Page 26 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

"Actually," I say, reaching for my phone, "would you like to see a picture?" I start scrolling through my gallery, watching Angie's face drain of color.

My father clears his throat. "Franklin, perhaps we could have some wine served?"

The butler nods stiffly and withdraws, clearly grateful for the escape.

"Vincent," my father says, his voice deceptively calm, "why don't we discuss your... friend... later? Miss Harold has come all this way?—"

"Willow isn't my friend," I say, finding the photo I want. I turn the screen toward Rachel, who leans forward despite herself. "She's the woman I'm going to marry."

Rachel's eyes widen as she takes in the image of Willow, her black hair with fading pink tips framing her face as she laughs at someone off-camera. "She's beautiful," Rachel says, and I detect genuine admiration in her voice.

"She's nobody," Angie snaps, the façade cracking.

Rachel flinches, startled by the venom in Angie's tone.

I pocket my phone, a dangerous calm settling over me. "She's the reason I came back. To tell you all to your faces that I'm done. Done with the lies, done with the manipulation."

"Vincent," my father warns.

"No." I turn to Rachel, who looks increasingly uncomfortable. "Rachel, I apologize that you've been dragged into this. I'm sure you're lovely, but whatever matchmaking scheme they've concocted ends now."

Rachel's cheeks flush. "I... I should go."

"Please stay," Angie insists, reaching for Rachel's hand. "Vincent is just being dramatic. He's always been... troubled."

"Troubled?" I laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Franklin returns with the wine, his experienced butler's mask firmly in place despite the tension thick enough to cut.

"Tell me, Rachel," I continue as Franklin begins pouring, "do you want to continue this arrangement knowing that I will always be madly in love with that girl, and come to resent the mere sight of you?”

Rachel’s face drains of color. She looks from me to Angie, then to my father, as if searching for an exit that won’t cause further offense. I almost feel sorry for her—almost. But she let herself be a piece on their chessboard, whether knowingly or not.

“I…” Rachel hesitates, clearly rattled. “I think I should?—”

“Yes, I think you should,” I cut in smoothly, not breaking eye contact. “Go.”

My father exhales sharply. “Vincent.”

Angie’s nails dig into Rachel’s hand where she still holds it, her expression icy despite the pleasant curve of her lips. “Darling, don’t be ridiculous. We planned such alovelyevening.”

Rachel finally gathers herself enough to slide her hand free. “I appreciate the invitation,” she says, her voice strained but polite. “But it’s clear this is a family matter.”

She pushes back her chair, rising gracefully despite the tension strangling the room. “Thank you for dinner.” Her gaze flicks to me, hesitant, like she wants to say more—but she thinks better of it. Instead, she turns and strides toward the door.

Angie doesn’t bother masking her irritation now. “Vincent,really.”

I take a sip of my wine, letting the silence stretch. “That went well.”

My father’s jaw tightens. “Do you think this is a game?”

“Quite the opposite.” I swirl the wine in my glass, watching the deep red liquid coat the sides. “This is me refusing to play.”

My father exhales heavily, setting his fork down with precise, deliberate movements. “You’re being reckless.”

Angie scoffs, the sound sharp and derisive. “No, he’s beingungrateful.” She steps closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor, her manicured fingers gripping the back of her chair. “Do you haveanyidea what you’re throwing away, Vincent?”

I take another sip of wine, unbothered. “Enlighten me.”

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