THE DISABLED HEIRESS, MY EX-HUSBAND WOULD PAY DEARLY.
Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

And definitely, to James, this wasn’t a loss—it was just one door closing and another one swinging wide open. A better door. A cleaner one. One without Cora’s nonsense and the Victors’ hypocrisy.

He was even starting to laugh at himself inwardly afraid of Cora? Really? That was impossible. She had been the one riding his coattails for years. Feeding off his shine like a moth glued to light. The same woman who used to beg him not to leave, who cried her eyes out whenever he threatened to walk away. The same woman who once told him she didn’t know who she would be without him.

So how could he, James Lewis, ever be afraid of someone like that?

Again he scoffed under his breath and turned back to stare at her, a dangerous smirk slowly painting his lips.

His eyes locked with hers from across the room those once soft brown eyes he used to admire now dark and sharp. But James wasn’t moved. He wasn’t shaken.

Instead, with a calm tone laced with venom, he spoke slowly.

"You’re lucky," James said coldly. "Something important just came up."

He stepped closer to her, but not too close just enough for his words to sting like poison. "Just thank your stars, Cora. If not... I would’ve made today the worst day of your miserable life."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "But it’s not over. No, not even close. I’m coming for you. What you did today thinking you could humiliate me publicly you must be mad."

At that moment he straightened his suit jacket, exhaled as if releasing the disgust she left in his lungs, then looked her up and down one last time.

"You need to be taught a lesson," he said. "And I’ll be the one to teach you."

Without another word, without sparing her a final glance, James turned around. His expensive shoes echoed against the floor as he walked out of the luxurious hall each step bolder than the last.

The moment the doors flung open, the city night air greeted him, and there stood his secretary—already waiting for him, standing beside the sleek black car parked in front of the building.

At that moment, James entered the car without saying much, and the doors shut behind him like a silent oath. The air inside was cool, quiet, and professional. His secretary, seated beside the driver, didn’t utter a word as they pulled away from the event center, gliding through the city like a shadow with purpose.

They drove with speed but not recklessness, making their way through the well-lit roads of the City until they approached a street lined with sleek black cars, luxury brands, and suited doormen at the entrance of a prestigious building. The golden logo above read The Crown Estate Dining Loungea known sanctuary for only the most powerful, old-money names and discreet transactions.

At that moment James adjusted his cufflinks and stepped out confidently. This wasn’t unfamiliar ground, but after what had just happened, his mind was restless. He wasn’t here to eat. He was here to secure leverage.

They were led through the grand entrance and past a glass partition to a private elevator. The soft chime of the elevator was followed by a short ride to the upper level—exclusive access. Only high-clearance business leaders knew about this wing.

When the elevator doors opened, they were greeted by a butler who bowed slightly and extended his hand to the large double doors at the far end of the corridor.

James walked in.

The room was styled in royal navy and gold, a soft chandelier humming above, casting an elegant glow. The long glass table had six chairs, and five were already occupied by sharp-looking men in tailored suits. Their expressions were firm, quiet, and knowing. These were men who had lived and breathed power for years.

At the head of the table sat the man who had called earlier. The Hawthornes weren’t a top-tier power like the Victors, but they controlled the veins that kept many giants alive. They were the kind of people who didn’t shout they whispered, and empires moved.

Bartholomew stood up with grace as James entered. "Ah, James," he said with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach his calculating eyes. "Welcome."

James smiled back and approached him with a subtle bow. "It’s an honor, sir."

Bartholomew gestured to the seat directly to his right. "Please, have a seat. I trust your journey here wasn’t too stressful?"

James nodded politely. "Not at all."

As he sat down, his eyes quickly scanned the room. From the way the men at the table offered nods and subtle greetings, James knew something at least the respect that had once surrounded him like a second suit was still there. Maybe a little thinner, maybe a little hesitant, but it was there. And that was enough for now.

He relaxed just a little. If there was an agenda here, it wasn’t hostile. That gave him room to breathe.

That was when Bartholomew cleared his throat lightly and spoke.

"Well, we heard what happened," he said, his voice smooth like well-aged whiskey. "Quite the spectacle... But that, James... that is even more the reason we wanted to speak with you."

At that moment Bartholomew leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers lightly tapping on the table as his words sank in.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

He continued speaking in that calm, deliberate tone that always carried weight no matter how softly he spoke. "The truth is, James, we can tell what’s going on. The Victors... they’re not fools. Neither are we. This whole sudden extension of the selection process? This announcement of postponement? It’s all just a tactic. A calculated move to deflect pressure."

James stayed silent, absorbing every word.

Bartholomew’s gaze sharpened. "They want the public and the investors to stop watching too closely. Because this isn’t just any deal—it’s the deal. The kind that rewrites legacy. We’re talking billions, James. Billions. A contract like this doesn’t just change a company’s outlook... it transforms it into a global titan."

A low murmur of agreement passed among the men seated.

Bartholomew folded his hands on the table and leaned forward now, his expression heavier. "So no, they’re not delaying it because of today’s drama or because of some foolish scene that happened with your ex-wife. That’s just noise. They’re delaying because they want to control the conversation. Control the temperature."

James nodded slowly, still cautious, still listening.

"They know you’re doing well," Bartholomew said with a quiet emphasis. "And that’s precisely why this move makes sense. Your company is rising. But this deal... this deal is on another level. The kind of level where one misstep, one wrong whisper, one ill-timed reaction could cost them reputation."

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