Page 39 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh, and you might want to ask yourself why a man who could buy any property he wants is so interested in yours specifically. Sometimes the most obvious answer is the right one.”
I watch him walk away, his cheap suit wrinkled and his shoulders set with quiet satisfaction. Only when his rental car disappears down the drive do I allow myself to sink onto the wooden bench beside the nearest hive.
The cheerful humming of my bees, which moments ago felt comforting, now sounds distant and hollow. Everything I thought I’d built, everything I thought I’d protected, could all go away just like that. Craig’s words echo in my mind, each one carefully chosen to find its mark.
Poor judgment. Irresponsible. The most obvious answer.
Could he really challenge the inheritance? Is there actually a clause I don’t know about? Grandma Rose’s will was read so quickly after the funeral, and I was so grief-stricken I barely absorbed the details beyond the fact that she’d left me the farm.
The worst part is the seed of doubt he’s planted. Not about Raphael’s feelings—I’ve seen too much genuine vulnerability from him to question that—but about the situation itself. The timing of his arrival, right when I was facing foreclosure. The convenient solution to all my problems. What if Craig is right about the optics, even if he’s wrong about Raphael’s motives? If the optics are bad enough, maybe Craig really would have a good case against me.
I need to see Raphael. I need to tell him what happened and figure out how to fight this. Because despite Craig’s poisonous implications, despite the fear clawing at my chest, I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I’m not giving up. Not on the farm, and not on what Raphael and I are building together.
The walk back to the mansion feels longer than usual, my legs unsteady with residual adrenaline. I find Raphael in his office, seated behind the massive oak desk, wearing reading glasses that should look silly on his bull’s head but instead make him appear distinguished and scholarly. He’s reviewing what looks like property deeds and land surveys, his large fingers surprisingly delicate as he turns the pages.
The moment he sees my face, he’s on his hooves.
“Frankie.” His voice carries that low rumble of concern I’ve come to associate with his protective instincts. “What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to speak and find the words sticking in my throat. The morning’s confrontation crashes over me again. Craig’s false sympathy, his casual threats, the way he made everything I care about feel dirty and suspect…
“My cousin came to see me,” I manage, and Raphael’s entire demeanor shifts.
His nostrils flare slightly, and I realize he’s probably picking up Craig’s lingering scent on my clothes. His massive hands clench at his sides, then deliberately relax, and I can see the effort it takes him to remain still and let me speak.
“Tell me,” he says simply.
I recount the conversation as best I can, watching Raphael’s expression grow progressively darker. By the time I get to Craig’s threats about the will, a low rumble has started in Raphael’s chest—not the gentle sound he makes when he’s content, but something dangerous.
“He threatened to challenge your inheritance.” It’s not a question, and his voice has dropped to barely above a growl.
“He says there are clauses about responsible stewardship. About bringing disrepute to the family name.” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. “What if he’s right? What if there really are provisions I don’t know about?”
Raphael is quiet for a long moment, and I can see the war raging behind his dark eyes. His jaw is clenched, his massive frame tense with barely contained fury. I know he’s fighting every instinct he has, the urge to hunt Craig down and make him pay for threatening me.
But then something shifts. I watch him make a conscious choice, see him step back from the edge of violence and into something colder and more calculating.
“I know someone who might be able to help,” he says finally.
“Who?”
His expression grows thoughtful, almost reluctant. “Someone I’d rather not ask for favors, but he might be our best option right now.”
There’s something in his tone that tells me this isn’t going to be easy for him, whoever this person is. But I can see the determination settling into his features, the way he’s already strategizing.
“Your cousin made a critical error, little bee.”
“What’s that?”
“He assumed I’d react like the monster everyone thinks I am.” Raphael’s voice drops to something almost like a purr, but there’s an edge to it now. “But I didn’t survive in corporate boardrooms by charging at every threat with my horns lowered.”
I see the wheels turning in his mind, but whatever plan he’s forming, he’s keeping it to himself. The uncertainty should worry me more than it does, but there’s something about his quiet confidence that steadies my nerves.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Trust me to handle this.” His expression softens as he steps closer, his large hands settling gently on my shoulders. “Can you do that?”
