A Vow of Deception, A Vow of Revenge novel Chapter 65

The mirrored stainless steel doors slid shut behind them, casting sharp slashes of light across the polished marble floor from the ceiling lamp above.

At the end of that band of light stood Tyson, tall and imposing.

He looked as if he'd just stepped out of his car—his black suit jacket still carried a trace of the night's chill, his tie loosened half an inch, and his usually impeccable dark hair was tousled. It was clear he'd rushed over.

Tyson couldn't quite explain why he was in such a hurry.

All day, he'd been unable to shake the image of Winona walking out of his office.

Even tangled up with Celia earlier, his mind had been in turmoil.

He'd been at a dinner nearby when Marcus mentioned that Winona was here. Without a word of explanation to anyone, he'd dropped everything and driven over himself.

"Nona." He took a few steps forward, emotions flickering in his eyes. "Come home with me."

Winona's brow furrowed; her annoyance was unmistakable.

"Tyson, we've already broken up," she replied coolly.

Tyson drew a deep breath and closed the distance between them. Winona, however, immediately stepped aside, pointedly keeping her distance.

"Still mad at me?" Tyson's voice was weary. "Nona, it's been almost a month… Can we please stop fighting?"

Before Winona could answer, Tyson hurried on, "I know I hurt you because of Celia. Tonight, when we get home, I'll talk to my mom and have her take Celia back to the old house."

"Mr. Goodwin, that's your family business. You don't need to report it to me," Winona said, her face tight. "Who lives where in your family is none of my concern. We're over. I've already resigned from Goodwin Enterprises, so there's no reason for us to be in contact anymore."

She turned to leave, but Tyson suddenly grabbed her wrist.

"You're too kind, Mr. King." Elvis picked up his glass and clinked it lightly against the man's.

Though Elvis didn't actually drink, Mr. King's face lit up—after all, the heir to The Capital had just acknowledged him. That alone was a rare honor.

If not for his tenuous connection to the Rogers family's second branch, he knew he would never have managed to invite Elvis to this dinner.

Mr. King drained his glass and shot a glance at the young woman beside him.

She was strikingly beautiful—clearly dressed and styled to perfection, from her hair to her makeup to her outfit.

Blushing, she picked up her glass and rose gracefully, stepping over to Elvis.

"Mr. Rogers, may I offer you a drink as well?"