Chapter 14
The carpet outside the suite is thick enough to swallow sound. Everything about this hotel is designed to soften impact—muted footsteps, padded walls, a kind of luxury that pretends nothing truly bad ever happens behind its doors.
It’s not working.
Lindy walks half a step ahead of us, her shoulders squared, jaw tight.
She has the key card out already, fingers curled around it like she’s bracing herself.
Rafe is at my side, close enough that our arms brush with every step.
He insisted on coming. I didn’t want him to—for all the obvious reasons—but I also know I don’t think I’ll survive this without him.
Lindy stops in front of the door. “This is it,” she says quietly.
She swipes the card. The lock clicks, and the door opens. My parents are already inside.
They’re standing, both of them. My father is near the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the city as if he’s memorizing it. My mother stands closer to the seating area, perfectly composed in a tailored blazer, her posture immaculate.
Their focus narrows instantly. Not on me, but on Rafe.
I feel it like pressure against my skin, the way their gazes land on him and linger too long, sharp and appraising.
Rafe doesn’t flinch. His shoulders stay relaxed, his chin lifted, his expression neutral in that way he’s perfected over years of dealing with rooms full of people who think they’re entitled to him.
The door clicks shut behind us, and I swear the sound feels final.
Without thinking—without weighing optics or consequences—I reach out and take Rafe’s hand.
I shouldn’t add fuel to the fire, but I don’t care.
His fingers curl around mine instantly, firm and grounding.
The contact steadies me in a way nothing else could.
I feel braver with him here, even as every instinct screams that this is going to hurt.
My father turns from the window slowly. “Oliver,” he says, like he’s greeting a disappointing acquaintance rather than his son.
“Dad,” I reply evenly.
My mother’s gaze never leaves Rafe. Not even for a second. “So,” she says coolly, “you decided to bring him.”
Rafe shifts slightly, but I squeeze his hand before he can speak.
“Yes,” I say, “I did.”
My father exhales through his nose, a sound heavy with disapproval. “This whole thing is foolish.”
There it is. No preamble. No concern dressed up as care. Straight to judgment.
“You’ve made a rash decision,” he continues. “One that will have long-term consequences.”
“I’m aware,” I say.
My mother finally looks at me then, eyes cool and assessing. “Then you should be aware that this marriage—” She pauses deliberately, as if the word itself offends her. “—is a mistake.”
Not you’re gay. Not this is a phase. But marriage. That’s what they’re stuck on. I have no idea if I should be relieved by that or not.
“How long has this been going on?” she asks sharply. “This… situation.”
I hesitate. Just for a second. Rafe feels it immediately. His thumb presses lightly against my knuckle, a quiet reminder that I don’t have to protect him by lying.
“Almost three years,” I say.
My mother’s brows knit. “Three years?”
“Yes.”
She stares at me. “You met at college?”
“Yes,” I say.
My father steps forward a fraction. “And how long have you been married?”
The room feels smaller. I swallow. “We got married two years ago. In March.”
The words sit there, solid and irreversible.
My mother’s face drains of color. “Two years,” she repeats faintly.
My father’s jaw tightens. “You’re telling us you’ve been married for two years.”
“Yes.” Irritation scurries over my skin.
“And you didn’t think to tell us,” my mother says, voice brittle, “at any point?”
“I didn’t,” I say quietly. “Because I knew exactly how this would go.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. “You lied to us.”
“I protected myself,” I reply.
“That’s the same thing,” she snaps.
“No,” Lindy cuts in sharply, “it’s not.”
Our father ignores her. “You understand how serious this is?”
“I do,” I say. “I’ve had two years to understand it.”
My mother scoffs. “Then you’ve had two years to undo it.”
Rafe lets out a short, incredulous laugh before he can stop himself. It’s not mocking. It’s disbelief.
My mother’s eyes snap to him. “Something funny?”
“Sorry,” Rafe says evenly, “I just wasn’t aware that marriage is something you simply undo.”
She stiffens. “This does not concern you.”
“It does,” he replies calmly. “I’m married to your son.”
“If you want to be out,” my father says, stiff and uncomfortable even saying the word, “we can… support that.”
The hesitation is glaring.
“Reluctantly,” my mother supplies coldly.
“But this,” my father continues, gesturing sharply at Rafe like he’s an object rather than a person, “is different.”
“How?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer immediately, like he’s searching for language that won’t sound as ugly as it is.
“This is binding,” my mother says instead. “Public. Permanent. You’ve attached yourself to someone who clearly has a different life to your own.”
