Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Seraphina
I wear one of the sundresses Knox had waiting for me, a flowing white number that makes me look more angelic than I feel. My hair is twisted up in a casual knot, my feet bare against the cool tile floors as I move through the mansion that has become my luxurious prison. Something's happening. For the past twenty-four hours, there's been a steady stream of deliveries—boxes and garment bags whisked away before I can see their contents, staff members I haven't encountered before moving purposefully through rooms I'm subtly discouraged from entering. Knox has been making calls behind closed doors, ending conversations abruptly when I enter a room. I'm not stupid. I recognize the signs of Knox Vance orchestrating something significant, something he doesn't want me to know about until it's too late to object. And given the smug satisfaction radiating from him like heat from the Caribbean sun, I have a sinking feeling I know exactly what he's planning.
A wedding. My wedding. To him.
The realization crystalizes as I watch white lilies—my favorite flowers, which he certainly remembers from conversations years ago—being carried toward the small chapel nestled on the eastern side of the property. Knox showed me that chapel during our first visit to the island, casually mentioning it was fully licensed for legal ceremonies. At the time, I thought it was just another amenity of his obscenely luxurious estate. Now I see it was foreshadowing.
"Beautiful morning, isn't it?" Knox's voice comes from behind me, and I turn to find him watching me from the doorway to his office. He's dressed casually in linen pants and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the strong forearms I've always found unreasonably attractive. He looks relaxed, confident, utterly certain that whatever he's planning will unfold exactly as he intends.
It makes me want to scream.
"What are you doing, Knox?" I ask directly, abandoning any pretense that I haven't noticed the unusual activity.
"Running a multinational corporation from a private island," he answers smoothly, pushing away from the doorframe and approaching me. "The usual."
"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." I cross my arms over my chest, a barrier against both his physical presence and the way my traitorous body responds to it. "The deliveries. The staff. The flowers being taken to the chapel. What are you planning?"
His smile is slow, predatory, satisfied. "You're too intelligent for me to fool, aren't you, angel? Always were."
"Answer the question."
Instead of replying immediately, he takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my bare ring finger in a gesture that sends an unwelcome shiver up my arm.
"Our future," he finally says, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm planning our future."
A cold knot forms in my stomach despite the tropical heat. "Without consulting me. Without asking what I want."
"Would you have said yes if I asked?" he counters, his grip tightening slightly when I try to pull my hand away.
"That's not the point?—"
"It's exactly the point," he interrupts. "You're still fighting what we both know is inevitable. Still clinging to the fiction that you don't belong with me, that what we have isn't worth building on."
"So your solution is to force me into marriage?" I pull harder, finally freeing my hand from his grip. "To orchestrate a wedding without even asking if it's what I want?"
"I know what you want, Seraphina." His voice drops to that low register that always seems to bypass my ears and hit directly in my core. "I know what you need, even when you're too stubborn or scared to admit it to yourself."
"That's not how this works," I insist, taking a step back to put distance between us. "You don't just decide someone's going to marry you and make it happen whether they want to or not."
"When that someone is carrying my child? When that someone's body responds to mine like it was created specifically for that purpose?" He closes the distance I tried to create. "Yes, that's exactly how it works."
Before I can formulate a response cutting enough to penetrate his arrogance, a discreet cough interrupts us. We both turn to find a staff member hovering nearby, looking uncomfortable at having interrupted what's clearly a tense conversation.
"Mr. Vance, sir. Mr. White has arrived as requested."
Knox nods. "Show him to the study. I'll be there momentarily."
The staff member retreats, and I turn back to Knox with narrowed eyes. "Who's Mr. White?"
"A business associate," he answers vaguely. "Why don't you join me? There's something I'd like to show you."
It's not a request, despite the phrasing. Everything about Knox's posture and expression tells me this is a command, not an invitation. I should refuse on principle—should continue arguing about his high-handed wedding arrangements, should demand to be taken back to the mainland immediately.
Instead, curiosity gets the better of me. "Fine."
I follow him through the mansion to his wood-paneled study, a room that always reminded me of old money despite Knox being entirely self-made. A small, dapper man in an impeccable suit waits there, rising when we enter. His eyes widen slightly as they land on me, a flicker of recognition that suggests he knows exactly who I am.
"Mr. White," Knox greets him with a firm handshake. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Always a pleasure to serve you, Mr. Vance." The man's voice is cultured, refined, with a hint of a British accent. His gaze moves to me. "And this must be the future Mrs. Vance. A pleasure, my dear."
Future Mrs. Vance. The presumption of it makes my blood boil.
"There's been a misunderstanding," I say tightly. "I haven't agreed to?—"
"Clarence is the finest jeweler in the country," Knox interrupts smoothly, placing a hand at the small of my back. "He's brought some options for us to consider."
Only then do I notice the sleek leather cases arranged on Knox's desk. Jewelry cases. Ring cases, specifically. My suspicion solidifies into certainty—Knox isn't just planning a wedding. He's planning it for the immediate future. Days, not weeks or months.
