10. Chapter Ten #3
She tilts her head slightly, like she’s inspecting a flaw in fine crystal. “The truth. Why did you run from your own engagement party? And why are you barely wearing your ring?”
I swallow, the heavy diamond a lead weight around my finger. “I panicked. It was… overwhelming.”
“You embarrassed Preston,” she whispers, deadly quiet. “You embarrassed your father.”
Something ugly and bitter twists inside me, curling tighter. “I embarrassed them?”
“Yes,” she snaps softly, leaning closer, her voice a brutal caress. “You made a scene, Camille. You know better. You had people talking.”
My chest aches, anger simmering beneath a lifetime of polished manners. “People always talk.”
“Not about us,” she says, voice hardening like tempered glass. “Appearances matter. Appearances are everything.”
I stare at her, the rage tightening in my throat, burning behind my eyes. “Is that all we are? Appearances?”
She leans in closer, her voice sharpening dangerously. “Appearances are power. Prestige. Protection. Sinclair women never run from what’s expected.”
“Expected?” I breathe bitterly, fingers trembling now. “Or sacrificed?”
Her eyes flash, a crack in her perfect facade, something dark and unspoken lurking beneath. “Sacrifice is part of this life. You know that.”
“Oh, believe me,” I rasp harshly, emotion bleeding through every strained word. “I know better than anyone.”
She watches me silently, gaze heavy, probing. Calculating. Finally, she speaks again, voice low and careful. “I’ve heard things.”
My pulse stutters, breath hitching slightly. “Things?”
Her eyes narrow slightly, razor-sharp perception pinning me in place. “About Kane Rivera. The way he looks at you. And the way you look back.”
Heat flushes my neck, anger warring with humiliation. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t insult me.” She leans even closer, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You can’t afford to be reckless, Camille. Not now. Especially not with him.”
I grip the chess piece so hard it bites painfully into my palm, then set it down, loudly.
“Let me ease your worries, mother, I haven’t done anything reckless with Kane Rivera.” Recently .
“You think you’re special, Camille? You think you’re the first woman tempted to throw away everything for a man who’s nothing but a distraction?” Her gaze rakes over me slowly, deliberately. “Women like us don’t chase passion. We chase security. We build legacies.”
I bite back a bitter laugh, my throat tightening painfully. “Legacies? Or lies?”
She tilts her head, eyes glittering dangerously. “They’re the same thing, sweetheart. Marriages like ours, like yours will be built on silence. You let him do what he wants, whoever he wants, as long as he comes home at night. As long as no one whispers your name with pity.”
Her words dig deeper, twisting, scraping the raw edges I thought I had long since scarred over. “Is that how you sleep at night, Mother? Pretending you don’t care?”
Her smile fades, turning icy and razor-sharp. “I sleep very well. Because I’m smart enough to know which sacrifices are worth making. Men like Kane Rivera, they’re dangerous precisely because they make you think passion is worth everything. But it isn’t. It never is.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” I whisper again, voice cracking with helpless fury.
“Oh, I know enough.” Her voice is brittle, almost pitying, dripping condescension that makes me want to flinch away. “He’s a stain, Camille. He’s the kind of man you visit once in darkness and regret forever. And you’re smarter than that. Or at least I thought you were.”
Anger surges hot and bitter in my veins, my voice trembling as I push back. “Maybe I’m not like you.” “Her smile sharpens, cruel and precise, and she leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper that curls around my spine like ice.
“No, darling,” she murmurs, the words soft but venomous, each syllable slicing neatly into my skin.
“You’re weaker. You let passion blind you, confuse you, make you reckless.
Love…passion…they’re nothing but pretty words for the weak to justify their mistakes and I will not allow you to make mistakes when you’ve just steps away from your wedding.
” Her voice trails off deliberately, lip curled in disgust, eyes boring into mine as she continues with quiet cruelty.
“Whatever it is this filth of a man is offering, I promise you it isn’t worth your reputation. It isn’t worth your family. And it certainly isn’t worth the life I’ve spent years carefully crafting for you.”
Every word is a scalpel, cold and precise, stripping away layers I’ve hidden behind. Shame burns my cheeks, humiliation clawing at my chest, and I hate how she sees it how clearly she can spot my weakness, my reckless desire.
“Preston is a prize,” she continues calmly, voice deceptively gentle now, soothing in a way that makes the poison cut deeper.
