She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother - Chapter 305: The Audacity

Chapter 305: The Audacity

Cassandra moved down the corridor, the rhythmic click of her heels on the marble echoing like a countdown.

She didn’t walk like a woman marching toward an execution. She walked like a woman approaching a feast.

Behind her, she could hear the heavy, uneven footsteps of her husband and Arthur. She didn’t need to look back to know what they looked like… Reginald, stiff with bruised pride; Arthur, wiping sweat from his upper lip, reeking of anxiety.

They were afraid.

But Cassandra felt a shiver of a very different kind.

It started at the base of her spine and curled upward, a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Jonathan.

She had met him only a few times… brief, formal exchanges at the annual summits or across crowded gala floors… but he had always left a mark. He was the shadow that walked beside Richard Blackwood.

She remembered the way he moved. Efficient. Silent. Lethal.

She adjusted the neckline of her dress, a subtle, practiced movement that lowered the silk just a fraction of an inch.

She had always had a weakness for them. Strong men. Capable men. Men who didn’t need to shout to be heard, whose authority wasn’t a costume they put on for board meetings but a biological fact woven into their DNA.

Reginald had once seemed like that man. But years of marriage had stripped away the illusion, layer by disappointing layer.

She knew the truth now… his strength was a performance, his authority a fragile thing she had to constantly prop up. Watching him crumble today wasn’t a surprise; it was just another exhausting reminder of the burden she carried. The scent of his weakness was cloying. It turned her stomach.

​But Jonathan?

He was an apex predator. A creature of the high realm.

The thought made her pulse quicken. There was a particular scent to men like that… not cologne or musk, but the sharp, metallic tang of absolute competence. It was a scent she couldn’t resist. It drew her in, challenged her, begged her to see if she could soften the steel, if she could make the monster purr.

She checked her reflection in the darkened glass of a display case as she passed.

Perfect.

Her lips were a slash of crimson. Her eyes were bright, intelligent, inviting. She knew the power she held. She knew that no man, no matter how cold or professional, was truly immune.

Jonathan would be no different.

He was a wall, yes. But she was the water that would find the cracks. She would charm him, disarm him, and then… once he was looking at her the way all men eventually did… she would convince him that the Vanderbilts were his strongest allies.

She reached the guest room doors.

She paused for a fraction of a second, letting Reginald and Arthur catch up, composing her face into a mask of gracious hospitality.

“Remember,” she whispered to them, her voice low. “Let me lead.”

She pushed the doors open.

​The room was spacious, the crystal chandelier casting a cold light over the mahogany.

​Jonathan was sitting at the head of the table with a terrifying stillness, one arm resting casually on the armrest, his legs crossed at the ankles. He was reading a file… one of their own internal reports… with the casual indifference of a man reading a menu.

​He didn’t look up immediately when the doors opened. He finished the paragraph, closed the file with a soft snap, and finally raised his eyes.

​They were dark. Flat. Unimpressed.

​Cassandra stepped forward, her smile slow and deliberate. She didn’t look at him like a hostess greeting a guest; she looked at him like a jeweler inspecting a diamond for flaws, her eyes traveling over his shoulders, his hands, the sharp line of his jaw.

“Mr. Jonathan,” She cooed, extending a hand. “We are so honored you could join us.”

​She didn’t take the seat opposite him. She glided to the chair directly to his right… close enough to smell him, close enough to whisper… and sat down, crossing her legs in a rustle of silk.

​Reginald and Arthur followed, their demeanor a stark contrast to hers. They bowed their heads slightly, smiles plastered on their faces, eager to please.

​”It is an honor to have you here,” Arthur said, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Truly.”

​Reginald nodded vigorously, taking the seat opposite Cassandra.

​”Yes, indeed. The Blackwood family is fortunate to have such a capable hand.” He cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone light, though the anxiety bled through.

“We were… admittedly expecting Mr. Blackwood himself today. I hope nothing is amiss? Why was he unable to join us?”

​Jonathan didn’t answer immediately. He picked up a glass of water, looked at it, and set it back down without drinking.

​”Mr. Blackwood is currently detained,” Jonathan said, his voice flat.

