Page 83 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

“This isn’t just business,” he says, his voice hardening. “This is our home, our legacy. Why would you even want it?”

I shrug, tilting my head slightly, as though the question bores me. “Because it’s a good investment,” I say smoothly. “And because, frankly, you’ve left it vulnerable. If I don’t take it, someone else will. You should have been more careful.”

“You’re full of shit,” he snaps, stepping closer. His frustration is palpable, but I hold my ground, meeting his gaze with icy disdain.

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to sleep at night,” I reply, a small smile curling my lips. “But facts are facts. You’re here because of your and your father’s failures. Not mine.”

His shoulders stiffen, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to lose his temper. He doesn’t, though I can see the effort it costs him. Instead, he straightens, his voice cold and deliberate. “Fine. You’ll get your money. Every damn cent of it. By the due date.”

I laugh, sharp and mocking, the sound echoing through the office. “Oh, Brennen, don’t embarrass yourself. Look around.” I gesture to the worn furniture, the peeling paint, the signs of a business that’s barely holding itself together. “Do you honestly think you can scrape together enough money to pay off the note? This vineyard is falling apart, and you know it. Admit defeat. Walk away gracefully.”

His jaw tightens, but he says nothing, his eyes burning with barely contained fury.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” I continue, letting my voice drop into something almost sweet. “I’ll pay off all your debt and give you three million on top of that. No fuss. No drawn-out fight. Just a clean slate. Otherwise? You’ll get nothing.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged. Brennen’s hands curl into fists, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep control.

“Leave,” he says finally, his voice low and steady, though I can see the storm raging behind his eyes.

I smile, the victory already sweet on my tongue. “As you wish.”

Turning on my heel, I stride out of his office, my heels clicking against the floor with every confident step. The woman glances up as I pass, her expression uncertain, but I don’t spare her a second thought.

My driver is waiting at the entrance, and he steps forward to open the door as I approach. I slide into the back seat, smoothing my skirt as I settle into the plush leather.

“Take me into town,” I say. “It appears I may be here a while.” I give him the address of a luxury Airbnb.

The Rolls Royce purrs to life, gliding smoothly down the winding drive. I watch the vineyard fade into the distance, the rows of vines disappearing behind us, and allow myself a moment of reflection.

I don’t usually let my emotions rule me. I pride myself on being calculated and pragmatic. Vindictiveness isn’t a trait I indulge in often. But Ryan Murphy is the one exception.

He broke something in me all those years ago, something I’ve worked tirelessly to rebuild. And no matter how much time has passed, I can’t seem to let it go. He needs to pay.

And that means taking down everything he cares about—starting with his brother, his mother’s precious Celtic Knot, and his little sister, Emma.

Emma. The memory makes me smile, though now it’s a smile laced with venom. We’ve crossed swords before, and I have no doubt she’s already called Ryan. Let her.

Let him come back.

It’ll make destroying him all the sweeter.

Chapter 3

Ryan

The vineyard stretches out before me, a patchwork of green and gold under the fading evening light. The air smells of rain, fresh and clean, mingling with the earthy scent of the damp soil. I ride slowly through the property on my vintage Indian motorcycle, the engine rumbling low and steady, the tires kicking up a faint spray of water from the gravel path.

The rows of vines blur past, and memories crash into me like waves, relentless and unforgiving. I see Brennen and myself as kids, racing through the fields and laughing, our mother yelling after us to be careful. I see my father, his hard eyes and clenched fists, a bottle of whiskey always within arm’s reach. And then there’s Candace—her laughter like music, her smile brighter than the summer sun. I lost my virginity among those vines; Candace did, too. There was an old stone cottage, the original home of the founders of the vineyard. As teenagers, it had been our trysting place. The plan had been to restore it and live there after we got married.

I tighten my grip on the handlebars. This is why I haven’t been back. It’s too much. Too raw. The motorcycle, a vintage Indian Chief that I restored, helps to ground me in the here and now. I tell people I did it so it can go in the jet, but that isn’ttrue, I take it with me because I like riding it, and it makes a statement with its mint green and cream paint, and for me it evokes a timeless, elegant aesthetic. The brown leather saddle seat and matching saddlebags, complete with fringe and metal accents, add a rugged yet refined touch and mean I don’t have to carry luggage. It seems to me to be the perfect blend of nostalgia and modern engineering.

The path winds up toward the main house, a stately structure that looks smaller now than it did in my memories. The shutters are weathered, and the paint is peeling in places. The house is holding up, but just barely, much like everything else around here.

I park the bike near the front porch and cut the engine. For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the house as the quiet hum of insects fills the air. The sun dips lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. A soft breeze carries the lingering scent of rain, cooling the tension in my chest.

Finally, I dismount, grabbing the saddle bags from the bike and slinging them over one shoulder. The walk up to the front door feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by the memories I’ve tried to bury. I hesitate at the door, my hand hovering just short of the handle.

Do I knock? Or do I just walk in? It’s still my family’s house, isn’t it? I’m still a member of the family, or so Emma keeps reminding me.

---