The Valleys Country Club spanned over two hundred acres of rolling, manicured greens on the northern edge of Obsidian City. Officially marketed as an ultra-exclusive polo retreat for regional elites, its private meadow grounds served today as the venue for Cross Enterprises’ closed-door victory gathering.
Following yesterday’s decisive boardroom purge and the formal transfer of the family proxy shares triggered by our marriage filing, Damon had hosted an intimate afternoon reception for the core executive council.
Waiters in tailored black waistcoats circulated through the open-air pavilion, serving crystal flutes of Dom Pérignon. Yet despite the soft jazz playing in the background, the tension between Damon and me remained thick enough to cut with a blade.
Standing near the edge of the
