Chapter 5 - The Silver Cufflinks Conspiracy
We sat down. Julian took the seat facing the window, while Grant sat at the head of the table, and I sat opposite
him. The tension in the room was palpable, a thick, suffocating fog. Grant was desperate to impress, talking rapidly
about Mercer Dynamics’ third-quarter projections, throwing out buzzwords and corporate jargon in an attempt to
prove his worth.
Julian listened silently, occasionally nodding, but his eyes never stayed on Grant for long. They kept drifting
back to me. Every time Grant made a grand gesture with his hands, or raised his voice slightly, I noticed Julian’s
hands tightening into fists against his napkin.
I stood up to serve the soup.
“Let me help you with that, Clara,” Julian said, half-rising from his chair.
“Oh, no, Mr. Cross, please!” Grant interrupted quickly, waving his hand dismissively. “Clara handles the
serving. She’s used to it. Sit back, relax.”
I walked to the kitchen, my hands shaking as I ladled the hot, heavily salted chicken soup into the porcelain
bowls. I carried them out on a silver tray, placing one in front of Julian, and then one in front of Grant.
“Smells wonderful,” Julian said, looking up at me with a soft, reassuring smile.
“Enjoy,” I whispered, taking my seat.
Grant picked up his spoon, eager to show off. He dipped it into the soup, took a large mouthful, and swallowed.
I watched his face closely. For a brief second, his eyes widened, and a subtle grimace crossed his features as the
intense, eye-watering saltiness hit his tongue. But he was too desperate to maintain his perfect image in front of his
CEO. He forced a smile, swallowing hard, and cleared his throat, his forehead glistening with a sudden sheen of
sweat.
“Delicious, sweetheart,” Grant lied through his teeth, glaring at me with a look that promised absolute violence
the moment Julian left. “Absolutely perfect.”
I smiled back, cold and empty. “I’m so glad you like it, Grant. I made sure to season it exactly the way you
deserve.”
Julian dipped his spoon, but didn't swallow, merely swirling the broth. He leaned back, his eyes catching the
light reflecting off Grant's silver cufflinks.
“Those are exquisite cufflinks, Mercer,” Julian noted, his tone deceptively conversational. “An antique silver
finish, quite unique. In fact, I recognize the crest. It’s a custom piece commissioned by my family years ago. I
gifted a matching set to my little sister when she turned eighteen.”
Grant froze, his spoon hovering in mid-air. He blinked, looking down at his cuffs, then back up at Julian. His
throat went dry. “I... thank you, Mr. Cross. My wife bought them for me. I had no idea they were associated with
your family.”
May you like
“Yes, well,” Julian murmured, his voice dipping into an icy, dangerous register. “I’m very particular about who
wears my family’s crest. And I’m very particular about who spends my sister's inheritance.”
