Page 229 of The Devil's Thorn
No, it was the assumption that Rafael would ever want someone who listened more than she lived. Someone who existed to be used like a title on paper.
Rafael finally lifted his gaze to meet Cormac’s fully. His tone was flat. Cold. “I’m not interested.”
Cormac blinked once. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
The older man gave a slow exhale through his nose, lips pursed. “You haven’t even met her.”
“I don’t need to,” Rafael said. “I don’t want a stranger. I don’t want a legacy built on someone else’s silence.”
My throat tightened. He didn’t look at me. But I felt every word like it was etched into bone.
Cormac raised an eyebrow. “You sound like a man already spoken for.”
Rafael’s expression didn’t change. “I sound like a man who knows what he wants.”
There it was. Clean. Brutal. Final.
Cormac studied him for a moment longer, then glanced once more at me—still no emotion, just calculation.
“I see,” he said. Then added, “Still, the offer stands. Think about it.”
He turned with a nod and walked away, the sound of his steps fading back into the noise of the gathering.
And we were left in silence again. But this time, it felt different. The fire in my chest wasn’t burning me anymore. Itwas steady. Focused. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what Rafael had said.
I don’t want a legacy built on someone else’s silence.
Neither did I.
And maybe, just maybe, we were building something that wasn’t made to be inherited. Butearned.
We didn’t speak at first. Rafael’s eyes remained on the path ahead, but I could tell his mind wasn’t there. Not completely.
Mine wasn’t either.
Cormac’s words echoed in my chest like an unwanted song stuck on repeat.Wife. Heir. Legacy.All of it said in front of me as if I didn’t exist. As if I was somethingtemporaryin Rafael’s life. A placeholder until something more pure and obedient came along.
But he hadn’t humored it. He hadn’t evenconsideredit. He shut it down with a sharpness that still hummed beneath my skin.
And yet… I needed more than silence. I needed the space between us to close, not in distance, but in clarity.
Rafael turned slightly, leading us down a corridor lined with stone archways and dark wooden doors. The music from the main hall had faded into a distant murmur, and here, the air felt cooler, quieter. Safer.
He pushed open one of the heavy doors with ease, revealing a smaller room—a private study of sorts. Books lined the walls, old leather and faded spines. A fireplace lay dormant, but the scent of smoke still lingered, like it had held secrets once. The air was thick with the kind of silence that invited honesty.
He didn’t say anything as he stepped inside. Neither did I. Not until the door clicked shut behind us.
I watched him for a moment, his back to me as he glanced at the shelves like he was reading titles he’d memorized years ago.
And then, finally, I spoke—quietly, but with intent. “So… do you always get offered a wife like that at parties?”
He paused, just slightly, before glancing back over his shoulder at me. His mouth pulled into something thatalmostresembled amusement—but not quite.
He turned fully then, leaning back against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed, the low light casting sharp lines across his jaw.
“More than you’d think,” he said. “Less than I used to.”
