CHAPTER TWENTY ONE #2
As the officers escort Fiona’s still-shaky form toward the exit, Petra straightens up. Her white dress is grass-stained, her dark hair no longer styled, but she’s never looked more magnificent.
“Hey Fiona!” she calls out cheerfully. “Hope you like orange! It’s gonna be your new signature color for the next ten to twenty!”
Miss Muffy yips in agreement, appearing smugger than usual (which is saying something) . Petra places the Maltese into Nigel’s waiting arms.
“I am eternally in your debt.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me. Somebody had to save my bridesmaid’s dress.”
Nigel chuckles. Then he pivots to the stunned guests, voice crisp with ceremonial command .
“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to explain. A criminal conspiracy was just thwarted. One that included international art fraud, attempted royal homicide, and emotional manipulation of a future billionaire. We will no longer be having a wedding today. However, Casa Cashmere extends a special thanks to the bravery of Miss Petra Brinkman.”
A smattering of confused applause breaks out.
Nigel turns to Gavin. “Your sister possesses remarkable courage. You are lucky to call her family.”
That shy, sweet smile Petra gives her brother—it’s like watching love in its most genuine form. I stand back, swallowing everything I’ll never get to say about how fiercely she shines.
I’ll never get to tell her I love her.
Nigel continues, “Now, if you will all adjourn to the reception ballroom, there will be a dinner and—”
“Hold on, Nigel.”
The room snaps to attention. To Reginald Sterling. To my father.
Every hair on my body lifts as he rises from the audience, adjusting his Hermès tie.
“Seems wasteful to squander such an elegant gathering. Wouldn’t you agree, son?”
The engagement ring box burns in my jacket. “Father, this isn’t the time or place.”
“On the contrary,” he says, stalking toward me. “It’s excellent business. Everyone’s here, the arrangements are made, the officiant is standing by. Let’s have the help collect a few scattered flower petals and proceed.”
“We should discuss this privately, Father. ”
“Nonsense. Time to salvage the day. Make your announcement, Bryce.”
Checkmate.
No. There must be a way out of this.
I glance at the disaster—overturned chairs, petals like snowdrifts—and then at Petra.
She’s watching me with those unreadable hazel-green eyes. The kind of expression she’ll weaponize in a courtroom someday. What would she do in this situation?
Answer: Find the weakness and attack the foundation.
“The wedding won’t be legally binding without proper documentation. We’d need licenses, witnesses, official—”
He dismisses my concern with a wave. “We can handle the paperwork tomorrow. This is the celebration. The fun part.”
Right. Nothing says “fun” like forced marriage.
He rotates toward the crowd with fluid confidence. “We all came here to witness a wedding, didn’t we?”
The billionaires nod in agreement. Murmurs of approval ripple amongst designer gowns and thousand-dollar suits.
“Absolutely,” someone calls out.
“Quite right,” echoes another voice.
With a nod from my father, Amanda rises with practiced grace as he guides her into the aisle. Her rose-gold gown shimmers with every step, and her honey-blonde hair is gathered in a graceful updo.
“Then let’s have a wedding!” he declares.
Polite applause fills the tent. Amanda’s cornflower-blue eyes find mine, and I see resignation cloaked in pageant polish. As if pulled by gravity, my gaze shifts.
Everything fades except Petra, standing by the wreckage she caused. Her mouth is a tight line, her lip quivers, and then, with one slow blink, a tear escapes.
I feel a sudden crack in my chest. A fracture that finally splits wide open.
“Mr. Sterling,” Nigel whispers at my side. “Is this… what you truly want?”
No. God, no.
But I nod. Just once.
“Yes,” I say. “Please arrange a few things for me.”
I bend close to the butler, detailing what needs to happen. When I straighten, there’s unmistakable pity swimming in his weathered eyes.
“Of course, sir.”
The staff moves like shadows, resetting chairs, smoothing linens, and brushing away the mess like it never happened. Like she never happened.
I take my last breath of freedom and face the crowd. Time to lie through my teeth.
“Many of you are probably thinking this feels rushed, but I assure you it isn’t. I’ve been wrestling with this decision for a long time.”
My fingers fumble in my jacket pocket then hone in on the velvet box. “My father drilled into me that real men don’t play make-believe; they step up and take responsibility. He was right. It’s time I stop making excuses and start being the man I’m meant to be.”
Amanda plants her heels and smooths her dress, the posture of someone who knows exactly what’s coming. My father inflates with pride, relishing every word .
The ring box emerges in my hand, and Petra’s composure shatters. Fresh tears cascade down her face like a dam bursting. She spins toward the exit.
