Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Bea sat curled in bed, knees drawn up, laptop propped against a pillow. The rain had started an hour ago, a soft, silver wash against the windows, as the late-afternoon sun melted into early evening.
Georgina was with Hunter, and wouldn’t be home until late. Gage had a dinner meeting. That meant she was free to download to Claire.
They’d already been talking for over an hour. Bea had told her everything. No detail had been too small, and Claire had wanted it all.
The estate, the food, the guests, the gossip. The military-style games that had turned a group of rich men into a fever dream of elite soldiers. The black-tie dinner. The dances. Catherine.
Claire sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Finally. Justice. Glorious justice.”
“Is it bad that I kind of loved it when he ignored her?”
“If you didn’t, I’d say you were lying.” Claire smirked. “That was the first cut. You know there’ll be more.”
“Do you think?”
Claire leaned in, eyes gleaming. “You don’t think Gage is done with her, do you?”
Bea thought about that. “I almost feel sorry for her, then.”
Almost.
The angel on her shoulder whispered: Take the high road.
The devil: Take the front row. Bring popcorn.
“Really?” Claire said, surprised. “Why? She’s earned it.”
“The part that mattered most was that I finally told him. And that he believed me.”
“Good,” Claire said. “Saves me the cost of a plane ticket and a shovel.”
Bea laughed, but the sound felt frayed. Like thread pulled too far. “You know, I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“What?”
“That it wasn’t me.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I wasn’t The Story. I was right on the edge, Claire Bear. Between Catherine. And Rafael. And then dancing with Victor and Laurent? All it would’ve taken was one misstep.”
“And then Cassian walked in and detonated the room.”
“Exactly.” Bea closed her eyes. “He walked through the doors and stole the whole weekend in one move.”
“You sound relieved,” Claire observed.
“I am relieved.” Bea looked up. “I’ve never been so grateful to be eclipsed. He didn’t just steal the spotlight. He erased the sketch they were making of me.”
“Who’s they?” Claire asked. “Gage’s parents? Everyone?”
Outside, the wind shifted. Trees bowed in the dark.
“I don’t even know. The collective elite?” Bea tried, wryly. “In fairness, Gage’s parents weren’t terrible. Even the dance with Victor was…fine.”
“Define fine.”
Bea let her head fall back against the headboard. “Basically he said that I’d done better than expected.”
Claire snorted. “He says that to Gage too, doesn’t he?”
Bea smiled. Her next words came slower. “He said the real test wasn’t this weekend. It’s when Gage and I realize he carries four generations on his back. And I have to decide whether I’ll carry it with him.”
“So you need to start lifting?”
Bea laughed.
Claire went quiet. Serious, now. “He wasn’t warning you off, was he?”
Bea shook her head. “It was a straight shot of whisky.”
“So…are you?” Claire asked. “Ready to carry it with him?”
“How could I know?” Bea whispered. Her voice sounded small, even to herself. “He also told me that soon I’d have to choose between the life I imagined and the one waiting for me.”
Claire took a deep breath, considering her. “Do you know what he meant?”
Bea bit the inside of her cheek. “I think so.”
But she didn’t say it out loud. Not yet.
Ever since the Harvest Summit, her mind had been drawing new lines between old truths. Things that used to be fuzzy were sharpening like glass.
Gage wasn’t an ordinary college boyfriend. She’d known that from the beginning, but now she felt it. Victor’s words meant more after the weekend than they ever could have before.
Because the life she’d imagined—the one with freedom, maybe even detours—might already be closing behind her. And the one waiting wouldn’t be chosen. It would be inherited.
Her laptop’s power warning pinged. She reached for the charger, plugged it in.
“Tell me about your placement,” she said to Claire, shifting gears.
“Are you still doing ninety percent of the work for zero percent of the credit, or has your supervisor finally felt a modicum of shame?” It was easier to ask about Claire’s world than stay in her own.
She wasn’t ready to pick at the rest of it yet.
Not the stillness she hadn’t shaken.
Not the kiss on her temple.
And not the way Gage had whispered thank you like it meant more than she was ready to name.
The library at St. Ives was the kind of place that made scholarship aspirational. Cathedral ceilings, carved crown molding, and centuries-old solemnity. It smelled like beeswax, leather binding, and just enough quiet panic to remind you everyone knew the stakes.
Her usual spot was much closer to the fireplace, that ludicrous and yet somehow perfect feature in a room full of paper. She normally loved the tranquil theatre of shadows it cast over the floors, which made her feel like she was part of something ancient and important.
But she’d veered away, chosen this table instead. Four-person, in the farthest corner, tucked between the ancient legal archives and a window that barely opened.
She didn’t know what she was avoiding. Or maybe she did, and just wasn’t in the mood to analyze it.
A few women had nodded at her when she walked in, familiar faces from the wine tasting and the black-tie dinner.
A man from the military games gave her a faint smile.
They’d always looked. Gage King’s girlfriend was impossible not to clock.
But after the Summit? Now they looked like they recognized her.
Like she’d been placed on a map. Scored. And, apparently, allowed to stay.
Being on show required energy. Which she did not currently have.
She unzipped her bag and pulled out her notes. Macroeconomics. First exam in a week.
She should’ve started earlier. Instead, she was tired, low on iron, and probably shouldn’t mention to Gage that she hadn’t had red meat in a week.
The light filtering through the tall arched window had turned a muted gold, a warning that time was slipping past.
Bea sat back in her chair for a second. Let the library wrap around her. Then she picked up her pen.
Time flew. Twenty minutes, maybe an hour.
