Grant gripped Caroline’s upper arm and steered her briskly out of the crowded ballroom, through a set of heavy carved doors, and into the dark-paneled private library of the hotel.

Sloane Mercer followed them inside without a word, shutting the brass double doors behind her with a soft click.

“You brought three children into my wedding to create a public scene,” Grant said, his voice clipped and low.

He adjusted his platinum wristwatch, his fingers twitching against the metal strap.

“You vanished eleven years ago and never gave me a single notice,” Grant said.

“I owed you nothing then, and I owe you nothing now.”