Suddenly, the pianist begins with a gentle chord, the opening note of the song I’d asked Nigel to request. The tender melody of “Alone” by Heart floats through the air like a ghost from our past, carrying the weight of that first kiss and seven years of what-ifs.
Petra stops dead in her tracks. She turns around slowly, and our eyes meet.
“I’ve made mistakes and followed orders. I let fear dictate my decisions. But there’s one thing I have never regretted: letting her in.”
Unsettled murmurs ripple through the crowd as heads swivel between Petra and me.
“She doesn’t fit into my world. She spray-paints it and flips it on its head. She challenges it—challenges me —not to live based on others’ approval, but to rebel against the norm, to do the right thing. She makes me feel alive.”
I take a step toward her, then another, each step irreversible.
“So here I stand, asking the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known to do the most rebellious thing she’s ever done.”
I flip open the ring box, revealing the ruby ring.
“Marry me, Petra. Right here. Right now.”
She stares back with tear-streaked cheeks, her lips parted in silent shock. Before she gets out a single syllable, my father’s voice detonates.
“Heartvest is finished!” Veins bulge in his neck as his control snaps. “You want to throw your life away, boy? I’ll make sure you burn for it. ”
I face him, squaring my shoulders to my full height. “I refuse to inherit an empire where I have to be a carbon copy of you.”
Reginald scoffs. “As if you were ever close to the image of the son I wanted.”
“That’s no secret.” I take a step toward him, my fear dissolving into dangerous courage. “This is my life. My future. I’m done living for your approval. Your legacy dies with you.”
His face turns purple, like he’s being choked. “You go through with this idiotic choice, and you’re no longer my son.”
“Works for me. I’d rather build something meaningful at Heartvest than spend another second inflating your offshore accounts.”
“You better savor this little act of defiance. My lawyers are gonna sue you and your shit company into oblivion. You’ll be bankrupt and forgotten.”
“You better think twice about lawsuits, old man.” I smile smugly. “I’ve had a front-row seat to every dirty deal you’ve ever made. Lay a finger on my company, and I will make certain you share a cell with Whitfield.”
Something new flickers behind his eyes—something that might actually be terror. “You don’t have the spine.”
“Try me.” I lean in until we’re nose to nose. “I can be exactly the monster you tried to mold me into. I learned from the best. This is your one warning.”
He shoves me back with all his might. “You’d destroy everything our family built for some tattooed slut hunting for a payday.”
CRUNCH !
The crack of bone and fury splits the air. Gavin’s fist connects with Reginald’s jaw in a perfect right cross that sends the old bastard sprawling across the aisle like discarded trash.
“Nobody disrespects my sister,” Gavin says, flexing his knuckles. “She’s got more honor in her pinky finger than you’ve had in seventy years of breathing.”
He rolls his shoulders, loosening up like he’s considering round two. “Here’s some free advice—start praying she doesn’t pass the bar exam. Because when she does, she’ll strip you of every stolen dollar you’ve ever hoarded. Girl doesn’t know the meaning of quit.”
“Mr. Featherwick,” I say, smoothing down my jacket. “Could you please arrange for my father’s immediate departure? He’s overstayed his welcome.”
Reginald staggers upright, blood painting his bottom lip. “Don’t touch me, or I’ll arrange for your mutt of a boss to fire your ass before morning.”
Nigel’s face transforms into genuine amusement. “Best of luck with that endeavor, sir.” He signals the security team, and two guards in black suits surround Reginald.
“Mr. Sterling,” he continues, “you’ve confused wealth with worth, and let me assure you, you possess only one of those things. Your presence is no longer tolerated at Casa Cashmere. Miss Von Cashmere demands you be ousted with great haste.”
She barks in agreement.
“Get your hands off me,” Reginald bellows, spit flying, as security escorts him out. “You’re a disgrace, Bryce. An embarrassment!”
I turn my back on his crumbling threats and give my full attention to Petra. “Are you okay? ”
She raises an eyebrow. “You’re asking me? After you just incinerated your family dynasty?”
“I’m going to explain everything, but I need to handle something first. My father blindsided everyone, including Amanda. Two minutes,” I promise, lifting her hand to brush my lips across her knuckles. “Then I’m back to finish what we started.”
I don’t want to let go, but I do.
Amidst the wreckage of the ceremony, Amanda stands with a poise that defies the destruction around her, not a single hair out of place.
“I’m sorry you got caught in my family’s crossfire,” I say. “That ambush was unforgivable.”