Page 117 of Broken Blades

I met Barbara's eyes, forcing my voice steady even as my pulse hammered. "You don't know him anymore."

Her smile sharpened. "And you think you do? After two weeks?"

I didn't have an answer for that.

Because she was right.

I barely knew him at all.

My father stepped forward, nodding at Barbara with that smooth, practiced expression he wore like armor. "She's right. This whole thing—this arrangement—has been helpful for the merger."

I went completely still.

Helpful.

Arrangement.

The words slammed into me, sharp and cold. My fingers tightened around my purse strap until the leather bit into my palm.

"You mean… you're glad people believe Wyatt and I are together."

My voice came out flat. Hollow. Nothing like the steady confidence I'd been taught to project.

Dad's expression didn't shift. "Image is everything, Chastity. You know that. The scandal could have derailed months of work. Instead, it stabilized investor confidence. Showed continuity. Maturity." He gestured vaguely toward the ice below. "Wyatt playing nice, you supporting him publicly—it sends the right message."

Barbara sipped her champagne, watching me over the rim with something that looked almost like pity.

My stomach turned over, nausea rising in a hot, bitter wave. Not because of the lie we were selling. Not even because I was part of the performance. But because they were using him too. Using Wyatt's reputation, his history, his pain—packaging it all into something marketable. Something that served their narrative. Their merger. Their bottom line.

He wasn't a person to them. He was a tool. Just like me.

The realization hit hard enough I had to lock my knees to stay upright. My chest tightened, breath coming shallow and quick. Heat crawled up my neck, anger and shame tangling together until I couldn't separate them.

"You handed me to him," I whispered, the words scraping past my throat. "You made me move into his house. You said it was temporary—that it was to fix a mistake."

Dad's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed steady. Controlled. "It is temporary. And it did fix the mistake. The arrangement works for everyone involved."

Arrangement.

That word again. Clinical. Transactional. Empty. Except when Wyatt had pulled me close during practice, when he'd steadied my waist and told me to breathe—that hadn't felt like an arrangement.

My throat closed.

Barbara set down her glass, expression unreadable. "Welcome to the business, darling. Everything's a transaction. Even relationships." She took another sip, eyes narrowing slightly over the rim of her glass. "He's unpredictable, but he's magnetic. I suppose that's why this works." A pause. Her gaze sharpened, voice dropping to something colder. "But he's never shown this much restraint with a woman. It's… surprising."

I heard the edge beneath the words. Jealousy. Possessiveness. The bitter residue of something unfinished.

I didn't expect that.

And something inside me snapped.

I stepped forward—not aggressive, but steady. Clear. My voice came out calm, armed with conviction I didn't know I possessed until that exact moment. "Wyatt isn't performing. He's trying. Trying to be decent. Trying to rebuild. Trying to make this believable for everyone."

Barbara lifted her chin, mouth curving in something almost pitying. "Exactly. Believable."

I shook my head, heat flooding my chest. "No. You're not listening."

The room went quiet. Even the ambient noise from the arena felt distant, muffled.