Her Family Sold Her to Pay Their Debts — But When Kora Faced the Ruthless Duke Who Had Quietly Chosen Her for Reasons Beyond the Harbor, He Leaned Close and Whispered, “You’re My Destiny.”

PART 7

Four weeks later, the trap was set.

The London season was in full swing, completely ignorant of the financial slaughter being orchestrated from the Wickliffe study. Lord Davenport had grown brazen. Rumors had circulated that the Cornwall port was abandoned due to the explosion. Davenport’s stock had soared. He walked through gentlemen’s clubs with the bloated confidence of a victor.

The Northern Star annual shareholder meeting was held in the mahogany-paneled boardroom of the Royal Exchange. It was a closed affair — strictly for men of property and standing.

When the heavy oak doors swung open, the murmuring crowd of investors fell dead silent.

Sebastian Vain walked in.

He wore a severe black suit, his arm still resting in the sling. His face was a mask of carved granite. And on his right arm, walking with measured, predatory grace, was Kora.

She wore a dress of oxblood silk — devoid of lace or frills. It was the dress of an executioner.

“Wickliffe.” Davenport stood up at the head of the long table, his face flushing with immediate outrage. “This is a private meeting. And you have brought a woman into the Exchange. Have you lost your mind?”

Sebastian did not stop until he reached the opposite end of the table. He pulled out a chair. He did not sit. He gestured for Kora to take it.

She sat down, folding her hands neatly on the polished wood.

“I have not lost my mind, Davenport,” Sebastian said quietly. The silence in the room was so absolute they could hear the rain hitting the tall glass windows. “I have found my leverage.”

Davenport scoffed, trying to rally the nervous shareholders. “You have no business here. You own no stock in the Northern Star.”

“I do not,” Sebastian agreed. He looked down at Kora.

Kora opened the small velvet reticule at her wrist. She withdrew a thick stack of vellum papers and laid them flat on the table. She slid them down the polished mahogany. They came to a stop inches from Davenport’s hands.

“But I do.” Kora’s voice was perfectly level, carrying to every corner of the room. “Seventy-two percent of the voting shares, to be exact.”

Davenport stared at the papers. His watery eyes widened in horror. “This is impossible. These are held by the proxy banks —”

“The proxy bank sold them to a holding company in Yorkshire,” Kora explained pleasantly. “A holding company managed by my father, Thomas Hemsley. Funded, naturally, by my husband. The shares were transferred to my name this morning.”

A collective gasp rippled through the shareholders.

Davenport gripped the edge of the table, the color draining from his face until he looked like a corpse. “You cannot do this. You are trying to hostilely dissolve my company —”

“We are not dissolving the company, Lord Davenport.” Sebastian’s voice dropped to a deadly, quiet register. He walked slowly down the length of the table until he stood directly over the sputtering man. “We are restructuring the leadership. The board will vote today to remove you as chairman. Immediately.”

“On what grounds?” Davenport shouted, spit flying from his lips.

Sebastian leaned down. He placed a small, charred piece of military quick-match fuse on the table — right on top of the share certificates.

Davenport looked at the blackened cord. The remaining breath left his lungs in a wheeze. His knees buckled slightly, hitting the underside of the table.

“On the grounds,” Sebastian whispered, for Davenport’s ears alone, “that if you ever come within a hundred miles of my wife, my port, or my business again, I will not take your company. I will take your life. And I will make it look like a tragic accident.”

Sebastian straightened up. He looked around the room at the terrified shareholders.

“My wife now controls the Northern Star Line. She will dictate the new trade routes. The meeting is adjourned.”

He turned and walked back to Kora. He offered his good hand. She placed hers in it, rising smoothly from the chair. They walked out of the boardroom together, leaving the ruins of a dynasty in their wake.

They did not speak until they were safely inside the carriage, the rain drumming against the roof. Kora let out a long, shaky breath, the adrenaline finally leaving her blood. She leaned her head back against the velvet squabs, closing her eyes.

“He looked like he was going to vomit.”

“He likely will, once he realizes he is entirely bankrupt,” Sebastian said.

Kora opened her eyes and looked at him. The harsh, ruthless lines of his face were still there. But the tension that had haunted him for a month was gone. He looked at her — not as a possession, not as a ledger entry, but as a partner. An equal.

“We are terrible people,” Kora murmured.

Sebastian shifted, sliding across the carriage bench until his thigh pressed against hers. He wrapped his good arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.

“We are survivors, Kora. The world does not reward the gentle. It eats them.” He pressed his lips to her temple, his breath warm against her skin. “But it will never eat you. I swear it.”