Chapter 322: [4.140] An Audience with the Ice Queen

The ride to Valentine Holdings felt like the longest thirty minutes of my life.

We took two cars. Marcus Beaumont and his legal team in a black sedan that probably cost more than my apartment building. The five of us crammed into Sabrina’s Range Rover because apparently none of the sisters wanted to be separated right now, and I wasn’t about to argue with four women who’d just decided to overthrow their mother.

Cassidy drove. This was a mistake.

"Red light," Vivienne said through gritted teeth as we blew through an intersection.

"I saw it."

"Then why didn’t you stop?"

"Because it was more of a suggestion than an actual rule." Cassidy grinned at me through the rearview mirror. "Relax, princess. I’ve only gotten six speeding tickets this year."

"It’s February."

"Your point?"

Harlow sat pressed against my left side, her fingers tangled with mine in a grip that was probably cutting off my circulation. She hadn’t said much since we left the law office, and her usual sunshine energy had dimmed to something quieter. More fragile.

I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

Sabrina occupied my right side, her thigh warm against mine through the expensive fabric of my suit pants. She’d been reviewing documents on her phone since we got in the car, but every few minutes her free hand would drift to my knee and rest there, like she was checking to make sure I hadn’t disappeared.

"We should discuss entry strategy," Vivienne said from the front seat. She’d angled herself sideways to face us, tablet balanced on her lap. "Mother will expect Isaiah alone. When she sees all of us plus a legal team, she’ll know something has changed. We need to control her initial reaction."

"Or we could just walk in and watch her face when she realizes she’s fucked," Cassidy suggested.

"That’s not a strategy, that’s revenge fantasy."

"Those aren’t mutually exclusive."

"Both of you, stop." Sabrina’s voice cut through the bickering like a blade. She didn’t raise her volume. Didn’t need to. "We enter together. Isaiah first, then the four of us, then the lawyers. We take our seats before Mother has time to object. And we let Marcus do the talking until we’re ready to present the documents."

"Why Isaiah first?" Harlow asked.

Sabrina’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Because she’s expecting him. For approximately three seconds, she’ll think everything is going according to her plan. And then we walk in behind him and she’ll understand that nothing will ever go according to her plan again."

Cold. Ruthless. A little bit terrifying.

God, I loved this woman.

All four of them, actually. Which was still weird to think about, but apparently my brain had accepted the situation sometime between last night’s group sleepover and this morning’s communal breakfast. Four girlfriends. One me. An impending confrontation with their billionaire mother who probably wanted to have me killed or at least thoroughly destroyed.

Just another Tuesday.

Cassidy pulled into the underground parking garage beneath the Valentine Holdings tower. The building loomed above us, forty-one floors of glass and steel that caught the afternoon sun and threw it back like a challenge. Somewhere up there, Camille Valentine sat in her office, probably drinking expensive tea and planning exactly how she was going to make me regret ever looking at her daughters.

She had no idea what was coming.

We found Marcus and his team waiting by the elevators. Five lawyers in identical dark suits, carrying briefcases that probably contained enough legal firepower to level a small country. They looked like they did this every day. Destroyed empires before lunch, grabbed coffee, did it again after.

"Ready?" Marcus asked.

The sisters exchanged looks. That silent communication thing again, the one that made me feel like I was watching a conversation in a language I didn’t speak.

"Ready," Sabrina said.

The elevator ride took forever. Forty-one floors of smooth upward motion while my heart tried to beat its way out of my chest. I kept my face blank. Couldn’t let the lawyers see me nervous. Couldn’t let the sisters see me nervous. Definitely couldn’t let Camille Valentine see me nervous.

Isaiah Angelo doesn’t get nervous.

Isaiah Angelo faces down billionaires with a smirk and walks away victorious.

Isaiah Angelo is absolutely not sweating through his extremely expensive borrowed suit right now.

The doors opened.

The forty-first floor looked exactly like I’d expected. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows with views of Manhattan that belonged in a Bond villain’s lair. Minimalist furniture that probably cost more than my lifetime earnings. Everything white and gray and chrome, cold and perfect and utterly soulless.

Miranda Chen stood waiting. Mrs. Valentine’s personal assistant, according to Vivienne’s briefing documents. Early thirties, impeccable posture, expression so neutral it probably took years to perfect.

"Mr. Angelo." Her gaze flicked past me to the parade of people emerging from the elevator. The four sisters. The five lawyers. Something tightened around her eyes, the first crack in that professional mask. "Mrs. Valentine is expecting only you."

"Plans change," I said.

"I’m afraid that’s not—"

"Miranda." Sabrina stepped forward, and I watched the assistant’s face go through several emotions in rapid succession. Surprise. Confusion. Something that might have been fear. "Please inform my mother that her daughters would like to speak with her. Along with our legal representation."

Miranda’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"Of course, Miss Valentine." She turned and walked toward a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Her heels clicked against the marble, the only sound in the oppressive silence.

We waited.

Harlow’s hand found mine again. Cassidy cracked her knuckles, the sound sharp and deliberate. Vivienne clutched her tablet like a shield. Sabrina stood perfectly still, watching the doors with eyes that gave away nothing.

The doors opened.

Camille Valentine stood framed in the entrance to her office, and for a moment I understood exactly why people were afraid of her.

She was beautiful. That was the first thing I noticed, and I hated myself a little for it. The same long hair as her daughters, though hers was platinum blonde, pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Brown eyes that assessed and dismissed in the same glance. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, lips painted in blood red that matched her designer suit perfectly.

She looked like an older, colder version of her daughters. Or maybe they looked like younger, softer versions of her. Either way, the resemblance was undeniable.

"Sabrina." Her voice was cool, controlled, utterly unsurprised. "I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us."

"I wasn’t aware you’d be meeting with my boyfriend without consulting me first."

Boyfriend. She said it casually, like it was obvious, like everyone in the room should have known. Camille’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in her eyes. Annoyance, maybe. Or interest.

"I see." She stepped aside, gesturing into her office with one perfectly manicured hand. "Please. Come in. All of you, apparently."