CHAPTER 92: THE PROPOSAL (1)

Katie and her nanny, Wendy, remained behind in the hotel, while the rest headed to the police station—there to file the formal case against Nancy and negotiate with Raymond and his lawyer.

The moment Georgia and Ella finished giving their statements, the air seemed to thicken. A police officer gestured for Georgia, Nick, and Oliver to follow him down a narrow hallway. At the end, a heavy door creaked open, revealing Raymond, his lawyer, and a stern-faced older man already waiting.

Raymond’s head snapped up the second they entered. He pushed back his chair so fast it scraped the floor. "Love, please... let’s talk about this," he pleaded, desperation coating every word, his hands still on handcuffs.

His lawyer rose politely, extending a hand for quick, formal greetings. But Raymond’s father, Jefferson Davis, remained seated, arms crossed like steel bars over his chest, eyes narrowed in cold disdain. He didn’t bother to hide the slow roll of his eyes.

Georgia ignored Raymond entirely, gliding toward her seat with composed grace, though Nick could see the faint tremor in her fingers before she placed them in her lap. Raymond, undeterred, leaned forward, voice cracking with urgency.

"Love, please. I was drunk, maybe Nancy even spiked my drink. I can’t remember anything, you have to believe me. Please, let’s just—"

*SLAM!*

The sharp crack of Jefferson Davis’s palm hitting the table made the walls reverberate. Everyone jolted, even Raymond, who flinched like a boy caught in the act. The older man’s glare cut through the room, the force of it silencing his son mid-sentence.

Jefferson’s voice thundered across the room, every word wrapped with fury and hatred.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, Raymond! Stop groveling to that low-life bitch! Can’t you see she’s only using you to save her face and pride? She could’ve let go of that worthless company and spared you the humiliation, but no—she’ll keep leeching off you until she’s sucked you dry! I will not allow her to stain our family name. Now, she’s even using Nancy! She’s a disgrace!"

Georgia’s spine straightened, her chin tilting up in defiance. One brow arched like the edge of a blade, arms folding across her chest as she let the silence stretch just enough to sting.

"Excuse me?" Her voice cut through the air, calm but as cold as ice. "Who said I still want to marry your womanizing, lying, rapist son?"

The insult landed like a slap. Jefferson’s face flushed an angry red, the veins in his neck and temple bulging as he jabbed a trembling finger in her direction.

"You slut! What did you just call my son? Watch your mouth, woman, or I’ll see you rot in jail!"

A deep, rich laugh broke the tension—Nick’s. He leaned back in his chair, clapping slowly, his smirk razor-sharp.

"Jail? For what? Breaching an acquisition contract and a prenup? I could pay that in cash right now. But your precious son?" His tone dipped, each word deliberate, mocking.

"He won’t be able to buy his way out of attempted rape. Assault. A nice laundry list of charges that could put you six feet under from the heart attack you’d get reading them."

Jefferson’s fury pivoted like a gun barrel finding a new target. His finger swung toward Nick.

"You! You’re a murderer. A bastard son of a bitch! What the hell are you even doing here? Go back to your slutty mother where you belong!"

The words hit Nick like a spark to dry kindling. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. His chair scraped against the floor as he half-rose, the tension in his frame like a bowstring drawn to its limit.

Oliver and Raymond’s lawyer rushed between them, hands raised, urging restraint before the confrontation exploded.

But Georgia’s gaze lingered on Nick, her pulse ticking faster. Jefferson’s insult had hit something deep—too deep. The flash in Nick’s eyes wasn’t just anger. It was pain... old, buried, and raw.

’What the hell is going on?’ she wondered, heart thudding. ’What’s the story here?’

"Alright," Raymond’s lawyer, Attorney Warren’s voice cut through the tension like a measured blade. "Let’s all take a seat. We’re not here to stab each other with words, we’re here to talk, and to figure out the best course of action for everyone involved."

The statement hung heavy in the air. Slowly, reluctantly, Jefferson and Nick eased back, though their eyes still burned with barely restrained fury.

Warren turned his laptop towards everyone at the table. "To begin," he said, his voice calm but weighted with significance, "let’s review this video. Then, perhaps, we can reach an agreement. I understand Attorney Morris has a proposal to resolve this matter... without it reaching the courts."

His fingers tapped the touchpad, and the room was filled with the damning footage Oliver had submitted to the police. Raymond’s men, guns drawn, surrounded Nick and the others on the island. Raymond himself, dragging Georgia away against her will.

The silence was deafening until Oliver slid a folder across the table. It landed in front of Jefferson and Raymond with a soft thud, heavy with the weight of consequence.

Inside were the list of charges—assault, abduction, and most damning of all, the attempted rape of Georgia while she’d been locked inside the hotel suite.

Photographs spilled the truth without mercy: Georgia’s torn dress, the fear etched into her face, and Nick carrying her limp form out of Raymond’s room.

Oliver’s tone was cool, but his words struck like iron.

"Mr. Davis, you’re no stranger to the law. You know these charges, backed by this evidence, could put your son behind bars for life. I’m sure neither of you wants that outcome. So..." He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with something sharp and deliberate.

"I trust you’ll give your full cooperation, for the benefit of everyone. Especially your family."

Jefferson closed his eyes, his massive frame still, drawing in a slow, deep breath. The seconds stretched, thick with anticipation. When he finally exhaled and opened his eyes, the defiance was gone, replaced by something harder to read.

"What," he asked slowly, "are you proposing we do?"

Across the table, Oliver’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. His eyes darkened, a predator scenting the inevitable. ’I knew you’d take the bait.’