He pulls out Lucy's chair without asking, without acknowledging my mother, and sits as if he’s entitled to the space and the conversation, as if the table exists for him.
“Good turnout,” he says, scanning the room.
I keep my expression neutral. “It’s a popular cause.”
Richard’s gaze flicks to the dance floor.
To Lucy and Theo.
Something sharp moves behind his eyes.
Then he looks at me and smiles like a man who’s found leverage.
“So,” he says lightly, “you got her here.”
I don’t ask what he means.
I already know.
“Is she aware,” he asks, “of what she’s agreeing to?”
I suppress the urge to clench my jaw.
“That’s not your concern.”
Richard chuckles. “Everything about you is my concern, Julian.”
He leans back in the chair, settling in. Comfortable. Entitled.
“Did you review the folder?” he asks, as if discussing a wine list.
My patience frays. “Yes.”
Richard’s eyes gleam. “And?”
“I told you I made my decision.”
His smile sharpens. “Have you? Or have you selected the first woman who looked at you like you were human and mistaken it for destiny?”
My spine goes rigid; that feels too close to the truth, not because I believe in destiny. But because I have been… affected.
And I don’t like being seen.
Richard gestures vaguely across the room. “There are women in that folder who would understand the role. Younger. More… pliable.”
My mother's fingers tighten around her clutch.
Harper’s eyes shift between us, attentive.
Elliot sits very still, like he’s watching a scene he’ll reference later.
Rowan remains unreadable.
Caleb’s gaze drops to his glass, but I can feel his attention sharpening.
Richard continues, because he’s never known when to stop.
“Try one or two,” he says casually. “Before you buy one.”
