Rich Radiant and Over Him (Alicia and Vincent) novel Chapter 383

It was just like the legends of King Arthur’s Merlin—Clayton wasn’t looking for a mere figurehead; he wanted a monarch who could weather any storm.

Tyrone, on the other hand, wasn’t searching for a partner to rule by his side. What he wanted was a delicate wife he could shelter from the world.

Their starting points couldn’t be more different, so it was no wonder their goals were worlds apart.

In Clayton’s eyes, Alicia needed to be tempered by adversity before she could truly grow. But Tyrone believed he could take on the hardships himself; his wife, on the other hand, shouldn’t have to suffer a thing.

“Think about what I said, and when you’ve figured it out, we’ll talk,” Clayton said, fixing Tyrone with a level gaze. When he saw Tyrone lost in thought, he picked up a toothpick and tossed it across the table.

Tyrone caught it midair, giving Clayton a look. “Careful, or that stoic monk persona of yours is going to crack.”

Clayton’s reputation was built on his cool, untouchable demeanor. If word got out that he was flinging things at people, that image would shatter in an instant.

He sighed. “Do you really think I care about appearances right now? We’re practically on the edge of a cliff, Mr. Lynch.”

Clayton slumped back in his chair, worry etched across his face.

Reginald’s health was deteriorating fast, and the White family was teetering on the brink of chaos.

Clayton owed the old man everything; it was only right he’d devote his life to protecting the Whites. But Alicia, their heir apparent, was far too soft, and then there was Tyrone—an unwelcome obstacle if ever there was one.

Tyrone’s relentless spoiling of his wife had only made matters worse. Alicia was coddled to the point of weakness, utterly unfit for leadership.

“That inheritance you’re sitting on—figure out what to do with it, and quick. Otherwise, you’ll always have someone watching you,” Clayton warned, glancing at his watch. “Today it’s me at your door. Tomorrow? The Lawsons, the Blacks, and God knows who else will be lining up. Until that money’s dealt with, you won’t get a moment’s peace.”

Tyrone nodded. “I know what I have to do.”

He’d never dream of handing over the money—not with half the city waiting to trip him up. People would love nothing more than to watch him go up in flames.

***

Vincent blinked, feigning confusion. “Didn’t you ask me to come over?”

Stephen relaxed, ushering him inside. “Come in, I have something to discuss with you.”

He closed the door firmly behind them and fixed Vincent with a serious look. “I’m not going to harp on about that little stunt you pulled with Tyrone—kidnapping your brother. I know you’ve got grievances. I’m not blind.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. “Dad, cut to the chase.”

There was no point pretending at father-son affection; the charade made Vincent nauseous.

Stephen gave a thin smile, clapping Vincent on the shoulder. “I have to hand it to you—you did well. Getting close to Tyrone might not be such a bad thing, after all. Our New Energy project at Lawson & Co. needs a cash injection, and Tyrone’s just inherited a fortune. That’s a real windfall for us.”

Vincent arched an eyebrow. So that’s what this was about—Tyrone’s money.

But Stephen was never so straightforward. Most likely, he wanted to set up a hollow project and bleed Tyrone dry.