“You’re going to pin your chances on a woman that won’t even choose you over some lowlife scum?” Out of the corner of my eye, Clayton visibly flinches, and my reaction is barely concealed. That word is like a cleaver to my chest, slamming harder than expected. I’ve called Clayton it ever since I met him, but no man who can love and protect my girl as fiercely as him can be scum. For the first time, I see Clayton not as a rival to be beaten, but as an equal match. Tightening my fingers around Harper’s hand, I shift my head to speak directly into her receiver.
“I’m pinning my future on a woman who is too incredible for just one man to worship.” Shoving her chair out, Klara runs fromthe room with her head in her hands, hysterically blubbering. I roll my eyes before Harper turns to face me, those huge green orbs consuming my vision and blocking out the rest of the room. They’re glassy with unshed tears, a wobbly smile on her mouth. Finding a smirk just for her, I plant a kiss on her cheek before facing my father again. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
His eyes narrow, the pinched expression upon his face beginning to turn an aggravated shade of red. “Meaning, what?” Before I have a chance to respond, Addy tosses her fork across the table and cackles so loud and suddenly, I think everyone in the room flinches.
“That you killed your wife and stuffed her into the walls!” She laughs like a hyena, rocking back on her chair. Clayton spots that she’s going to fall before anyone else, dashing out of his seat to catch her before she hits the ground. The rest of us remain frozen, the words spilling across the room like ink seeping through the cracks of my father’s lies. I can’t take my eyes off him, watching the ticks, twitches and contortions of his features before he shuts off his expression.
“Out. All of them, out,” he growls, the sound barely audible over Addy’s hysterics. Clayton is already escorting her to the doorway, sensing she’s had enough of this party. Along the way, Addy talks to the oil-paint portraits, asking if they know where my mother is hiding. I turn to Harper, lifting her hand to my mouth and pressing a kiss into her knuckles, my voice softening only for her.
“Go get your things. Whatever you can carry. We’re leaving tonight.” Her eyes shine, wide and stunned, and she nods once before stepping away from my side. My father, however, has other plans.
“Not you, Rhys. You are staying right here, as agreed.”
Pausing mid-step, Harper swings back to me, worry etched into her beautiful face. I shake my head and mouth for herto go, before turning back to my father. This entire time, the Kavanagh’s are watching our family drama unfold in stilted silence.
“You don’t get to summon me anymore. You don’t get to decide when I stay or leave.” I wrap my fingers into fists, my intention clear. He can try to stop me, but I won’t go down without putting up a fight. Not this time. He has no power over me now.
“You walk out that door,” my father snarls, rising to his feet now, fury bleeding through the instinct to be polite, “and you can forget the academy. Forget your inheritance. Forget the name. I will cut you off completely.”
The old fear within me flickers, a reflex I’ve yet to tamper down, but it dies before it can take root. Seeing Harper is safely out of range, a shudder of bravery ripples through my spine and settles into my bones.
“Good,” I say, meaning it with every fractured piece of myself he never managed to break. “I’m tired of being owned by a name that only ever cost me blood. Keep it. Keep the money, the legacy, the house. I’d rather be nothing without you than everything you tried to make me.”
Turning on my heel, I don’t wait for his response, and I don’t look back. Crossing the dining room, I slow, my foot stalling before it passes over the threshold, a wave of relief sweeping through me as it does. For the first time in my life, I don’t need permission to leave.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Once the dining room is out of sight, I bolt up the staircase, my pulse hammering inside my ears. In a matter of hours, our fragile sanctuary has been shattered. Sure, I knew Phillip was due home any day, but I was waiting for Rhys’ instruction. Waiting for him to be ready to make it. Turns out, I received it in front of the man he loathes. We’re leaving tonight.
A heady mix of adrenaline and fear bleeds through my chest, the unknown lingering. For a girl who had it all planned out meticulously, to get my degree and have a stable job, it’s dangerous territory. But I trust in the men who will be by my side. I’ve seen the sacrifices they’re willing to make for my well-being.
