Page 24 of The Heir's Defiance

The needle stabs through linen with a quiet pop, and I pull the thread too tightly. It puckers the edge of the fabric. My mother sighs beside me, the kind that’s more judgment than breath. She always makes that sound when I disappoint her—when I remind her that I'm not the daughter she shaped to be obedient. It's not surprise in her eyes anymore, just quiet resentment.

“You’ll ruin the pattern,” she says, not looking up. Her stitches are always perfect.

The sitting room is warm from the fire, though it smells faintly of damp stone. Rain beat on the windows earlier, but now the clouds just hang low, dimming the last of the daylight. Outside, the gutters drip. Inside, the silence gnaws at me. Ever since I refused to marry that slug, I've seen a side of her I don't like. I'm sure it's to be expected, but it'd be nice to be thought of like their daughter again, not a disappointment.

“If you let your stress out in the fabric, you'll never make anything of worth. Be more careful." Her eyes flick at me, and I hide my scowl.

I don’t answer. My needle hesitates, suspended in mid-air. The sitting room is too warm. The fire crackles too softly to fill the silence. Between us, the tension hangs tight as wire. It’s not just the argument about Volkov. It’s everything. Every word we don’t say. Every expectation I never met.

“Artur Volkov's mother sends a prayer cloth every week,” she says next, soft but cutting. “Still. After everything.” There is the rub. I knew she was going to bring it up, but I hoped I was wrong.

I press the linen flat on my lap, set the needle down. “If it matters to her that much,” I say, “she can marry him.” Wincing at my own attitude, I look at the flames dancing beyond the hearth. I know they want something good for me, and Artur is probably a good man. But he's not my man. He's not what my heart wants.

Mother doesn’t flinch. She just ties off her thread and starts another without breaking stride. “It’s not about marriage. It’s about peace, stability, honor.”

“For him or for us?” I ask with a tone.

Her lips thin. I already know the answer. For them. For appearances. For the legacy my father wants to pass on to my brother. And how dare I question that? I'm supposed to be so loyal to them and forget about myself. But Callum will walk away with everything and I get servitude the rest of my life.

“You know what happens when a family starts looking fractured,” she says. “What it invites.”

“Invites?” I shake my head. “It draws blood. That’s what it does.”

She stands and folds her embroidery in perfect thirds. “Well, I should turn in.” Her polite smile pricks my heart. She's only doing what she thinks is best, to honor my father. To her it's simple, cut and dry. I should just do as I'm told. It's like she never felt anything romantic in her life, never wanted more.

I let her go, and the sound of her heels fades down the hall until I’m alone in the room with the fire and the ghost of that conversation. My chest itches. Looking at where the thread pressed too hard into the fabric, I run my finger over the puckered hawthorn leaves stitched in dark green. She's right. This activity isn't one for stress relief.

My phone buzzes on the table and I glance at it. It's Connor's number on the caller ID.

Connor 8:26 PM: Stay away from the North Docks. That’s not where you want to be tonight.

I read the message three times, then a fourth. He didn’t say why. Why would he warn me? I turn the phone in my hand, as if there’s more meaning tucked behind the screen. The message is too short for a trap, too vague for strategy. He doesn’t explain himself, and that makes it worse. My stomach coils. Does he think I’ll go there? Does he want me to? And if not, what the hell is about to happen down there?

I should tell my father. But the second I do, it becomes a play. A movement on the board. He’ll deploy soldiers. He’ll find a way to kill Connor no matter what happens. And I won’t know if I handed him ammunition or if I just lit the fuse myself.

I close my eyes, force my breath to even out.

If Connor’s going to make a move tonight, my father doesn’t need my help to see it. He already has eyes everywhere. But ifI can see what’s happening myself, maybe I can do something about it. Maybe I can make sure no one dies who didn’t have to.

I grab my coat from the back of the chair, tuck my phone into the inside pocket, then pause outside my father’s study. The door is unlocked, which is abnormal, but fortunate for me. If something is going down at the docks, I can't go alone and unarmed.

Inside, the air is stale with cologne and cigar smoke. I step behind the desk, kneel, and tug the bottom drawer open. There it is—the small black pistol he keeps tucked beneath the ledgers, spare clip right beside it. I don’t hesitate. I wrap it in a silk handkerchief and slide it into the lining of my coat.

I slip out without telling anyone where I'm going. On the stairs, one of the younger guards is nursing a paper cup of tea. He doesn’t look up. He won’t tattle, but if something happens, he’ll be forced to say he saw me leave.

When I get to the front, Liam doesn’t want to drive me, but I dangle the noose and he's eating out of my hands again. He makes it clear how upset he is with every sideways glance and clenched jaw as we wind through the backstreets in his sedan. He hates this but he does it anyway—because he knows what Da will do if he finds out about the affair.

Liam pulls up near the yard, keeping the engine idling like he expects to wait. I reach for the door handle.

"Wait," he says, his hand shooting out to grip the steering wheel tighter. "You serious about goin’ in alone?"

I glance at him. "You don’t want to be seen with me if anything goes sideways."

His jaw tightens. "Fecking hell, Nora. Yer gonna get me strung up."

I shift in my seat to face him fully. "You were just following orders. That’s what you’ll say if anyone asks."

He stares ahead, breathing through his nose. The muscles in his forearms tense, then he mutters something too low to catch and slams his palm against the dash. "You’re outta your mind," he says.

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