Then someone pulled out the chair diagonally across from her.
She looked up—Rafael.
Bea blinked. He didn’t blink back, just nodded once and dropped his bag beside the chair. A dark notebook, a pen, and a textbook followed. He placed them on the table. Then he draped his jacket over the back of the adjacent chair, as if to make sure no one else joined them.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.
Rafael never studied in the library. At least, not that she’d ever seen. But here he was.
He flipped open the notebook, uncapped his pen, like it was a casual, everyday task and not the start of a psychological operation, and started writing.
Bea tried to go back to her reading. Read the same sentence four times. Retained absolutely none of it.
She’d apparently developed superhuman hearing. The sound of him turning pages. The occasional scratch of pen on paper. The inhale when he leaned forward, like thinking required oxygen.
And the way he didn’t look at her. Not once.
Which, frankly, was starting to feel intentional. Rafael was motion, heat, escalation. Always pulling, pushing, doing. And yet here he was, holding still. Choosing to let her be.
That was the part that made her nervous.
The table wasn’t small enough to be intimate. Wasn’t big enough to ignore him, either.
Her foot brushed the outside of his leg when she shifted, and she froze. He didn’t react. Maybe he didn’t feel it. Or maybe he had, and decided to leave her pinned in the silence of it.
She wanted to ask what he was doing here. She wanted to ask him why he’d looked at her after he’d won at the games.
But she didn’t want to ruin it.
Because part of her was weirdly grateful for the company. Not general. His, specifically. She had the ridiculous notion that it was never cold where Rafael was.
Once, she stretched, and when she looked up, she caught him watching her. Their eyes met. His green eyes held hers, unwavering. She got the sense he looked at everything that way, until it either broke or yielded. That he saw and knew more than he let on.
She looked back down. Eventually, so did he.
Her pulse slowed, but not back to normal. She tried to sink into macroeconomics, into certainty, but awareness tugged at her, persistent as a loose thread. Her brain kept whispering like an annoying narrator: That’s Rafael Griffin. Right there. Writing things. Breathing. Existing.
Yes, brain, thank you, very helpful.
He’s not on the exam. Can we focus, please?
Much later, when she finally closed her book and slipped it into her bag, he spoke. “Done for today?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t ask to walk her out. Just stayed where he was, pen tapping lightly against the edge of his notebook.
“See you later, Rafael.”
“Bye, little Bea.”
It shouldn’t have sounded dangerous. Or affectionate. Somehow, it was both.
GAGE
The office was silent, save for the grandfather clock. A reminder of the generations before them. The Northgate skyline glittered through the glass walls.
His father set down his Montblanc and leaned back. His navy wool coat was tailored like armor, not a thread out of place. Still the throne behind the throne.
Gage sat opposite.
“The Harvest Summit introduction was successful,” Victor said.
Gage nodded. “She did well.”
“She surprised me. Catherine, Rafael, Laurent. Three separate situations. No unforced errors.”
That earned the smallest tilt of Gage’s head. “She’s learning.”
“Quickly. Which she’ll need.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“You were meant to leave in January.”
Gage didn’t respond. They’d covered this ground before.
“There was flexibility in that, of course,” Victor went on. “But not indefinitely. The London deal won’t wait on sentiment.”
“It wasn’t only sentiment.”
“It was strategic,” Victor agreed. “But strategy, too, requires discipline.”
“I’ll leave once Bea finishes this year.”
Victor nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “You’re sure she’ll come?”
He considered for a moment.
“I won’t force her,” Gage said finally. “But I know I can’t stay longer.”
Victor studied him. “Good. There’s no power in vacillating.” He rose then, crossing to the window. Across Northgate, the Griffin Ventures tower stood against the inky night. “I assume Rafael is still circling?”
“He’s not the problem.”
“No,” Victor conceded. “But he’ll be there if one arises. He’s already signaled as much.” He turned. “When you go, Gage, go clean. No half measures. No loose ends. The girl, fully yours. Or not.”
The next stage wasn’t one to bring a girlfriend to. Only a wife had the permission, protection, and permanence to withstand it.
Gage’s jaw was tight. “Understood.”
“The London office awaits you and Nate. You’ll assume full control by next January. I’ll make the public announcement no later than October.” And then, after a long pause: “If she comes, I’ll welcome her. If she can’t…I still expect you to act as you know you must.”
Gage normally wouldn’t say more. Not in this room.
But for once, he reached out. Not as an heir. As a son. “She won’t follow me unless she’s certain.”
Blue met blue. The response didn’t come from the kingmaker. It came from the one man who understood exactly what it meant to ask a woman to carry a legacy not her own.
“Then give her certainty,” his father said. “Or let her go.”
There was no margin for error.
Gage nodded once. And left.
He took one flight of stairs down to his office.
There was something he could take care of immediately.
He’d mapped the shape of Bea’s experience with Catherine through Georgina, who seemed relieved to speak now that Bea had, and through his contact at Monaghan & Stowe.
He hadn’t needed proof to believe Bea, only to act. The pattern was clear: a quiet campaign to make Bea doubt her place—because, according to Georgie, Catherine thought Bea had taken something that was hers. Him.
A delusion. There had never been a seat for Catherine. Or anyone else, before Bea.
Before his next meeting began, Gage made the calls.
Not to Catherine. That was drama he didn’t need, and proximity he found distasteful.
One to the board that had once invited her in. One to the chair who owed the Kings two favors. No fallout. No headlines.
Catherine wouldn’t be made to doubt her place. She simply wouldn’t have one anymore.