Page 149 of Broken Blades

The words: your mistress.

Barbara's name.

Two years.

Her father's low, dangerous denial that only confirmed the truth.

I listened without interrupting, hands curled into fists at my sides, because I knew exactly where this was going. Every word she spoke was another brick pulled from the foundation I'd built this whole plan on.

When she finished, she wrapped her arms tighter around herself and whispered, "That's why you wanted revenge."

Not a question.

A realization.

I nodded. "That was the plan."

The truth landed between us like a bomb, and I watched her absorb the impact. Watched her piece together every moment from the masquerade garden to this hotel room. The zipper. The photos. The fake relationship that had stopped being fake somewhere along the way.

Me using her to hurt her father.

Her face went pale.

"Chastity—"

"Was I ever real to you?" she asked, voice cracking. "Or was I just... leverage?"

The question gutted me.

Because the answer should have been simple.

But it wasn't.

Not anymore.

She looked at me. Eyes searching. "And now?"

I laughed quietly. But there was no humor in it. "You ruined it."

She blinked. "What?"

I ran a hand over my face, the exhaustion and rage and something sharper all colliding in my chest. "I was supposed to use you." I forced myself to meet her eyes. Had to. She deserved that much. "Embarrass your father. Destroy the merger. Burn his reputation down." A long pause stretched between us, heavy with everything I couldn't take back. "But then you moved into my house." I took another step closer, drawn by something I didn't want to name. "Then you started smiling at me." My voice softened despite myself. "And you ruined everything."

Her breath caught, and I watched her throat work as she tried to process what I was telling her. The plan. The revenge. The way she'd dismantled it all without even trying.

"How can you even stand to look at me?" Her voice broke on the words.

The question hit me harder than anything tonight. Harder than the loss. Harder than Barbara's threats. Harder than the weight of my own goddamn guilt.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us until I could see the tears she was fighting to keep from falling. "Because you're not your father."

The words came out rougher than I meant them to, scraped raw from somewhere deep in my chest.

She swallowed hard, still shaking.

"You're angry."

I studied her face—the way her jaw was set, the fire still burning in her eyes despite everything I'd just told her. The stubborn tilt of her chin that said she wasn't backing down even though I'd just admitted I'd been using her.