Bound By A Broken Night novel Chapter 18

“CEO Wallace, your father is requesting an audience.”

The words barely settled before Zandrie turned sharply toward me.

Disbelief was written all over his face–raw, unguarded. For a heartbeat, he simply stared, as though he’d misheard. I had been waiting for that look, and I couldn’t quite stop the chuckle that escaped me.

He looked completely dumbfounded.

But I wasn’t.

I had been anticipating this day–the moment CEO Jefferson Holt would finally step onto the grounds of Wallace Plantation Ltd. I knew it would come. Just not this soon.

In just two years, Wallace Plantation had begun to stir Savannah City. What started as a struggling inheritance had grown into a formidable force, a name spoken with interest–and caution. Companies were lining up for partnerships, collaborations, investments.

Wallace Plantation had become impossible to ignore.

“Why don’t you go and welcome CEO Jefferson Holt, Drie?” I said, offering him a triumphant smile.

“He actually came?” Zandrie let out a short laugh, disbelief still clinging to his voice.

I rose slightly from my chair and gave him a playful bow.

“As promised.”

Then I leaned back, folding my arms casually.

“Earlier than I expected, though,” I added with a shrug already savoring the moment.

The board had noticed. The city had noticed. And now-

So had his father.

“I didn’t realize I needed an appointment to see my own son.”

The imposing voice cut through the luxurious CEO office as an intimidating–undeniably handsome man stepped inside. His presence alone seemed to command the room, sharp eyes sweeping over everything with practiced authority.

“Good day, Father. Welcome to Wallace Plantation,” Zandrie said smoothly.

He stepped forward without hesitation and initiated a brief hug. Their hands patted each other’s backs–polite, restrained, more public display than genuine warmth.

“Good day, CEO Holt,” I greeted calmly, inclining my head in respect.

Seeing Jefferson Holt standing in the same space as me sent a quiet thrill through my chest. Not awe satisfaction.

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“And this is…?”

Jefferson Holt turned his attention to me, his assessing gaze sweeping from my face down to my shoes slow, deliberate, unapologetically thorough.

“This is Cassidy,” Zandrie said smoothly as he stepped toward me and slid an arm around my waist.

“My wife.”

The sudden intimacy caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly, schooling my expression into calm poise.

Though we were husband and wife in the public eye, we had never stood this close–never performed intimacy so openly. The contact was warm, grounding… and unexpected.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you in person, CEO Holt,” I said graciously, meeting his intense gaze without flinching.

“Wife?” Jefferson repeated, the word carrying unmistakable disbelief as he turned sharply back to

his son.

“Yes, Father,” Zandrie replied, dipping his head slightly in a respectful bow before turning to smile at me. “My wife.”

His hand tightened just a fraction at my waist. I could feel the heat of his palm, the press of his side against mine–but more surprising than the physical closeness was the unmistakable possessiveness in his voice.

It caught me off guard. It felt like I was meeting a different Zandrie Wallace altogether.

“So this is the woman your mother told me about,” Jefferson said at last.

“The one who inspired you to finally focus on improving Wallace Plantation.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, his gaze openly assessing me–unhurried, unapologetic.

“Yes, Father,” Zandrie replied evenly. “She gave me a reason to envision a brighter future.”

As he spoke, he drew me closer, his arm firm around my waist.

Jefferson Holt said nothing for a long moment.

I met his scrutiny head–on, chin lifted, posture steady–refusing to be diminished. I stood there not as an ornament, but as an equal to his son.

“Well,” Jefferson said finally, breaking the silence with a casual shrug, “she is a beauty.”

“Suit yourself, until it last”

The remark landed coolly, as though I were a possession that had passed inspection.

Zandrie’s grip tightened slightly–protective, deliberate.

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“What brings you here, Father?” he asked, his tone polite but edged with restraint.

The gentle squeeze he gave me afterward was reassurance quiet arrogance.

-an unspoken apology for his father’s

“I’m checking on my son,” Jefferson said coolly. “Is that so unusual?”

He paced the office with unhurried confidence, stopping a few steps from the massive CEO desk as though the space already belonged to him.

“Of all my children,” he continued, “you are the only one who made a name on his own in the business industry.”

His gaze flicked briefly to Zandrie–then shifted back to me, sharp and deliberate.

“In just two years, you turned Wallace Plantation into what it is now,” Jefferson said. “Everyone- including me–expected it to collapse.”

His eyes narrowed, thoughtful, calculating.

“So tell me,” he went on, “was it mere inspiration… or is there a brilliant mind behind all of this?”

He glanced at Zandrie only briefly before his intent stare returned to me.

“Is this what they say?” A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Behind every successful man, there is a woman?”

“It’s a partnership, Father,” Zandrie replied evenly. “I won’t claim all the credit when my wife has contributed greatly to everything we’ve achieved.”

There was no defensiveness in his tone–only quiet certainty.

Jefferson Holt’s gaze moved between Drie and me–measuring, contemplative, weighing something far heavier than pride.

“Holt Corporation has been sailing through rough waters these past few years,” he admitted at last. “The stocks are unstable. Investors are pulling away. We’re operating at barely more than the minimum.”

He exhaled slowly and walked toward the visitor’s chair across the massive desk. When he sat, he leaned back and closed his eyes, exhaustion briefly stripping away the intimidating presence he carried so effortlessly.

“Technology and business evolve too fast,” Jefferson went on, his voice losing its earlier edge. “And I…” He paused, then let out a short, humorless scoff.

“I can no longer keep up. The board has been breathing down my neck–it’s a pain in the ass.”

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