Chapter 8 A Chance To Cooperate

"What are you even talking about, Jonathan?" Stefan bolted upright from the sofa, his voice a thunderclap of fury. "Do you honestly believe I'll stand by and let you throw your life away like this?"

Jonathan's lips curled into a scornful smirk, his eyes narrowing with a chilling edge.

"And if I do? What then?" He tilted his head, his voice laced with venom. "Should I mimic that man who walked out on my mother? Or have you conveniently erased how she died, Uncle Stefan?"

The air seemed to thicken as Jonathan's words hit like a dagger.

Stefan faltered. His defiance crumbled, leaving only a shell of raw emotion.

His hands trembled as he sank back onto the sofa, dragging them down his face as if to wipe away the weight of guilt and anguish. Closing his eyes, he exhaled shakily, his pain visible in every strained movement.

"Valerie is part of the Holt family now, as your wife. Divorce is out of the question, and the thought of you marrying someone you don't even know? Unthinkable."

Stefan's words carried the weight of a gavel, firm and absolute. But Jonathan barely reacted, not even sparing his uncle a glance.

"My decisions are my own," he said flatly.

The door creaked open, a soft protest in the suffocating silence, and then clicked shut behind him. His footsteps faded, leaving a vacuum of tension in their wake. Stefan's rigid posture wilted, the unyielding authority he projected collapsing into something frail.

"Have I been wrong this whole time? Jonathan..." Stefan muttered, his hands trembling as his gaze fell to the orchid on the windowsill.

Enzo Lopez, the ever-faithful butler, approached with a quiet grace, placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He followed Stefan's gaze to the orchid, and then spoke softly, his tone measured and reassuring. "Master Jonathan is forging his own path. That's how it should be. Don't let this consume you, sir. It's a heavy burden, but it's one he must bear. At least now, he's willing to sit and listen. That's a start. Time will do the rest."

Stefan chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. The sound held no humor, only the deep weariness of a man wrestling with his own failings.

In another part of the house, Valerie sat at her desk, the soft scrape of pen against paper filling the room.

She was acutely aware of Jonathan's disdain, and the likelihood that tonight would bring a final confrontation.

In her hands lay the fragile lifeline to her place in the Holt family.

The door opened behind her with a low creak, and a rush of cold air swept into the room. She froze, feeling the weight of a gaze, sharp and oppressive, pressing against her back.

"What are you still doing here?" Jonathan's voice sounded.

Valerie's grip on the pen tightened momentarily before she set it down with controlled precision. She turned slowly, her expression composed, a mask of calm concealing her irritation. Her eyes met his cold, unyielding stare.

"Thank you," she said. She nodded lightly, as though acknowledging a favor from a stranger. "For what you did earlier."

Though his tone was cutting and his demeanor abrasive, Valerie remained composed. Her grace didn't waver; politeness, after all, was a habit she wouldn't abandon-not even now.

Gratitude was owed, even to someone like him.

Jonathan's impatience flared briefly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

"The lawyer will be here tomorrow," he said curtly, his words as cold as his gaze. "I'll make sure the divorce is finalized quickly."

His eyes flicked toward her, detached and emotionless.

Valerie rose slowly from her chair, meeting his frosty stare head-on.

"I know you don't like me," she said evenly, her voice calm but resolute. "And I know you never wanted this marriage. I won't trouble you, Mr. Holt. But..."

She took a deep breath, her gaze steady. "I'm not signing anything."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed sharply, a flash of disdain curving his lips into a mocking smirk. He looked her over with the cold appraisal of a man assessing a trivial object.

"Name your price," he said, his tone light, almost dismissive.

Valerie's smile was faint but confident as she replied, "Mr. Holt, you seem to have a rather inflated view of yourself. Not every woman who crosses your path is looking for a payout."

Her calm retort gave him pause. Jonathan's sharp gaze lingered on her, intrigued for a fleeting moment by the composure she maintained under his scrutiny. His expression hardened again, and his voice grew more measured, more demanding.

"Then what is it that you want?"

With an easy shrug and a bright smile that felt deliberately disarming, Valerie said, "Not much. Just one thing-a chance to collaborate with the Holt Group."