancée he personally chose?"
Samantha choked on her own words, then flushed with rage. "Fiancée? Dream on! You're just a convenient shield Jacob's using to get the family off his back about marriage. Wake up. Who the hell do you think you are? I'm warning you—stay away from him. The Smith family needs a socialite with a pedigree, not some nobody like you."
Elizabeth's lips curved into a faint smile, her tone almost pitying. "Whether I become the lady of the Smith household is Jacob's call. As for you..."
Her gaze swept over Samantha's face, now twisted with fury. "A spoiled princess who's built her entire identity on Jacob's power and money, whose only skill is maxing out the family credit card—what gives you the right to lecture me?"
"You—!" Samantha shot to her feet, face burning red, finger jabbing toward Elizabeth. "How dare you!"
"Am I wrong?" Elizabeth's tone stayed even, every word a blade. "Besides riding Jacob's coattails and running your mouth, what have you ever done for the Smith Family? What value have you created? Without Jacob, Samantha, what the hell are you?"
"I'll rip that mouth off your face!"
Samantha had never been spoken to like this in her life. She completely lost it, lunging forward like she'd forgotten how to think.
Then a cold, gravelly voice cut through the room from the doorway. "Samantha. What the hell are you doing?"
Samantha froze mid-step. She whipped around to see Jacob standing in the entrance—towering, radiating quiet menace, his expression glacial.
Elizabeth's gaze shifted to him as well. This time, he wasn't obscured like in their first meeting. He stood there fully exposed, no mask to hide behind.
For a split second, Elizabeth was stunned by what she saw. Last time had been a fleeting glimpse—her only impression had been his sheer size. She'd pictured him with rough, brutish features.
But the man before her had a face carved from stone—sharp, chiseled angles, eyes like frozen depths. Beauty and danger fused into something lethal, radiating raw masculine power.
Unbidden, her mind flashed to the memory of his massive cock, and that room drenched in raw sexual energy.
"Jacob! She insulted me!" Samantha immediately switched to a wounded expression, pointing at Elizabeth. "She actually insulted me! Said I'm nothing! You have to put her in her place!"
Jacob's gaze drifted lazily toward Elizabeth. She remained seated, composed as ever, like the confrontation had nothing to do with her.
His attention finally landed on Samantha, brow furrowing, displeasure sharpening his tone. "I didn't invite you to lunch. Who told you to come here?"
The words hit Samantha like a slap. Her face cycled through shades of red and white. "Jacob! I'm your sister! Do I need an invitation to have lunch with you? And she started—"
"Get out." He cut her off, voice low but absolute. "Don't make me say it twice."
Samantha stared into his icy eyes and knew he meant it. All her hurt and rage had nowhere to go. She stomped her foot, shot Elizabeth one last venomous glare, then fled the room in tears.
Silence settled over the dining room. Just Jacob and Elizabeth now.
Jacob moved to the head of the table and sat. Tina immediately signaled the staff to begin serving.
Throughout the entire process, neither spoke. Only the soft clink of silverware filled the space.
Elizabeth ate sparingly, movements elegant, but her mind raced.
Jacob hadn't summoned her here just for a meal.
Sure enough, as the meal wound down, Jacob set down his knife and fork, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and fixed his gaze on her like a spotlight.
"Ms. Windsor," he began, his voice crisp in the cavernous room, "there's something I've been curious about."
Elizabeth lowered her spoon and met his eyes, signaling she was listening.
"That night," Jacob leaned forward slightly, "why were you at that abandoned warehouse? From what I know, it's not exactly a hot spot. And definitely not somewhere you'd normally be."
Elizabeth's pulse kicked up. This was the real reason for today's lunch.
He was questioning her motives for being at the warehouse.
She kept her face neutral, letting a flicker of sadness cross her features. "Does Mr. Smith think I wanted to be in a place like that?"
She stirred her coffee absently, her tone self-deprecating. "My father's been circling my shares like a vulture. I was worried he'd make moves on my assets behind my back. I don't have anyone I can trust, so I had to check on my properties myself—see if anything was off."
She lifted her eyes to Jacob's, expression open with a hint of relief. "Looking back, maybe it was fate. I happened to save Jack."
It all sounded plausible. Her emotions were calibrated just right.
Jacob studied her in silence, those unfathomable eyes seeming to strip away every pretense.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, his fingers began a slow, deliberate tap against the table—dull thuds that amplified in the quiet, building invisible pressure.
Elizabeth held her expression steady, but her heartbeat betrayed her, hammering faster.
She knew Jacob wasn't easy to fool. Her story might not be enough to fully convince him.
After a long pause, Jacob finally spoke, his tone unreadable. "Is that so? Then I suppose I should be grateful for Ms. Windsor's unfortunate circumstances."