“I don't know what kind of game you’re playing, June,” Graham said, trying desperately to salvage his suave veneer, though his voice cracked on the edges. “You shouldn't be here. This is a private corporate meeting. Mr. Sterling, security must have made a mistake—she’s just a florist—”

“She is my co-counsel for this meeting, Vale,” Nathan interrupted, his voice dropping into a glacial, authoritative register that made Graham flinch. Nathan walked slowly from the window, stopping directly behind my chair and resting a large, warm hand casually on the backrest. The physical gesture was subtle, but the message was unmistakable: She is with me.

Graham swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “Mr. Sterling... I don't understand. Victoria and I—”

“Victoria threw your engagement ring into a bowl of lime punch at midnight and booked a first-class flight to London,” Nathan stated flatly. “Your alliance with the Sterling family is dead, Vale. Much like your career in Boston real estate.”

Panic finally broke through Graham’s defenses. He slammed his leather portfolio down onto the table, his composure entirely evaporating.

“This is insane! You can’t do this! We had a deal—!” He spun around to point an accusing finger at me. “And you! You crying little Southie charity case! You signed that quitclaim deed! The shop is legally mine! I can foreclose on your precious little flower store by noon today!”

“Ah, yes. The quitclaim deed,” I said calmly, opening my mother’s ledger and sliding a single piece of paper across the table toward him. “Let’s talk about that document, Graham. Specifically, clause four regarding fraudulent misrepresentation and the deliberate withholding of material financial facts.”

One of Nathan’s corporate lawyers—a sharp-eyed woman named Sarah Vance—spoke up smoothly.

“Mr. Vale, under Massachusetts general laws, a property transfer executed under false pretenses of marriage and emotional coercion is legally void ab initio. Furthermore, our forensic audit has uncovered four distinct instances where you forged Ms. Bellamy’s signature on business loan applications utilizing Bellamy Blooms as collateral without her knowledge or consent.”

Graham’s knees buckled. He dropped heavily into the chair opposite us, staring at the legal document as if it were a venomous snake.

“Forgery...” Graham whispered, his voice trembling. “You can’t prove that. It was just a standard business restructuring—!”

“It’s wire fraud and grand larceny,” Nathan corrected, leaning over the table toward him, his dark eyes burning with cold fury. “Federal offenses, Graham. Which carry mandatory prison time. Now, you have two choices. You can sign this confession and immediate quitclaim relinquishment releasing all claims to Bellamy Blooms, hand over the keys to your corporate accounts, and walk out of this building with whatever shred of dignity you have left—or my legal team will hand these files directly to the U.S. Attorney’s office before lunch.”

The silence in the boardroom was absolute.

Graham looked at Nathan’s stone-cold face, then at the federal-grade legal briefs spread across the table, and finally at me. For two years, he had believed I was small, compliant, and easy to manipulate. He had miscalculated every single card in my hand.

With trembling fingers, Graham picked up the gold-plated fountain pen extended by the lawyer. He didn't say a word. He signed his name at the bottom of the relinquishment form, shoved the pen across the table, stood up so fast his chair tipped over backward, and bolted out of the conference room doors without looking back.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind him.

I let out a long, shuddering breath I felt like I’d been holding since yesterday afternoon. The phantom weight of the abandoned wedding dress seemed to lift off my shoulders entirely.

“Well,” Sarah Vance said, gathering the papers with a crisp snap. “That concludes our morning docket.”

The lawyers packed their briefcases and exited quietly, leaving Nathan and me alone in the sprawling glass boardroom.

Nathan walked around the table, pulled out the chair next to mine, and sat down. He didn't say anything for a moment, just reached across the table and poured two cups of coffee from the silver carafe.

“You handled that like a seasoned litigator,” Nathan said quietly, handing me a cup.

“I handled it like a woman whose mother’s life work was nearly stolen by a snake,” I corrected, though I took the coffee gratefully. My hands stopped shaking. “Thank you, Nathan. I mean it. Without your security team and your lawyers, I would probably be losing my shop by the end of the week.”

“You would have figured out a way to fight back,” Nathan replied, his dark eyes softening as he looked at me. “You’re far tougher than you realize, June Bellamy.”

“Maybe,” I smiled faintly, looking out the window at the bustling Boston harbor below. “Though next time, I’d prefer a less dramatic introduction.”

“Agreed,” Nathan said, a genuine, warm smile finally breaking across his severe face. “Though I have to admit... wedding dresses really aren't your color anyway. Navy blue suits you much better.”