Chapter 6
Benedict
The lawyer clears his throat like we’ve been wasting his time, though he’s the one billing us for the hour—and on my wedding day.
His leather briefcase sits beside his chair, polished so sharply it catches the light. Papers are already spread across the table, the Bronson Hall, and Crown now I’m the “Bronson Heir” referenced in the contract.
Rupert Clarke hasn’t touched his drink. He’s slouched in his chair as if this is beneath him—no surprise, considering he’s been acting like this arrangement is a favor he’s doing me, rather than the other way around.
He signs the page the lawyer slides toward him without even reading it.
His penmanship is clean, efficient. Maddie must’ve gotten her work ethic from somewhere; I doubt it was her mother.
The lawyer looks at me. “Mr. Bronson, this just affirms the original partnership language. As we discussed, since the agreement only specifies last names, and you are now legally married to a Clarke, it remains binding. There’s no need to alter it unless you both wish to include additional clauses. ”
I glance at Rupert. “I’d like to add one.”
That earns me his first sign of life all night—his eyes lift, flat and calculating.
“I’m willing to let Maddie remain in Montana for now,” I say evenly, though my jaw works. “Continue in her position at the distillery. She’s an asset to the business and—”
“She’s your wife now,” Rupert interrupts, waving a dismissive hand as if swatting at a fly. “Take her. She’s yours to do with what you wish.”
The words hit harder than they should. I shouldn’t be shocked—he’s been radiating indifference toward her all night—but I’m a father, and although my son is clearly an idiot, I still think I’d do whatever I could to make his life good. To protect him to some extent.
Which is why I took his place at the altar when he couldn’t be found.
How can Rupert Clarke not give a shit about his daughter? Anger twists in my chest, followed closely by a possessive pulse.
Mine.
I push the thought back down where it belongs. This isn’t about desire. This is about stabilizing a deal that’s been circling the drain since Derrick decided to vanish into whatever overpriced pit of hedonism he’s currently in.
“You don’t care where she lives?” I ask, just to hear him say it. “Or that she continue working for Crown tossed into a corner, judging by the mass of white that must be the overskirt.
She’s in something soft and pale, her feet bare, a blanket pooled in her lap.
Her eyes lift to mine the second I step in, and there’s nothing soft about her expression.
“You have some nerve,” she says.
I drop my keys onto the bar. “Good evening to you, too.”
Her laugh is short and sharp. “Evening? Ben, it’s morning. 1:15 a.m., to be exact. And my ‘good evening’ was four hours ago when my new husband disappeared without a word.”
I cross the room slowly, loosening my tie. “I had business to handle.”
“With my father?” Her tone makes the word father sound like an insult.
“Yes.” I stop at the arm of the couch. “We finalized the contract. It’s secure.”
“That’s great,” she says, voice carefully trained to be neutral. I squint, noticing the way her gaze goes distant, like a well-trained dog. But it’s not hard to see the resentment underneath. “Glad the deal’s safe. Too bad the bride’s not worth checking in on.”
The jab lands somewhere I don’t want to acknowledge. “I offered to let you stay in Montana. Keep working at the distillery.”
Her brows lift, the blanket rustling as she shifts. It makes my heart ache, this slight hint of enthusiasm, especially given how little Rupert cared about her happiness.
“And my father said what, exactly?”
I hesitate. “That it was your choice.”
Her mouth curves, humorless and knowing. “He didn’t say that.”
“No,” I admit. “He didn’t.”
Silence stretches between us, filled with the faint tick of the clock on the wall.
Her eyes are bright, angry, but underneath it—hurt.
The same kind I saw when Rupert couldn’t be bothered to make an excuse for Derrick’s absence at the engagement party.
At forty-eight, I’ve had my fair share of resentment and know the feeling well.
I should tell her the truth about Derrick. About the plan. Instead, I hear myself say, “He’s an idiot.”
She blinks. “My father?”
“Both of them.”
That startles a laugh out of her, quick and unguarded. The sound curls low in my gut.
“I mean it.” The conversation comes easier now that she’s loosening, even if I haven’t even had a sip of whisky yet.
Not Crown no, I’ve lost my taste for the stuff, I think.
“It’s obvious what you brought to the table, that your family’s success had a lot to do with the PR you were spearheading.
He should recognize that and realize it’s his loss. ”
Maddie’s head tilts as she considers me.
There’s a beat of silence, and then she says softly, “He won’t have to worry; I hired my own replacement, made sure they understand the direction we’re aiming for in the five-year plan.
I have every confidence that it’ll all work out, whether I’m in Montana or not. ”
Smart girl.
I straighten, putting distance between us before I let her—or rather, this desire to keep listening to her speak, to ask her more about her life—pull me in. “You should get some sleep.”
“I tried,” she says, gaze following me as I cross to the sideboard. “Didn’t work. Turns out marrying a man you barely know is… unsettling.”
I pour two fingers of scotch. “I imagine it is.”
When I glance back, she’s still watching me, blanket slipped off one shoulder, exposing the smooth line of her collarbone. I take a slow sip, willing my attention back to the burn in my throat.
Her hair’s half-down now, the pins loose so the strands spill over her shoulders in a messy halo.
It makes her look softer. Younger.
Too young.
I remind myself of that even as my eyes track the way the blanket slips from her shoulder, revealing the slope of the collarbone to the dip at her throat.
A piece of me — the older, wiser one — knows I should look away.
Another piece, the selfish one that’s been restless for years, wants to see what happens if I don’t.
She isn’t just beautiful. She’s… alive. There’s a current in her, a restless energy that makes me feel the faintest echo of who I used to be before the responsibilities, before the constant weight of keeping the empire steady.