Rafe shifts, incredulity flashing across his face while disappointment and embarrassment that my parents are truly saying this shit aloud burn my veins. “Excuse me?”
She ignores him. “Let’s be honest,” she continues coolly. “This arrangement is… convenient. For him.”
I feel my blood go cold.
“Mom,” Lindy snaps, “stop.”
My mother doesn’t even glance at her. “You’re young,” she says to me. “Successful. Wealthy. Vulnerable to people who see opportunity.”
Rafe’s grip tightens around my hand.
“And if this marriage continues,” my father adds, voice hardening, “you should be aware that you will be cast out from the will.” He focuses on Rafe. “I’m sure you’re aware of my business and our wealth. None of it will be his.”
The words land heavy and deliberate. A threat.
Rafe goes very still. For a long moment, he just stares at them, eyes sharp and assessing, like he’s finally seeing them clearly for the first time.
Then he laughs. The sound isn’t loud or even cruel. It’s more stunned.
“You can’t be serious,” he says.
The disbelief in his voice seems to irritate my mother more than anger ever could. Her mouth tightens, lips pressing into a thin, disapproving line, like she’s finally decided exactly where to place him.
“Oh, we’re quite serious,” she replies. “You expect us to believe that this—” She gestures vaguely between us, like she can’t even bring herself to be specific. “—isn’t about access?”
Rafe blinks. “Access to what?”
My father answers, voice clipped. “To opportunity. To wealth. To security.”
Rafe laughs again, sharper this time. “You think I married Ollie for his money?”
My mother tilts her head, cool and condescending. “Don’t pretend it isn’t a factor.”
My stomach twists violently. “That’s enough,” I say, stepping forward instinctively. I don’t release Rafe’s hand. I tighten my grip. “You don’t get to reduce him to some kind of con artist.”
My father’s gaze flicks to our joined hands, then back to my face. “You’re being na?ve.”
“No,” I snap, “you’re being cruel.”
My mother sighs, as if I’m exhausting her. “Oliver, you are young, successful, and very visible. You have no idea how many people would gladly attach themselves to you for personal gain.”
Rafe’s voice is calm when he responds, but there’s an edge to it now. “If I wanted money, I wouldn’t have married a professional athlete.”
That makes my father scoff. “Oh?”
Rafe turns fully toward him. “Your son plays basketball for a living. I make music. Do you have any idea what the guys and I earn in a year?”
My mother waves him off. “Irrelevant.”
“No,” Lindy cuts in sharply, “it’s not.” She steps forward, placing herself firmly beside me, eyes blazing now with something dangerously close to fury. “You accused him of using Ollie without even knowing who he is.”
“That does not change the optics,” my mother snaps.
“What optics?” Lindy demands. “The ones you’re inventing because you don’t like the truth?”
My father rubs his temple like he’s developing a headache. “Enough. This isn’t about his…. I have no idea what he does for a living, but I can only imagine it’s nothing savory.” He eyeballs Rafe’s tattoos, his gaze lingering on his visible piercing.
Lindy’s laugh is harsh and cold. She turns to them, shoulders squared. “You clearly don’t know who he is, so let me help you. This is Rafe Ortiz—lead singer of Steel Saints.”
Silence slams into the room.
My mother’s eyes widen just slightly. My father’s posture stiffens, something like recognition flickering across his face as his mind scrambles to catch up.
“That band?” he says slowly.
“Yes,” Lindy replies, “that band. You know, the one it’s impossible not to have heard of, even for the two of you.”
Rafe doesn’t smile. He doesn’t gloat. He simply stands there, steady, letting the truth settle where it may.
“I’ve already made enough money that I could quit tomorrow and never work again,” he says evenly.
My mother recovers quickly. Too quickly. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” I say. “You accused him of marrying me for money.”
My father exhales sharply. “You expect us to believe this is about love?”
“Yes,” I say. “Because it is.”
My mother laughs softly, shaking her head. “Love doesn’t protect reputations.”
“There it is,” Lindy mutters.
“This family has a name,” my father continues. “A business. A public image.”
“And I’m ruining it,” I say. “Is that what you believe?”
My mother looks at me like she’s finally decided I’m a lost cause. “You’re throwing away everything we built for you.”
“No,” I reply quietly. “I’m choosing what you never gave me—honesty and love without clauses.”
Rafe squeezes my hand. Just once. Solid and steady.
My father steps forward, gaze hard. “If you continue this marriage, you need to understand exactly what you are choosing.”
“I do,” I say.
“You’re choosing him over your family,” he says.
“Not Lindy, but you and Mom, yes,” I reply immediately. The last word lands with finality.