CHAPTER 121: DOES SHE STILL DANCE?

"I honestly don’t care if I get your money or not at this point," he continued. "There may be more people coming out of the woodwork thinking this is blackmail-worthy. I’m making sure it isn’t — by showing this to you first. Whatever you decide, I accept. You can walk out that door right now, and I will not hold it against you."

He placed both hands on the table, leaning forward slightly, dominance radiating from him in waves. His heartbeat thundered in his ears from the fierce protectiveness burning through him.

The men exchanged looks again. "Does she still dance?"

"Of course not," Winn said firmly.

"So," one of the men said, "you are willing to throw away billions of dollars for this... woman?"

Winn lifted his head and smiled. "Yes," he said simply. "Yes, I will." He straightened, his hands sliding into his pockets. "She is worth more to me than all the money in this world. Hell, I’d give up House of Kane for her."

A stunned silence fell over the room before Bernard leaned back and chuckled. "She must be one hell of a dancer."

"No! I mean, yes, she is," he said, running a hand down his face, utterly exasperated. "But that’s not it! Damn it! I love her!"

Joey, who had been sitting in stunned silence for the last five minutes, finally reacted — loud enough that everyone turned. "It’s about damn time!" he gasped.

Winn’s shoulders sagged. The fierce CEO exterior slipped away, and suddenly he was just a man in love — vulnerable, exhausted, and completely undone. He dropped into his chair, his head falling into his hands. "I love my fiancée," he said softly. "I love Ivy... She—she doesn’t know." He dragged his fingers through his hair, looking up with wide eyes. "Oh my God. I told her I can’t love her. She doesn’t know. I have to tell her."

Bernard was grinning now. "Then what the fuck are you still doing here?" he asked.

That broke the dam. Winn’s head snapped up. "Right," he breathed, shooting to his feet so fast that his chair screeched backward across the floor. He yanked his phone from his pocket, already scrolling, already searching. "God, she’s going to kill me. No—first she’s going to cry, then kill me." He muttered under his breath, pacing, all that corporate poise dissolving into nervous energy. His heart was hammering in his chest, adrenaline flooding through him.

Winn froze halfway to the door, eyes flicking between his phone and the men at the table. "So... are we good?" he asked.

Bernard’s smile softened. "My wife was a street drug dealer," he said with a shrug. "Who am I to judge? Go."

Winn’s jaw dropped slightly. "Wait—what?"

"Yep," Bernard said. "Met her when she was trying to sell me bad weed behind a jazz club in Amsterdam. Twenty-eight years later, she’s running my business better than even me. Love’s not about where they came from, son. It’s about where you’re going together."

Winn nodded at Bernard, a grin breaking through despite himself. "Thank you," he said. Then he turned and bolted for the door.

Winn’s pulse was still hammering in his ears when he fumbled for his phone, barely noticing that his hands were shaking. He hit his mother’s contact and pressed the phone to his ear, racing down the steps and through the lobby. "Mum! Is Ivy with you?" he demanded breathlessly the moment she answered. He listened, his heart seizing when he heard the answer. "Where? ...I’m on my way." He didn’t even bother with a goodbye before hanging up. In a single motion, he tore off his jacket and flung it into the backseat of the car. The fabric landed across the seat.

Reese, ever efficient, was already moving toward the driver’s side. "Is everything alright, sir?" he asked. He had seen Winn Kane furious, ruthless, drunk, even shattered — but never like this. Never unguarded.

Winn slid into the car, breath ragged. "Yes," he said. "Finally." He raked a hand through his hair and barked the next words. "The cake store on the way to Kane Estate."

"Yes, sir." Reese climbed in and floored it, the car leaping forward with a growl. The city blurred past.

He couldn’t believe it. He really, truly couldn’t. At what point should I have known? he thought bitterly. God, I’m such an idiot.

He had told himself he was immune. That love was for other men — men who hadn’t already lost everything once. Irene had taken what was left of his heart or so he thought. He’d wrapped himself in work, in money, in control — convinced those things were safer than emotion. But Ivy... she had slipped through the cracks in his armor.

He stared out the window as the city gave way to greener outskirts, jaw tight. Lord, what have I done?

Fifteen minutes later, the car screeched to a halt in front of a cake boutique.

Before Reese could even open the door, Winn was already out, slamming it behind him and storming toward the entrance. A small bell jingled as he burst inside, drawing startled glances from the staff. The room was awash with pinks and creams, flowers on every table.

And there she was.

Ivy stood near the counter with his mother, Anna, and Trish — her hair loosely tied back, a cupcake in her hand. The sight of her hit him square in the chest. She looked startled, beautiful, alive.

"Winn?" she said. "Is everything alright?"

He didn’t answer. He was already moving. Then, without a word, he reached her, hooked a hand around the back of her neck, and crushed his lips to hers.

He tilted her chin up, deepening it, his other arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against him until she could feel every line of his body, every tremor of pent-up emotion he’d been holding back for far too long. Ivy gasped against his mouth. Trish quietly pulled the cupcake from her fingers, and Ivy’s hands instinctively clutching at his shirt as her knees buckled.

(We are approaching the end of the first arc. Like I do in all my books, I prepare you to hate me. So whatever gifts you have for me, please give me now. I won’t be getting any in a while.)