Chapter 25
Grace's POV
"If you're truly a Wilson heir, why approach a small investment company like ours?" The oldest man among them sipped his champagne slowly, his eyes sweeping over me with barely concealed disdain. "Is Wilson Holdings having financial issues? Or is your family refusing to let you access family funds?"
I had anticipated this. When I walked in alone, without male executives accompanying me, their attitude shifted from cautious interest to almost undisguised contempt.
"The project itself has value," I answered calmly. "And I prefer diversified investment partnerships rather than relying entirely on family resources. This creates valuable market relationships."
The most annoying man "accidentally" moved closer, his arm attempting to slide around my shoulders. "Miss Wilson, perhaps we could discuss this more... flexibly in private."
I elegantly avoided his touch. "Gentlemen, I'm sitting here tonight out of sincere cooperation. Please don't make me regret this decision."
"Your proposal is solid, but market volatility makes us hesitate. Perhaps if we could verify your position at Wilson Holdings..."
I'd had enough. From my handbag, I withdrew a small silver-blue emblem. Under the crystal chandeliers, it cast a distinctive blue-purple reflection on the table.
"The Wilson family crest," I calmly placed it on the table. "Made with proprietary alloy that cannot be duplicated. Only Wilson family members are authorized to carry it."
The three men exchanged glances. They leaned forward, examining it closely.
"I heard Robert Wilson had an illegitimate daughter," one of them muttered, his tone suddenly respectful.
"My legitimacy is not tonight's topic," I responded coolly. "The investment opportunity is."
Still, someone remained unconvinced. "Pretty little trinket, but that hardly constitutes proof—"
I interrupted him by taking out my phone and pressing play. His own voice echoed around the room: "If she agrees to spend the weekend with me at the holiday island, I might consider investing..."
The color instantly drained from his face.
"Wilson Holdings values professionalism and integrity above all," I said, my gaze sharp as a knife. "I expect our partners to possess these qualities as well."
"You deliberately set us up!" His face darkened with anger.
I smiled. "Just necessary protective measures for business negotiations."
The contracts were already prepared. I pushed them across the table. "The terms remain unchanged. The investment amount is still the $30 million we initially discussed."
The oldest man signed first, his hand trembling slightly. The others hesitated briefly before following suit.
I gathered the contracts, stood, and smoothed my dress. "Gentlemen, remember that today I negotiated with you as Grace Wilson, not as 'a Wilson heir.' Business partnerships should be built on equality and professionalism."
As soon as I stepped into the hallway, my knees nearly gave out. Julie rushed to my side, her face concerned.
"Did everything go well?" she asked, taking the contracts from my trembling hands.
"Signed," I managed to say, leaning against the wall. "But I need to leave this place immediately."
"You don't look well," Julie frowned. "How much did they make you drink?"
"Enough to see three of you right now," I tried to force a weak smile, "but not enough to compromise during negotiations."
When I reached the lobby, a wave of dizziness hit me. My legs lost support, and I braced for a fall—but it never came. A strong arm wrapped around my waist.
"Grace." A deep voice spoke near my ear.
I looked up, making out Alex Morgan's features through my blurred vision.
---
Alex's POV
I arrived at Grace's location, watching her sway dangerously across the lobby before stepping forward to catch her as she fell. She felt lighter than expected in my arms, but her eyes were unfocused—clearly intoxicated.
"What happened?" I directed my question at the worried woman hovering nearby.
"Investment invitation. They kept pushing drinks on her," the woman explained. "She closed the deal, but..."
"She's drunk," I stated flatly.
"I am not drunk," Grace protested, attempting to stand independently. "I'm just... processing multiple whiskeys simultaneously."
I suppressed a smile. Even intoxicated, she maintained her dignity.
"I'll take her home," I decided. The situation wasn't ideal, but seeing her vulnerable stirred something protective in me.
The assistant looked uncertain. "I don't think—"
"Morgan," Lucas stepped forward, addressing her. "Mr. Morgan is Ms. Wilson's fiancé. She's in safe hands."
Her eyes widened. "Oh! I didn't realize..."
I nodded to Lucas. "Find out what happened in that VIP room. I want details."
"Of course," Lucas replied quietly. "Should we handle those investors?"
"Investigate first," I guided Grace toward the exit. "Then we'll decide."
Grace leaned heavily against me as we walked. Her perfume—something sophisticated with notes of jasmine and amber—mingled with the scent of whiskey.
"I can walk," she insisted unconvincingly.
"Clearly," I remarked dryly, tightening my grip as she stumbled again.
Once inside the car, Grace sank into the leather seat, her eyes half-closed. I handed her a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.
"Drink this."
She took a small sip. "Mr. Morgan... what a coincidence."
"How much did you drink? Weren't you worried about putting yourself in danger?"
Grace took another sip, studying me through mascara-smudged eyes. "With Mr. Morgan around... there's no danger."
Her honesty surprised me.
"I should have arrived earlier," I admitted, feeling an unexpected surge of regret.
She shook her head slightly. "Not too late... perfect timing. I already got the investment. Just need to rest a bit."
My phone buzzed—Lucas sending hotel security footage. The video showed the investors plying Grace with drinks, making inappropriate comments, attempting unwanted physical contact. My jaw tightened.
"Handle it cleanly," I instructed Lucas via text. "Make sure they understand the consequences of their wrongdoing."
I looked at Grace, who was now leaning against the window, eyes closing. "The Wilson family members give you trouble. Why didn't you tell me?"
She didn't answer, having drifted into semi-consciousness. Instead, she shifted, leaning against my shoulder, her breathing evening out.
Remembering her stubborn demeanor, something protective and possessive stirred within me.
I directed the driver to my estate.
When we arrived, I carried her inside. She stirred slightly but didn't protest.
I addressed my housekeeper who appeared immediately, "Please help her wash up and change. Use the guest room on the second floor, east wing."
The older woman nodded, taking over with efficient care.
Seeing her in my home felt unexpectedly right—this realization went beyond what I was willing to admit.
Lucas arrived twenty minutes later.
"The situation has been handled cleanly," he reported.
I nodded. "How much funding does she need?"
"About thirty million dollars."
"Have the company's subsidiaries participate in this project as well," I said, deliberately keeping my tone neutral.
Lucas nodded, his expression professional and calm. "We've already approved twenty million, sir."
"Increase it to sixty million," I said without looking up.
Lucas's professional mask slipped slightly.
I paused for a moment, then added something I knew would shock him even more: "Also, I want a detailed report on her personal background. Particularly her previous relationships."
Lucas stared at me, his pen hovering over his notepad. In fifteen years working for me, I had never valued anyone outside my family. Data, profits, market share—yes. Personal lives—never.