Eight Fiancés. One Queen. Zero Regrets Chapter 04

Eight Fiancés. One Queen. Zero Regrets Chapter 04

Grant chose a private club, the Willow Room.

I went.

Obviously, I didn’t go alone.

Reid sat in the next booth. Ford was downstairs. Zane had already checked the club’s surveillance authorization. Colt’s people were stationed at the exits.

I walked in.

Grant was already seated—still wearing that pristine, untouchable expression.

Cool. Composed. Top button fastened.

Like the entire world was filthy, and he alone floated above it.

He saw me. Paused. Then frowned slightly. “You’ve changed.”

I sat down. “Money does that.”

He didn’t like my bluntness.

The old me used to walk on eggshells—afraid of offending him, afraid of annoying him.

Now I couldn’t be bothered.

Grant poured tea and slid it toward me.

“Aurora, I know you’ve suddenly returned to the Vances, and everyone is circling around you. But that doesn’t mean they’re sincere.”

I didn’t touch the tea.

“If they’re not sincere, are you?”

His expression tightened.

“At least I knew the old you.”

I smiled. “The broke one with terrible taste in men?”

Irritation flashed across his face.

“Do you have to talk like that now?”

“Like what? If it’s harsh, then what was last night? A poetry reading?”

He paused.

“I was impulsive. But showing up at a public event with eight men… it’s not dignified.”

I almost laughed.

“Grant, I have eight fiancé candidates. It’s written into the Vance contract. Who the hell are you to judge?”

He stared at me, trying to read the truth.

“You really think you can handle all of them?”

There it was.

The old instinct.

A woman had more men loving her, more resources supporting her—and his first reaction wasn’t congratulations.

It was suspicion.

Are you good enough? Can you manage them? Aren’t you going to fall apart?

I leaned back.

“Not your concern, Grant. You can’t even manage your own mouth.”

His face darkened.

“I’m warning you. The louder you scream, the harder you fall.”

I smiled, picked up my bag, and stood.

“Then keep your eyes wide open. Don’t blink.”

I walked out.

In the car, Reid handed me a recorder.

“He’s still careful with his words.”

“Yeah. But his emotions are starting to show.”

Ford flipped through his notes.

“Maren contacted two more influencers today.”

Zane said, “Grant’s burner account is involved too.”

Colt scoffed. “They really love piling on.”

I looked out the window.

Grant stood on the second floor of the club, watching me leave.

He probably thought he still owned my past—my feelings for him, my fear of being called a social climber, my fear of being called dirty.

But the best part about growing up?

The things you once thought would destroy you become the knife in your hand.

Three days before the gala, promotional posts started appearing.

[The Vance heiress’s private life is… colorful.]

[The truth behind her eight fiancés.]

[The messy past between her and Grant Holloway.]

No names.

But every word was a jab.

The comments went wild.

[Tea?]

[Isn’t Grant that guy from the engagement party?]

[Eight fiancés is definitely not normal.]

Dashiell read them and grimaced. “This copy is so outdated. It belongs on a 2010s gossip forum.”

Zane looked up. “I’ve traced the account chain.”

Reid opened a file. “Don’t move yet.”

I stared at the phrase “colorful private life” and smiled.

“He loves telling stories so much. Let’s give him the biggest microphone.”