A VOW FOR VENGEANCE

Chapter Four: Rewriting My Destiny

Hanna’s POV

I watched Isla’s face bend to the ground and back up staring coldly at me. I derived joy from watching her face move from composed to confused in the space of three seconds.

"Hanna." Lucas stepped forward, his voice dropping low, tight with controlled panic. "What is the problem?"

"I just answered your question." I kept my voice even, almost bored. "The answer is no."

Mia grabbed my elbow instantly. "Hanna, you are making a scene." Speaking through the side of her mouth, her smile glued on for the audience.

"Am I?" I turned to her. "Funny. I thought I was just being honest."

The hall had gone completely still. Over a hundred pairs of eyes. Glasses half raised. I could feel their collective discomfort like heat from a fire, and I did not flinch from a single degree of it.

"Let us go somewhere private and talk," Lucas said.

"There is nothing to talk about, Lucas." I picked up a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a slow sip. "I do not love you. I am not sure if I ever did. So no, I will not be marrying you."

His jaw twitched.

"Darling," Isla's voice came in smoothly from my right. "You are clearly not well. We need to get you some air and…"

"I am perfectly well, Isla. Thanks for your concern." I set the glass down gently and looked out at the frozen crowd. "I apologize for the disruption, everyone. Please enjoy the evening. The food is excellent." And then I walked away.

Behind me, I heard the murmurs break open like a dam.

I made it to my room before my hands started shaking. I turned the lock behind me and leaned against the door. The sounds from downstairs filtered up, muffled and distant. I sank down the length of the door until I was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, and then the tears came.

Not quiet tears. The kind that shakes your shoulders and steals your breath. I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, so nobody would hear.

I was tired. That was the truth of it. Tired of being the person who smiled through every cruelty, of mistaking manipulation for love and being the last one in every room to understand what was actually happening.

A knock at the door rattled me upright.

"Hanna." Mia's voice. Soft, concerned. "Open the door, please."

I said nothing.

"Hanna, I know you are in there. Come on." A pause. "Whatever is going on, we can talk about it. You know I am always on your side."

I almost laughed. The sound came out wrong so I swallowed it.

"I am fine, Mia. Go back to the guests."

"I am not going anywhere until I know you are okay." Another knock. "Hanna, please."

I sat perfectly still, watching the door handle, until the sound of her heels faded down the corridor.

By the time the house went quiet, the night had grown long and still.

I changed out of my dress and made my way down the hallway to my father's room. The door was partly open. Inside, the only sound was the soft mechanical rhythm of the machines keeping track of him, measuring his life in steady green peaks.

Rowland Lawson had once filled every room he entered. Now he occupied his bed like a man half his size. I sat in the chair beside him and took his hand.

"Dad." The machines beeped. He did not stir.

"I know you cannot hear me," I laced my fingers through his. "But I need to tell you that I am going to fix it. Everything.” My throat closed. I pressed his hand against my cheek.

"I just need you to hold on for me a little longer." The door opened.

Isla stood in the doorway in a silk robe, her face freshly scrubbed. She studied me for a moment before stepping inside.

"Here you are." She moved to the other side of the bed. "You gave everyone quite a show tonight."

I straightened and set my father's hand down carefully. "He deserves to rest."

"He does." She folded her arms. "So do you want to tell me what that was all about? Because I have spent the last two hours managing our guests and declining phone calls from board members."

"I fell out of love with Lucas." I met her eyes. "It happens. I am sorry for the timing."

"Fell out of love." She repeated. "Just like that. Tonight. In front of everyone."

"Better late than never."

Her eyes narrowed. "Hanna. If something happened…”

"Nothing happened." I rose from the chair and smoothed my clothes. "I looked at the man I was about to marry and realized I did not want to. That is all." I moved toward the door. "Goodnight."

Isla kept staring as I walked out.

The next morning came quicker than usual. I kept staring at a photo of me and dad from my high school graduation when Victoria came in, dropping a copy of the morning paper at the side table alongside my coffee. It was my usual way to always read the news every morning, a routine I picked up from dad.

"The Walter boy is in the news again," she said, settling into the chair across from me.

"Which one?"

"The fifth. Stefan." She tapped the front page.

I glanced at it. The headline read: WALTER HEIR CRASHES CHARITY GALA AGAIN. Beneath it, a photograph of a tall, dark brown-haired man in a rumpled tuxedo being escorted out by security, looking thoroughly unbothered about it.

"He does this every few months," Victoria said. "Shows up somewhere he was not invited, causes chaos, and disappears before anyone can do anything about it. His father has been trying to pull him into the company for years. Word is he refuses every single time."

"Why?"

"Nobody really knows. He is the black sheep. Four perfectly good brothers in the Walter Empire and then there is this one." She sipped her own coffee.

I looked at the photograph again. The security guard's hand on his arm. Stefan's expression; not angry, not embarrassed. Just utterly unconcerned. Something clicked.

A man with nothing to stake, no image to protect, no board to answer to. Powerful enough by name alone to make an entire room rearrange itself and absolutely nothing to lose.

"Victoria." I set the paper down.

"Yes?"

"Get me a meeting with Stefan Walter. Tomorrow morning."

She blinked. "I can try. His assistant will almost certainly say…"

"I know what they will say. Get me the meeting anyway."

An hour later, Victoria visited while I was getting my makeup done. “Mr. Walter declines and does not schedule meetings with people he has not personally vetted.”

I collected her phone, read the email twice, then handed the phone back to Victoria.

"Tail him. Find out where he goes, things he does and who he visits."

"Hanna."

"Victoria?"

She sighed. "Most of his information is online as he is rich. Word has it that he visits the Meridian Hotel often. He has been spotted there by paparazzi a few times.”

I smiled. "Perfect."

“One more thing,” Victoria added. “Your ex-fiancé has been trying to reach out since yesterday.”

I remembered blocking his line after the event. “Tell him I am not available.”

“Alright,” she responded, leaving the room.

The Meridian lobby was all pale marble and hushed footsteps, the kind of quiet that money bought. I wore a black fitted dress, minimal jewelry, and walked in like I owned the building.

The hostess stepped forward. "Good morning, do you have a reservation?"

"I am joining Stefan Walter."

The woman's expression flickered. "Mr. Walter's reservation is a private…"

"Tell him Hanna Lawson is here." I smiled pleasantly.

I watched her walk back, speak briefly to someone, and return.

"He says he does not know Hanna Lawson."

"I know." I moved past her toward the dining room. "He will."

I found him at the corner table. In person, he was larger than the photograph had suggested, broader across the shoulders, brown eyes that tracked me across the room with the slow attention of someone who was rarely surprised and a demeanor that could make a person easily forget their next sentence.

He leaned back in his chair. "You have got nerve."

"Thank you." I sat down across from him without being asked.

He looked at me for a long moment. Then the corner of his mouth moved. "You have got exactly thirty seconds to tell me why I should not have you removed."

"Because I have a proposal that will benefit you significantly." I reached into my bag, produced an envelope, and set it on the table between us. "And because in thirty seconds I think you will agree that this is the most interesting morning you have had in a very long time."

He looked at the envelope. He looked at me and picked it up.

The dining room was quiet. He read without expression, without hurry, turning the pages with the unhurried care of a man used to finding the things people tried to hide in contracts. I watched his face for a tell. There was nothing.

He reached the last page, set it down and looked at me. Something shifted behind his eyes; quiet and unreadable. Once again, he moved the corner of his mouth, revealing a half smile like someone who had been completely caught off guard.

I smiled.

"How about we get married?"