I’ll Handle These Two Idiots Chapter 04

I’ll Handle These Two Idiots Chapter 04

“I want her to know who really deserves to be with Bruno.”

Bruno’s jaw tightened, and he gave a sharp nod.

“Blythe, there must have been some kind of misunderstanding between you and Tiffany.”

“Just do what she says. Once this is over, the engagement next week can proceed as planned.”

I gave them both a cold look.

“How about this? I’ll give *her* one chance. If she apologizes to me, right now, I might consider letting this go.”

Before I came back to New York, Aunt Isabella had outlined her plan for this girl. Her methods were even more severe than I’d imagined.

Bruno’s voice dropped.

“Blythe Sinclair, don’t push it. Tiffany is pregnant, and you hit her. You were in the wrong first.”

“Tiffany has already offered an out. You should take it.”

I just shook my head.

“So you really are a fool. You want me to apologize? Never.”

Bruno’s expression hardened.

“Blythe, if you keep this up, the engagement is off.”

At that, Tiffany’s eyes lit up.

I found the whole thing absurd.

This engagement was the lynchpin of two family empires. It wasn’t something he could just call off.

I looked at him.

“Bruno, did you forget?”

“If you don’t marry me, you don’t get the family trust. And you don’t get your shares of the Santoro Group.”

“Honey, is that true?”

Panic flickered across Tiffany’s face as she stared at Bruno.

Bruno sneered.

“Blythe, don’t think you can hold that over my head.”

“My tech company just closed a multi-million-dollar Series A round. At this rate, my personal net worth will eclipse the entire Santoro family fortune within a decade.”

“I built that company myself. I landed every investor, one steak dinner at a time, without a single dollar of my family’s money.”

“I make my own decisions now. I don’t need to rely on anyone.”

He finished with his chin held high, looking immensely pleased with himself.

I remembered a late-night call from Aunt Isabella last year.

She’d told me Bruno was determined to start a business, and she was terrified his first attempt would fail and crush his spirit. She had called me specifically for help.

She’d made me promise that Bruno could never know the Santoro family was involved.

I called some of my old Stanford classmates. My father made a few calls to VCs he rarely dealt with, asking them to have their funds approach Bruno independently.

And that’s how he secured his first round of financing.

Thinking about it now, it was almost funny.

“Bruno, does Aunt Isabella know about any of this?”