Darting to the guest bedroom, I mimic Clayton and start to stuff my clothes into my backpack. Addy has forgotten the concept of gravity, her body slumped across the bed as she calls out things to remember.
“Phone chargers! That lamp! Bread for the road!” Despite smirking, I roll my eyes at her and make my way over to said phone charger. Lingering by the bedside table, my fingers stroke the book I was currently reading. A shadow appears over myshoulder, a gasp locking in my throat as Rhys’ inked arm reaches past me to pick up the book and place it in my hand.
“Take it. Take whatever you want. He won’t miss any of it.” Before he has the chance to turn away, I catch the pang of sadness that claims Rhys’ features. The tight pull at his mouth that has nothing to do with objects or money or the leather-bound book pressed against my chest. He’s talking about the undeniable truth that his father will not miss him either, and that walking out of this manor tonight is severing the final cord that has been strangling him his entire life. Even when love is long dead, grief still finds a way to sink its teeth in.
Setting the book aside, I step closer, wrapping my arms around his middle from behind, pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades. His body is tense beneath my touch, coiled like he’s bracing for impact, the way this place has trained him to be.
“You’re allowed to mourn it,” I murmur quietly. “Even if you’re the one walking away.” Rhys exhales slowly, the sound shuddering through him. A hand lands on my shoulder, Clayton’s presence stepping in to complete our union. I can’t help the smile that curves over my lips. It’s not just the manor that Rhys is leaving behind, but the life he thought he’d always have. The money, the power. He doesn’t know how else to be, but we’ll show him. We’ll work it out together.
“Come on,” Rhys steps away from my hold, and I know it’s not a rejection. It’s urgency. At Rhys’ insistence, we take whatever we deem useful, along with the satin pajamas I’ve taken a liking to. Drawers are yanked open, clothes strewn across the bed, and a suitcase Rhys produces lying open on the floor. We move fast, folding only the things that matter, stuffing the rest in with reckless abandon. Every sound that passes my receivers makes my heart jump. A door slamming somewhere below. Raised voices echo faintly through the manor, Phillip’s venomous tone leaking through the walls.
“I need my passport. I’ll be right back,” Rhys grunts, storming out of the door with his shoulders tightly bunched. Catching Clay’s eye, I swallow past the hammering of my heart.
“I need the bathroom, so I’ll handle the toiletries,” I shift towards the door. Clay’s fingers brush my wrist, and I blink up at him, surprised by the warmth of his expression.
“Make sure to get that gold-leaf shampoo. My hair’s never felt so glorious,” he winks. The ache in my chest ebbs away, my breath sawing out at the sight of Clay’s gentle smile and earnest eyes. The irony isn’t lost on me. The man who could rarely show emotion has found his feet in this hellhole, whilst the one who hid his pain behind a smirk has been forced to confront his demons. Pushing up on my tiptoes, I press my lips against Clay’s mouth.
“In case you didn’t know it already, I’m so grateful for you.”
“Hearing it is always welcome,” he mumbles against my lips before stealing another rushed kiss. Spinning me by the shoulders, Clay eases me into the hallway. A booming sound that can only be attributed to a man’s voice trickles through the halls, spurring me into a light run. I burst into the bathroom, closing the door with my back before realizing I’m not alone.
Klara’s head snaps up, her teary eyes widening as she takes me in from her crumpled position on the floor. The air between us pulls taut with everything unsaid. Instant regret laces through me, logic saying that we can pick up toiletries on the road. But then her face contorts with anger, and I know I can’t walk away. My stubborn pride won’t let me.
“I hope you’re happy!” Klara screeches, piercing my implants. I manage to hide my wince, watching her stand. Her mascara has run down her cheeks in inky valleys, her blonde hair a mess from being tugged on. Meeting me chest for chest, another sob bubbles out of her. “He’ll never be happy with me now!”
Had I been anyone else, maybe I could have walked away from a crying Klara, believing she’s a product of her parents and therefore deserves to be used as a pawn. But it’s not in my nature to leave a woman torn up about a man she was being forced to marry. This is for the best, even if it doesn’t seem like it to Klara right now.
