CHAPTER 117: YOU WANT A DRINK?

"You want a drink?" Winn poured amber liquid into two glasses and pushed one across the table. "It’s non-alcoholic. That’s all I can have around the house these days." His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"See, I’m trying to rein my temper in tonight. I’ve had quite the day. I’m...irritable. Haven’t seen my fiancée in days. Planned to surprise her tonight, but something came up."

Kevin swallowed hard. "Mr Kane, I—"

Winn held up a hand to silence him. The movement was elegant, effortless, but Kevin froze as if he’d been struck. Winn leaned forward then, sliding a large envelope across the table toward him.

"Do you know what this is?" Winn asked casually. "Go on. Humor me."

Kevin’s eyes flicked to the envelope, and his face went pale. Of course he knew what it was — every line of his face betrayed the recognition.

"I hate being blackmailed," Winn said finally.

"I—I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Kane," Kevin stammered, hands trembling as he tried to hold onto the glass. "You think I’m blackmailing you? Sir, I would never—"

Winn chuckled, a dark, dangerous sound that curled around Kevin. "No, not me. You wouldn’t dare, would you?" He tilted his head slightly, his grin sharp. "But you decided to go for the weaker link. Or rather, the link you thought was weaker."

He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, looking every inch the untouchable millionaire — cufflinks glinting, his black shirt open just enough to reveal a line of skin and muscle. "That was a mistake," he said. "You went after my fiancée."

Kevin’s throat clicked as he tried to swallow. "Sir, I didn’t—"

"That was your second mistake," Winn interrupted. "The first was thinking I wouldn’t find out." He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Of all the ridiculous, suicidal things you could have done this late in your miserable little life, you chose to shake down my woman?"

He threw his head back and laughed — genuinely amused now. "Can you believe this guy?" he said, glancing at Reese, who stood a few feet away with his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of calm menace.

Reese cracked a faint smirk.

Kevin’s lips twitched as if his throat was closing in on itself. He shifted in his seat, his gaze darting between Winn’s half-smile and the hulking shadow of Reese, whose arms were crossed.

"I assure you, Mr. Kane, I’ve done no such thing," Kevin said finally. "I don’t even know who your fiancée is."

"Oh, you know her all right," he said, pouring himself another glass with deliberate calm. "Ivy. Popularly known as Beyoncé in your club." He swirled the liquid lazily before sipping. "Beautiful girl. Dances like sin learned grace. Rings any bells?"

"I—I didn’t know she was getting married," he stammered. "She hasn’t been to the club since that night... the night you requested for her. She came to your booth, then she disappeared. I thought she quit."

"Yes," Winn said, "she did quit. And then you, genius that you are, saw another opportunity to make money."

"I did nothing..."

"I started this conversation telling you exactly how irritable I am," Winn interrupted, smiling tightly. "Hoping you’d cooperate with me. But see, Reese here"—he gestured to Reese, whose knuckles flexed impatiently—"needs to go home. And honestly, he’ll gladly beat the truth out of you if it gets him out of here any faster."

Kevin swallowed hard, eyes darting between them. "Please... there’s no need for—"

"To reduce the risk of exposure," Winn continued, ignoring him,

"Commissioned set up an old-fashioned system. No digital records. No email traces. Just ink and paper. Brilliant for discretion... until someone gets greedy. I’ve been frequenting that club for years. I know the handwriting on every damn receipt you’ve written. Joey noticed it first. And when I compared it to the note my fiancée received—" Winn slid both papers across the table.

Kevin’s face paled.

"Five hundred thousand dollars," Winn said softly. "That’s the price you put on her peace of mind. On my woman’s peace of mind. She’s supposed to be shopping wedding dresses, sipping martini and being pampered and now she’s terrified because of you. Do you know what that does to me?"

Kevin was trembling now, words caught in his throat. "Mr. Kane, I—"

"Oh, don’t call me Mr. Kane," Winn interrupted with a sharp laugh. "It sounds too formal for someone whose bones Reese might be rearranging in a minute." He tilted his head, watching Kevin squirm.

"Mr. Kane... I... I didn’t know she was going to tell you. I thought you didn’t know who she was." Kevin looked as if the life had been leached out of him.

After a breath Winn let out, he finally spoke. "I’m not even going to ask you to get rid of the pictures."

"All I see there," Winn continued, "is an extremely gorgeous, incredibly brave woman who did what she had to do to survive. Independent enough to work when survival demanded it. That is not shameful. That is strength." He pushed the photos slightly away as if offering Kevin a rare, pointed lesson in dignity.

"Every other point of view — the whispers, the tabloid lines, the small-minded judgments — they matter not to me."

Kevin stared at him, disbelief and shame warring on his face.

"But here’s what you’ve done," Winn said. "You just made Ivy a ridiculous amount of money. Because I am going to slap Commissioned with a lawsuit so soul-crushingly thorough the club won’t know what hit it. We’re going to litigate on grounds of illegal photography, privacy invasion, extortion, and negligence in protecting client information. We’ll subpoena records, interview witnesses, and expose every dirty back room they’ve been hiding behind."

He folded his hands on the table. "Whatever settlement or damages come to me from that suit," Winn said, slow as a declaration, "will belong to my wife. She’ll do with it what she pleases. Maybe buy a yacht?" He tipped his chin slightly.