“He’s exactly the kind of man you deserve, the kind of man women envy.
Kane Rivera? He’s nothing more than a detour, a dark alley you visit once, hoping no one sees your shame. ”
I look away, chest heaving, my throat so tight I can barely speak. “Stop.”
She ignores me, leaning closer, breath warm against my ear. “You can hate me, Camille, that’s fine. But hate me quietly, from the safety of the life I’ve given you. Don’t ruin your future… our legacy over some twisted fantasy.”
My nails bite into my palms, pain grounding me even as my anger spirals dangerously close to the surface. I want to lash out, want to scream, want to tear apart the carefully constructed image she’s placed around me like a noose.
Instead, I lift my chin in defiance. “I’m not ruining anything. I told you…I haven’t done anything reckless.”
She pulls back, straightening slowly, her eyes locked onto mine, narrowed and calculating.
“See that you don’t,” she says softly, with quiet finality.
“Because believe me, Camille, if you fall, I will hand you the sword you are so desperate to impale yourself on. And then, I’ll let everyone watch you bleed. ”
Her voice echoes through me, chilling, absolute, filled with a ruthless promise she wouldn’t hesitate to fulfill. My chest constricts, fury warring with humiliation, sharp, ugly feelings twisting tighter with every breath.
She rises elegantly, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her flawless dress, every gesture composed, calculated. She pauses at the doorway, turning back as an afterthought, her voice smooth, dismissive, sharpened by the cold edge of a threat she barely bothers to hide.
“And do try to act grateful tonight, Camille. Preston’s taking us all to dinner to celebrate your engagement…” her gaze drops pointedly to the diamond glittering mockingly on my finger, “…and that ring deserves better than your sour expression.”
She leaves without another word, heels echoing down the hall, each click driving another splinter of anger and shame into my chest until I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t…
I snap.
I shove the chessboard violently, pieces scattering in every direction, tumbling over the polished floor like broken promises.
The crash reverberates through the silent room, harsh, satisfying, echoing the chaos raging inside me.
A queen rolls to a stop at my feet, lying sideways, fallen, discarded.
Just like me.
My knees give out and I sink to the floor, hands trembling, pulse hammering in my ears, each breath a ragged struggle. I stare at the scattered pieces— at the shattered game I never wanted to play. All those careful moves, meaningless. My composure, cracked open, bleeding out.
My mother’s words claw at my throat, each one a sharpened knife. Weak. Reckless. Shameful.
I press a shaking hand over my mouth, holding in the scream, the sobs, the endless howl of humiliation and helpless fury.
I can’t afford to break. Not here, not now, not with her words still hanging like a noose around my neck.
But beneath the humiliation, beneath the suffocating shame, I still taste Kane.
His breath on my skin, his voice rough against my ear, his truths tearing away every carefully constructed lie I’ve lived by.
My eyes flutter closed, pulse thrumming violently through my veins.
Maybe I am weak.
But for the first time, I crave the weakness. I want to offer it to him, to the darkness, to the god of my undoing.
To Kane Rivera, the only truth in a world built on lies.
***
The candle flickers softly on the table between us, casting golden shadows across Preston’s flawless face.
He’s talking, something about the Hamptons, about his mother, his father, policies, donors, but his words bleed together into white noise.
He’s handsome, breathtaking even, the kind of beautiful you can’t ignore.
Old Hollywood charm wrapped in a tailored suit.
I pick at my food, pushing around the decoratively plated vegetables. My heart thuds uncomfortably, a heavy rhythm demanding answers I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.
“Preston,” I interrupt softly, my voice barely louder than the murmur of surrounding diners. His words fade mid-sentence, his expression mild, patient. “Can I ask you something?”
His brow lifts slightly, amused but cautious. “Of course.”
“I need you to be honest. No scripts, no rehearsals. Just...truth.” My chest tightens, dread curling painfully behind my ribs. “Do you love me? Do you really want this? To marry me, to live this kind of life?”
He goes perfectly still, eyes locked on mine, the steady, practiced smile slipping from his lips. For a moment, he just watches me, calm, unreadable. Then slowly, deliberately, he stretches out his hand across the table, palm up.
My pulse trips. Hesitantly, I place my hand in his.
Preston’s fingers curl around mine, soft at first. He traces the edge of my engagement ring gently, thoughtfully, his thumb brushing slowly over the diamond.