​”He is attending to… unexpected opportunities that arose regarding the faction’s future,” Jonathan continued, his eyes boring into Reginald’s. “Matters that required his personal touch. He sends his regrets, but he trusts that I am sufficient to convey his message.”

​”Of course, of course,” Reginald stammered, adjusting his tie. “We understand completely. A man of his stature… very busy.”

​Jonathan leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking in the silence. He didn’t smile. He didn’t engage in the small talk. He looked at his watch, then back at them.

​”So,” Jonathan said, cutting through the air like a knife. “Let us not waste time. Mr. Blackwood is waiting for an update.”

​He looked from Reginald, to Arthur, and finally rested his gaze on Cassandra.

​”Is the Vanderbilt family ready to proceed with the decision?”

​The question hung in the air, simple and terrifying.

​Reginald froze.

​He looked at Arthur. Arthur looked at the table, his face draining of color.

​They had no decision. They had no signature. They had no Vivienne.

​The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as the two brothers frantically searched for a way to say ’no’ without ending their careers.

Reginald wiped his palms on his trousers, trying to summon the authority of a Patriarch, but looking more like a schoolboy caught without his homework.

“M-Mr. Jonathan,” He began, his voice wavering. “Regarding the vote… we are… we are maneuvering the Board as we speak. We are trying our absolute best to force the ratification. But…”

He hesitated, glancing at the file under Jonathan’s hand.

“But… you must understand… Vivienne vanished. At the most critical moment. The meetings were cancelled abruptly. We have been trying to locate her, to force her hand…”

He tried to smile, a weak, trembling thing.

“But rest assured! The Vanderbilt family stands with Mr. Blackwood! Without a doubt! We are merely… delayed.”

Jonathan didn’t blink.

He didn’t speak immediately. He simply let the excuse hang in the air, rotting.

Then, he frowned.

It wasn’t a human expression of annoyance. It was a shift in the atmosphere. The air in the room seemed to thicken, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on their chests like lead.

To an ordinary person, it was just a glare. But to Reginald and Arthur, standing in the presence of an Apex Realm, it was a physical blow. Their instincts screamed at them to kneel. Their blood ran cold, freezing in their veins.

“Delayed,” Jonathan repeated. The word was soft, but it hit them like a hammer.

He leaned forward, the mahogany table groaning under his hand.

“You are telling me that the two eldest sons of this family… cannot handle a single woman?”

Arthur flinched violently, his chair scraping against the floor. Reginald went pale, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no sound came out. The pressure radiating from Jonathan was terrifying… a cold, suffocating killing intent that made it hard to breathe.

“Incompetence,” Jonathan spat. “Why don’t you just say it? You have no control. You have no authority. And you have no idea where your own CEO is.”

His eyes narrowed, dark voids of judgment.

“And if you cannot control your own house… why should House Blackwood waste its time with you?”

The brothers were paralyzed. The weight of his displeasure was crushing them. They had no answer. They had no defense.

“You must understand, Mr. Jonathan.”

The voice cut through the crushing pressure… smooth, husky, and dangerously intimate.

Cassandra.

She didn’t retreat from the pressure. She leaned into it.

She stood up and moved closer to him, her perfume… jasmine and dark ambition… drifting into his personal space.

“Vivienne…” she began, her voice dropping to a register that was no longer about business. “She is a complicated woman. Difficult. Proud.”

She reached out. Her hand, manicured and steady, found Jonathan’s arm. Her fingers brushed the fabric of his suit, feeling the steel of the muscle beneath, lingering there, squeezing slightly.

“But we…”

She looked up at him through her lashes, the tip of her tongue moistening her crimson lips.

“We are loyal.”

She didn’t stop at his arm.

Her hand slid down slowly, past his elbow, past his wrist, until her palm settled with quiet deliberation on his thigh.

Reginald and Arthur went rigid. Neither breathed. Neither spoke. The audacity of it had stolen every word from their mouths.

But Cassandra didn’t look at them. Her entire world was the man in the chair.

“The Vanderbilt family belongs to Mr. Blackwood,” she whispered, leaning in until her face was inches from his, the deep curve of her neckline unavoidable. “And I assure you… we know how to take care of our friends.”

She squeezed his thigh, her eyes locking onto his, promising everything she had… her influence, her cunning, and her body… in exchange for his favor.

“Don’t we?”