Page 82 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

I push it all down with practiced ease. I’m not that girl anymore. That girl was fragile, naïve, easily discarded. She no longer exists.

I’ve worked too damn hard to be here today, not as the girl crying in the dirt, but as the woman in control. This isn’t a nostalgic trip down memory lane. It’s far better than that. It’s vengeance, carefully planned and perfectly timed.

The car stops in front of the main building, its façade a blend of rustic charm and understated elegance. My driver, dressed in a crisp, dark uniform, rounds the vehicle and opens the door for me. I take his gloved hand as I step out, my heels clicking on the stone drive.

The cool breeze brushes my skin, and for a fleeting moment, I catch the scent of the grapes ripening on the vine. It’s intoxicating, but I tamp down any appreciation before it can fully take hold. This visit isn’t about pleasure, it’s about business.

My suit is sharp, my blouse soft and luxurious. The bag on my arm—a Birkin, of course—rests comfortably against my side and contains a collection of contracts, legal documents, and every weapon I’ll need to finish what I started. A small, malicious smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I survey the building.

I know the sunlight will make the diamond studs in my ears sparkle, and the wind tugs playfully at my hair. I tuck a strand behind my ear and straighten my shoulders.

I don’t look around much; I don’t need to. This place is etched in my memory, every vine, every stone. The last time I was here, I left broken. Today, one way or another, I won’t be leaving empty-handed.

The door opens, and I step inside without hesitation. This place might hold pieces of my past, but today, it’s all about the future—and my victory.

As I reach the entrance, the woman at the reception desk stares, startled. I give her a brief, icy smile and speak, my voice cutting through the stillness.

“I’m here to see Brennen Murphy.”

The woman falters for a moment before regaining her composure. “Of course, Ms…?”

“Prescott. Candace Prescott. Sapphire Development.”

Her expression flickers briefly—recognition, maybe? It doesn’t matter. She nods and presses the button of a dilapidated intercom system, murmuring softly into the receiver.

“Brennen, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a visitor. She’s quite insistent.” After a brief pause she hangs the phone up and turns to me.“Mr. Murphy will be right out.”

I don’t respond, merely offering a tight smile before taking in the space. The reception area is tasteful, with polished wood accents and a sweeping view of the vineyards through floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s meant to be warm and inviting, but it feels cold to me. Or perhaps that’s just me.

Footsteps echo from the hall. I turn slowly, composing my features into a mask of icy calm. Brennen Murphy emerges, and I immediately recognize him—older, broader, his face lined with tension and exhaustion. His gaze sharpens the moment he sees me.

He knows who I am.

His brows draw together, his mouth tightening as he approaches. I see the flicker of recognition, followed by a spark of anger. Good.

“Candace” he says, his voice rough and low. No handshake, no pleasantries. He doesn’t need to say it—I can see it in his eyes. He remembers me, remembers Ryan, and now he realizes exactly who holds the note on his family’s legacy.

“Brennen,” I reply, my voice smooth, unbothered.

He gestures wordlessly, his hand a brusque indication for me to follow.

I trail him down the hall, the tension palpable, the sound of my heels echoing with each deliberate step. The air between us crackles, heavy with unspoken words.

Inside, emotions churn beneath the surface—anger, regret, even a twinge of pain—but I lock them away behind the armor I’ve spent years perfecting. On the outside, I am calm. I am untouchable, and I’m about to win.

We reach his office, and he steps aside, motioning for me to enter. I do so, keeping my movements measured and graceful as I take in the space. It’s functional, utilitarian… and neat as a pin. My guess is the man has OCD.

I turn to face him as he closes the door behind us, my bag still slung over my shoulder.

“Let’s talk,” I say, the slightest edge of a smile playing on my lips. Let the game begin.

Brennen’s jaw tightens as he leans against the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. The tension in the room is almost suffocating, and I drink it in, savoring every moment. His eyes flash with anger, but his voice is even.

“Let’s not play games, Candace. This isn’t about business, and we both know it. You’re here because of something my brother or my father did to you years ago.”

I arch an eyebrow, letting out a soft laugh, cool and sharp. “Don’t flatter yourself. Or them. I have better things to do than dredge up old grievances from the past.” My voice is calm, cutting, every word a weapon. “This is business, Brennen. Plain and simple. And if you and your family were better at it, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

His eyes narrow, his fists clenching at his sides. It’s a low blow, and we both know it. But I don’t care. The truth stings, and I’m happy to let it bite.

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