Page 45 of No Ordinary Love

My mother sang a completely different tune than Jerome when I confronted her. According to her, I had duties and responsibilities. I owed the family.

"You are the one who said you didn't love her, not me," she pointed out.

"Mama, I don't like being manipulated," I told her firmly.

"Son, I'm only doing what's best for the family."

"But is it what's best for me?" I asked.

Her eyes sputtered with confusion. According to her, I knew that what was best for the family was best for every individual—no two ways about it. She'd done what she needed to do toprotect the Covington name, and she expected the same from Shelby and me.

"Look, Lucas, if you still have feelings for Amara, fine. Marry Kath and…you know…keep seeing Amara. Just not in public and keep it out of the society papers."

I couldn't believe my mother had just told me to start my marriage with a mistress on the side.

"And you think Kath will be okay with that?" I tamped down the anger racing through me.

"She'll pretend not to know. That's what a good wife does."

"Like you did when Dad was stepping out on you?" I demanded, feeling sad for her, pitying her for what she believed life was all about.

She gasped. "How dare you say such things about your father?"

"Mama, everyone knew."

She pursed her lips. "I will not talk about such obscene matters with you. It's abhorrent."

I sighed. "You knew, and you did or said nothing. I don't want that kind of marriage."

"You will marry Kath, and that's that."

"I'm a grown man, Mama; I choose to hear you out, but that doesn't mean I will do as you wish. Kath and I are colleagues and nothing more."

"What are you talking about? You've both been dating for months," she protested.

"No, Mama, we have definitely not been dating."

I walked out of her home before I said words I'd regret and couldn't take back. I was finally seeing the mess I had made out of my life. I had indulged my mother and sister; even Kath—and had let them all hurt Amara, telling her that she'd always come second to my family. And where did my happiness and well-being stand on my list of priorities? I didn't even knowanymore. I was so busy being Lucas Covington that I didn't know who the hell Lucas the man was. But one thing I knew for sure—when I was with Amara, I was my most authentic self.

I got out of the car, the gravel crunching under my shoes as I walked to the front door of the Bellamy mansion. The entrance was grand—white columns, a massive wooden door with intricate carvings, and an antique brass knocker that belonged to a monastery in Italy, which cost more than most people's entire homes.

A butler opened the door; obviously having been alerted by the security cameras that I was pondering my life in the driveway.

"Mr. Covington," he greeted me with a nod. "Miss Bellamy is waiting for you in the garden room."

"Thanks, Oliver."

The butler closed the door behind me with a soft click, leaving me to navigate the familiar halls on my own.

I'd been here more times than I could count, yet I'd never noticed how cold this place felt compared to Amara's little cottage, where she'd hosted her friends. Her home was warm and cozy, filled with love and life, without an interior designer in sight. Maybe that was why I couldn't bring myself to sell the townhouse—or even move out of it—despite the guilt I felt being there without Amara. She had turned that space into a home, and the few months we'd lived there had been…amazing.

Why the fuck had I given that up?

In contrast, Kath's parents' house was immaculate and opulent, a gilded cage, a place where everything was too polished, too perfect. And I was here to break something that had been fraying at the edges for far too long.

The garden room was extravagant—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking perfectly manicured gardens, antique furniture that looked more like it belonged in a museum than a living room, and a chandelier that sparkled like a million tiny diamonds.

Kath sat on one of the velvet sofas, her posture perfect, her expression carefully composed. She looked expectant. Hopeful, even. If I had to take a guess, it was because she thought I was here to lay claim to her, which meant my mother hadn't called to warn her.

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