Undressed By His Arrogance

Sylvia sighed, shoulders slumping. "Oh, Winn. I don’t like this."

"Me neither," he admitted, and that honesty made her heart ache even more. "But what choice do I have, Syl? If I let House of Kane fall, Dad will rejoice that he was right all along. I am a failure."

"Gosh, I need a drink," Sylvia said suddenly.

"Don’t even play about that," Winn warned. He was exhausted, emotionally shredded, yet still trying to keep up the brotherly façade.

"I’m kidding," Sylvia said quickly, throwing up her hands in surrender. "But seriously! This kind of conversation demands some strong brandy."

"Syl!!!" Winn thundered.

"Fine, fine, I get it," she muttered.

"Speaking of," Winn began, shifting gears. "Reese will be reassigned to you starting tomorrow. Wherever you go, he goes."

"Wait, what? You’re giving me Reese?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips. "You truly do love me."

Winn scoffed, running a hand through his messy hair. "I just don’t know what’s going on between you and Dad, but he seems... mad at you. And so are you, apparently. I know he doesn’t hit you—he wouldn’t dare—but I’d still rest easier if Reese was there. Just in case. If you need me, he’ll make sure I know right away."

"I don’t deserve you," she said softly, her eyes glimmering. "You... you may be the best brother in the world."

"I am the best brother in the world," Winn corrected, his lips curling into a faint grin. He tilted his head arrogantly, pretending to preen as if she had just complimented his reflection.

"I said may," Sylvia shot back, rolling her eyes, her laughter light and melodic. It was the first real laugh they’d shared in weeks, and it felt good—normal.

"Tomato, tomatoe," Winn muttered dismissively, waving a hand. "I’m going to bed."

"Love you," Sylvia said playfully as he headed inside.

As soon as he was gone, Sylvia exhaled slowly. She pulled out her phone. Her fingers moved quickly, typing out a message.

’Stay the fuck away from my brother. Or I am telling him everything.’

She hesitated only a second before hitting send. The message flew off into the void, to Sharona.

*****

"You need to put a leash on Sylvia," Sharona said. Tom sat sprawled on the sofa.

"What’s going on?" he asked.

"Winn asked me to marry him this weekend," she said, pacing. "And then I got a message from Sylvia. She’s threatening to tell Winn everything."

Tom finally looked up, one brow arching with slow amusement. "Let’s concentrate on the good news. If Winn has asked you to marry him, then our plan is back on track." He smirked.

Sharona rolled her eyes, frustration bleeding into her voice. "Not if Sylvia is threatening to spill. Winn offered me twenty percent of whatever his inheritance is." She crossed her arms, chin tilted up. Her body language screamed challenge, confidence, seduction all rolled into one. "All you’re offering me is one million. We need to renegotiate."

Tom’s eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you want?"

"Thirty percent of everything we make," Sharona said, enunciating each word.

"You drive a hard bargain, Sharona. Fine. Thirty percent."

"Now, let’s discuss your daughter."

Tom stiffened slightly. "I have to find a way to get her and Joey in the same room. That’s all. Once she remembers her feelings for him, the rest is a piece of cake."

"Well. Handle her, or like I said before—I will."

"Stop threatening my daughter," Tom snapped, the mask of charm slipping just enough for a flash of true anger to break through.

Sharona gave him a mocking smile, her eyes glittering. "I get rid of anything that stands in my way. Your daughter is no different. Don’t take it personally—it’s just business."

"You touch her, and you won’t live long enough to regret it."

"You need me, Tom. So, for both our sakes, let’s not test each other."

"Fine. But we stick to the plan. Soon after the will is read, you begin to poison him—slowly. That way, suspicion is off you. It’ll look natural."

"I know what to do," Sharona said, waving a hand dismissively. "I can handle my business. You handle yours."

*****

Irene stood beside Sam on the porch, the evening breeze lifting strands of her hair. She slipped an arm around Sam’s waist, steadying him so he could lean on her instead of the cane if he wanted.

"Irene," Sam grumbled. "You’re not going to make me go for another walk again, are you? I already had one this morning."

"But you love walking with me," she teased, giving him a playful pout. She tilted her face up toward his, eyes bright with mischief.

He huffed a short laugh. "Whatever gave you that idea? I walk with you because you’re relentless."

"Aww, you wound me." She pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. "You need to get out more."

He looked at her. "Says who?"

"Your doctor," Irene shot back.

Sam huffed, leaning heavier on his cane. "I’m old. No one wants to see my face."

"I want to see your face!" she shot back immediately.

He turned to her with a dry smirk. "You don’t count. You’re naturally weird."

Irene burst out laughing.

Sam shook his head.

"Just stay here for a bit," Irene said. "Evans has a surprise for you."

Sam raised a suspicious brow. "A surprise that cannot be brought into the house?"

Irene sighed, exasperated. "Would you just humor me, Sam? Please."

"Fine!" Sam barked. "No wonder my son complains of a headache all the time. He married a wife with twice his energy and then some."

Irene let out a sharp laugh. "What? I’m the one who complains of headaches! I raise your granddaughter, who, I might add, is just as infuriating as you are—and I baby your son, who isn’t much different!"

Sam’s lips twitched. "You can lessen the burden by bringing my granddaughter here to live with me."

"Oh, I walked straight into that one," she groaned, rubbing her forehead dramatically.