Chapter 40
Nora's POV
I'd only seen him once before—a month ago, outside a restaurant when Kyle had taken me to meet "a family elder." We'd run into Thomas by accident in the parking lot. The moment he'd laid eyes on me, his expression had turned glacial:
"What kind of trash are you dragging around now?"
Kyle had stammered some excuse, and Thomas had stalked off without another word—leaving me standing there with my face burning.
Later that night, Kyle had apologized profusely—said his father hadn't known about me, that he'd been caught off guard and overreacted.
Overreacted.
As if calling someone "trash" to their face was just a minor misstep.
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"Thomas Vaughn," he introduced himself smoothly as Julian shook his hand briefly before pulling away immediately. "I'm the chairman of Vaughn Group. I apologize for missing your inspection visit last month—I was out of town on business—but I flew back specifically for tonight because I wanted a chance to speak with you personally."
Julian's response was clipped: "Mr. Vaughn."
Nothing more.
But Thomas didn't seem deterred by the coldness in Julian's tone. He continued rambling about corporate responsibility and environmental initiatives while Julian nodded once but said nothing else—his silence clearly meant as dismissal.
Then Thomas's gaze shifted—landing squarely on me standing beside Julian.
A flicker of confusion crossed his face before clarity dawned, then something darker settled over his features.
He turned his attention toward me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You look familiar. Have we met before?"
My stomach twisted sharply.
For a split second, I considered lying—pretending we'd never crossed paths—but his past humiliation pushed my desire to fight back to its peak.
Fuck that.
I met his gaze head-on and let a cold smile curve my lips: "We have. I'm your son's ex-girlfriend. But I've already dumped him."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Thomas's face cycled through a fascinating range of expressions—confusion, recognition, then something darker that settled into his features like oil spreading across water.
His jaw tightened. The hand holding his champagne flute went rigid at his side, knuckles whitening around the stem.
I watched him with clinical detachment, looking for the tells. The micro-expressions that signaled things were about to go sideways.
Thomas controlled himself better than I expected. His mouth curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Young people and their romantic dramas," he said, drawing out each word. "Break up, make up, it's all very… dramatic at your age." He waved one hand dismissively. "Ms. Grey, you're young and pretty. I'm sure you have plenty of options. Dating around is natural."
Every syllable dripped with condescension.
"Kyle's problem is that he's too soft-hearted," Thomas continued, his tone shifting to something sharper. "Too easily influenced by outside forces. You DSW caseworkers—I respect the work you do, really—but let's be honest." He paused, letting his gaze sweep over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "People from our world and people from yours just don't mix well. The breakup was probably for the best. Saved everyone a lot of trouble down the road."
Around us, the ambient noise of the ballroom seemed to dim. I could feel guests turning their attention toward our little tableau, curiosity sharpening into something more predatory.
The familiar anger rose in my chest—hot and acidic. This was Kyle's mother all over again. The same arrogant dismissal wrapped in faux concern. The same underlying message: You're not good enough. You never were.
But I'd learned something since that night.
I didn't need to explode. Didn't need to let him see how much it hurt.
Instead, I waited. Let him finish his little performance.
"You're absolutely right, Mr. Vaughn," I said. "Kyle is soft-hearted. Soft-headed too, if we're being honest. Everyone says he's the 'dumb money' type—born on third base and thinks he hit a triple. All family resources, no actual spine of his own."
Thomas's smile froze.
"I thought dating him might help him grow up," I continued, keeping my tone conversational. Almost pleasant. "But instead he just absorbed all the worst parts of being a businessman. Saying one thing in public, doing another in private. Playing both sides. Lying by omission." I tilted my head slightly. "That kind of man isn't good for anyone, Mr. Vaughn. Your son and I would never have worked out."
The color drained from Thomas's face, then rushed back in an angry flush. His eyes narrowed to slits. Around us, the whispers started.
Before Thomas could formulate a response, Julian's voice cut through the tension like a knife.
"Mr. Vaughn, please mind your words and conduct."
Thomas turned to Julian, and I saw genuine fear flicker across his face—the primal recognition of a predator far more dangerous than himself.
"As for your son—" Julian paused, and I swore I saw the ghost of a smile touch his lips. "I've had the pleasure of witnessing his 'passionate persistence' firsthand. Saw him drop to his knees begging Ms. Grey outside our office building." The pause stretched. "It was… memorable."
The blood drained from Thomas's face completely this time.
Someone nearby choked on their champagne.
Thomas's hands clenched into fists at his sides, the veins in his temples visibly throbbing. His whole body had gone rigid with barely contained fury.
"Mr. Sterling," he forced out through clenched teeth. "You're right. I apologize. Young people's business isn't my concern." The words sounded like they were being dragged out of him with pliers. "I overstepped."
But his eyes—when they flicked back to me for just a second—burned with rage.
Julian accepted the apology with a slight nod, already dismissing Thomas from his attention. The older man stood there for another awkward beat before turning and disappearing into the crowd, his posture screaming humiliation and fury.
The moment he was gone, Julian turned to me. His expression had softened back into something gentle.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me for stating facts." His gaze held mine for a long moment, searching for something I couldn't name. "Men like Thomas Vaughn rely on people being too intimidated to push back. You did that yourself before I said a word."
The air between us felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
Then a cluster of local officials and businessmen descended on Julian like sharks scenting blood in the water. All of them desperate to monopolize his attention.
Julian's entire demeanor shifted back into professional mode—polite, controlled, utterly unreadable.
I stepped back, giving him space to handle the political maneuvering, and found myself drifting toward the edge of the ballroom where the crowd was thinner.
My hands were shaking. Just slightly, but enough that I had to clasp them together. The adrenaline from the confrontation was wearing off, leaving behind a hollow, jittery feeling in my chest.