My Fiancé and His Best Friend Got Drunk-Married Chapter 11

My Fiancé and His Best Friend Got Drunk-Married Chapter 11

Alexander smiled faintly and slid another, thicker folder across the table.

“Don’t rush. Take a look at this.”

I opened it. Inside was far more than I had anticipated.

Not only were there industry analyses I had published anonymously, but also project proposals I had discreetly handed to Harrison or my father.

Following those were copies of handwritten thank-you letters.

From several influential matriarchs of Kingston City, praising “Miss W” for her expertise and insight in family asset allocation and investments.

The letters were signed with aliases, but anyone in the know would recognize who “W” really was.

“Several of Harrison’s early strategic moves, the profits behind them bear the mark of your anonymous analyses.”

“The times the Jones family seemed on the brink, only to recover through mysterious but precise injections of funds and resources? Not Harrison. Your family likely believed it was him helping.”

His gaze met mine, piercing through the “obedient” exterior I had meticulously maintained all these years.

“Miss Jones, I imagine you’ve always thought you needed to establish your own family to truly escape the suffocating environment you were born into.”

“In fact,” he paused, “you could have done it any time you wanted.”

“You’ve worked hard all these years,” he said. “And they were… wasted.”

My fingers tightened around the documents.

All those years of perseverance I thought no one understood, it turned out they hadn’t gone entirely unseen.

Only the one person who should have noticed most had chosen not to look.

Was it exhausting? Yes.

Was it wasted? Perhaps.

A mix of bitterness and release washed silently over me.

I lowered my lashes, concealing the emotions within.

“Of course, these assets are impressive,” Alexander shifted tone, heavier now, “but what the Wright family values even more are two intangible things.”

“First, your precision under pressure, your ability to negotiate and strike decisively.”

“Second, your clear-eyed recognition of your own worth, and the courage to capitalize on it.”

He leaned in slightly. “The 300 million isn’t just for the vineyard, it’s my sincerity, an advance investment in the value you’re capable of creating, far beyond this sum.”

The study fell silent.

“Fair enough,” I said, closing the folder, compressing all the waves of feeling into my gaze.

“Mr. Wright, it’s been a pleasure working with you.”

Alexander stood and poured two glasses of water, handing me one. “A pleasure indeed, Emily.”

He called me Emily, no “Miss Jones,” no “Mrs. Wright.”

Three hundred million had purchased more than identity; more than information. It was a bet on potential.

That night, in the Wright family villa, I slept a strange, profound sleep.

From the moment I had made that call at the airport, from the instant Alexander had said, “Yes,” I knew I had embarked on a path with no turning back.

Harrison might still be somewhere, furious, hurt, bewildered, scheming to reclaim me.

But he would never understand: Every time he indulged Chloe’s overreach, every time he brushed aside my feelings with concerns for family reputation, he had been quietly eroding the girl who once saw him as her whole world.

The Emily standing here now had shed the fragile shell of subservience in love.

She revealed angles even she had never fully known.

Whether the Wright family had gotten a good deal on this 300-million investment remained to be seen.

But for me, it was my first step onto the battlefield of the future. My most crucial piece of capital.