My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

Chapter 13 (edited version)

**Sam's POV**

"Why are you calling me through my personal line, Dina?" I asked, irritated, as I answered the phone.

"Sir, are you still at the office?" she asked tentatively, ignoring my tone.

"Yes, I'm busy." The lie slipped out smoothly. I stared at my computer screen, which had gone dark from inactivity two hours ago. Busy? Hardly. My thoughts had been scattered for days now, orbiting around someone I refused to mention.

It felt as though I'd gone through a breakup, even though there had never been a relationship. Worse yet, it had been my choice to sever ties—if you could even call it that. Now, my mind was filled with nothing but guilt and relentless thoughts of her.

Dina's insistence on updating me about Fiona’s activities didn’t help. It was like she had an absurd sixth sense for what I was avoiding.

Before, I dreaded sleep because of the nightmares. Now, sleep was a relief compared to the waking hours where Fiona haunted my every thought. It was ironic—I'd always hated feeling shackled by anything or anyone, but here I was, imprisoned by my own decision.

"Sir, did you hear me?" Dina's voice pulled me back into reality.

"What?"

"I was telling you why I called," she repeated patiently.

"Which is?"

"You have an event tonight. Remember?"

"I know. It's at eight, right?" I said, glancing at the clock on my desk, hoping I'd have a bit more time to delay.

"Yes... and it's currently 8:46 p.m., sir," Dina replied, the smirk in her voice impossible to miss.

I glanced at my watch. Damn it.

"Okay, I guess I’ll head home and change into a tux." I was buying time, searching for any excuse to avoid showing up.

"No need for that, sir. I already took the liberty of having one delivered. It’s on the suit rack in your office, right before I clocked out," she informed me sweetly.

"Well, aren't you efficient today," I muttered, inwardly cursing her foresight.

"You know I am, sir." Her laughter trailed off as I ended the call.

I rolled my eyes—something I rarely did—and pulled on the tuxedo, moving with deliberate slowness. Despite my reluctance, I knew I had to go. The only reason I agreed to attend was because of a business partner. Not one of my partners, but Bruckner’s. One of his most significant ones at that.

My plan to take down Bruckner was simple. I needed to ingratiate myself with his key partners, earning their trust, so when things started to go south for him—and they would—those partners would come running to me for help.

Out of thirteen of his biggest partners, I had already secured ten. It wasn’t difficult. Bruckner made things easier than expected; the man practically handed over ammunition.

I smiled coldly as I drove to the event, knowing I was close to my goal. But the satisfaction I thought I’d feel? Nonexistent.

The event was an extravagant beachside party, complete with flickering flame lamps, casting a warm, almost romantic glow. It was picturesque, but the contradiction of formal attire at a beach was not lost on me. Who throws a black-tie beach party and requests no shoes?

My only mission tonight was to make an appearance, charm the host, and leave as quickly as possible. As soon as I stepped out of the car, Anthony Wright, the host and Bruckner’s key ally, spotted me and hurried over, grinning.