Page 25 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

I grip the arms of my chair, knuckles going white. “Watch your mouth.”

She arches a brow, feigning innocence. “Or what?”

My father's fist comes down on the table, rattling the fine china. "Angie, that is enough."

"I'm simply stating facts. What was it last time?” She snaps like she can’t remember, but I know she does. “That’s right, ascholarship to some art school?" She waves her hand dismissively. "Or was that just the story you sold to us to fund that leech’s activities?"

Angie stands and circles the table, predatory, each step deliberate. "What I know is that you've been sneaking around behind our backs. Again. After everything we've done for you."

"Everything you've done?" The words taste bitter on my tongue. "You mean controlling every aspect of my life? Deciding my career, my friends, who I'm allowed to love?"

"Love?" She spits the word like venom. "You don't know the first thing about love, Vincent. Love is sacrifice. Love is duty."

My father stands now, his face ashen. "Both of you, sit down."

“Love is how big the bank account is,” I mock.

The crack of Angie's palm against my cheek echoes through the dining room. My head snaps sideways from the force, a burning sting spreading across my skin.

"How dare you—" she begins, eyes blazing.

A sharp knock interrupts her tirade. We all freeze, the tension crystallizing in the air between us.

Franklin appears in the doorway, his posture impeccable despite the obvious discomfort in his eyes. He clears his throat. "Pardon the intrusion. Miss Rachel Harold has arrived."

Angie's entire demeanor shifts in an instant, the fury in her eyes replaced by practiced charm. She straightens her blouse, fingers quickly brushing through her hair.

"Vincent," she hisses through a suddenly fixedsmile, "sit down right now."

I remain standing, the side of my face still throbbing.

"Vincent," my father warns, his voice low and dangerous.

Before I can decide whether to obey, Rachel glides into the dining room, resplendent in a designer dress that probably costs more than most people's monthly salary. Her eyes flick between us, registering the tension but pretending not to notice.

"Am I interrupting?" Rachel asks, her smile revealing perfect teeth. "I can come back another time if?—"

"Nonsense!" Angie exclaims, moving toward Rachel with open arms. "We were just having a family discussion. Nothing important."

I sink back into my chair, jaw clenched so tight I can hear my teeth grinding. Rachel takes the seat opposite me, her curious gaze lingering on my reddened cheek.

"Vincent," my father says with forced pleasantry, "you remember Rachel from the Winterson's gala last month?"

I nod curtly, not trusting myself to speak.

"Rachel's father just acquired that delightful property in the Hamptons," Angie continues, as if moments ago she hadn't been ready to claw my eyes out. "The one with the private beach?"

Rachel smiles at me, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the undercurrent of hostility. "It's so good to see you again, Vincent. Your mother has been telling me you've just returned from abroad."

My mother. The word lands like a slap, worse than the physical one Angie had delivered. I meet Angie's triumphant gaze across the table, hatred simmering between us.

"Stepmother," I correct, watching Angie's smile falter for just a moment. "And no, I have been tending to my fiancée. She’s been in the hospital.”

“Oh, she gasps, her eyes darting around the room, and landing on a scowling Angie, who made her way back to her seat directly across from mine. “I-I thought…”

"Don't worry Rachel, darling," Angie cuts in smoothly, though I can see the muscle in her jaw twitching. "Vincent has a... colorful imagination. Always has. There's no fiancée."

Rachel's gaze bounces between us like a tennis ball, uncertainty clouding her features.

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