"I don't need to see options for something I haven't agreed to," I say, trying to step away from Knox's touch. His hand remains firmly at my back, the pressure gentle but immovable.
"Humor me," he murmurs close to my ear. "What's the harm in looking?"
Plenty , I want to say. The harm is in giving him any indication that I might go along with this insanity. The harm is in the way my heart betrays me with a flutter at the thought of wearing Knox's ring, despite my mind's vehement objections to his methods.
But White is already opening cases, displaying an array of stones and settings that would make any woman's breath catch. Diamonds in sizes that border on obscene. Sapphires that match the exact shade of the ocean visible through the study windows. Emeralds that echo the color of my eyes—a detail that tells me Knox has been very specific in his instructions.
"These are just preliminary options," White explains, his tone deferential. "Once you've selected the general style you prefer, I'll create something unique. One of a kind, like the woman who'll wear it."
The obsequious flattery makes me want to roll my eyes, but I'm distracted by Knox reaching for a small red velvet box that sits apart from White's display.
"Actually," Knox says, his voice taking on a quality I've rarely heard from him—something almost like reverence, "I already have the stones. They've been in my family for generations."
He opens the box to reveal a collection of diamonds that literally take my breath away. Not because of their size, though they're substantial. Not because of their obvious value, though it must be astronomical. But because of their exceptional quality—the way they catch the light and fracture it into pure, brilliant fire.
"My grandmother's collection," Knox explains, his eyes on my face, gauging my reaction. "My grandfather gave her these over their fifty-year marriage. One for each milestone they reached together. I've been saving them for the right woman."
The sentiment—unexpected, genuine—catches me off guard. I've never heard Knox speak of his grandparents with such warmth before, never seen this softer edge to his usual hard-driving personality.
"They're extraordinary," I admit, unable to lie about something so objectively true.
His smile is triumphant, as if I've conceded a larger point. "Clarence will set them into whatever design you prefer. Money is no object, of course."
"Mr. Vance has indicated you favor classic elegance over trendy designs," White adds helpfully. "But I've brought options across the spectrum for your consideration."
I take a deep breath, gathering my scattered thoughts. This has gone far enough. "Mr. White, I appreciate you coming all this way, but there's been a misunderstanding. I haven't agreed to marry Mr. Vance. There is no engagement to create a ring for."
White looks uncomfortable, glancing between Knox and me with the expression of someone who's inadvertently stepped into a minefield.
"Seraphina—" Knox begins, his tone hardening.
"No." I cut him off with a firm shake of my head. "This is exactly what I'm talking about, Knox. You make these unilateral decisions about my life—our life—without even consulting me. You've arranged a wedding, flown in a jeweler, decided we're getting married, all without once asking if it's what I want."
"It's what we both want," he insists. "It's what's best for our child."
"That's not for you to decide alone!" My voice rises despite my attempt to remain calm. "Marriage should be a mutual decision, not something one person forces on the other."
"Force is a strong word," Knox counters, his jaw tightening. "I prefer to think of it as removing unnecessary obstacles. Cutting through the red tape of your resistance to get to what we both know is inevitable."
"Nothing is inevitable except death and taxes," I snap. "Not this wedding you've arranged. Not this marriage you've decided on. And certainly not me wearing any ring you choose, no matter how beautiful or meaningful its history might be."
White clears his throat awkwardly. "Perhaps I should give you two some privacy?—"
"No need," I interrupt, my anger reaching boiling point. "I'm the one who'll be leaving." I turn to Knox, meeting his thunderous expression with one of my own. "My answer is no, Knox. Not like this. Not on your arbitrary timetable. Not with your bulldozer approach to something that should be a mutual decision."
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes—not anger or frustration, but something that looks almost like…appreciation? Even, bizarrely, pride?
"Thank you for your honesty, Seraphina," he says formally. "Clarence, pack up your displays, please. It seems we'll need to postpone our business."
White hurries to comply, clearly relieved to escape the tension crackling between Knox and me.
Once he's gone, I expect Knox to argue further, to attempt to wear down my resistance as he has with everything else. Instead, he simply watches me with that inscrutable expression, saying nothing until the silence stretches uncomfortably between us.
"Is that all you have to say?" I finally ask, suspicious of his calm acceptance.
His smile is slow and knowing. "For now. Except to note that I've always appreciated your fire, angel. Your refusal to be steamrolled, even by me. It's one of the many reasons you're perfect as the mother of my child. As my eventual wife."
"Eventual?" I repeat, catching the qualification. "So you're accepting my refusal?"
"I'm accepting that you need to feel you have some control over the timing," he clarifies. "Not that the outcome will be any different."
Frustration burns through me at his unshakable certainty. "You're impossible."
"No," he counters, moving closer until I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "I'm inevitable."
With that parting shot, he turns and strides from the study, leaving me standing amid the discarded ring cases, my heart pounding with a confusing mixture of anger, relief, and—most disturbing of all—disappointment.
Because part of me, some treacherous, weak part I've spent eighteen months trying to silence, had wanted to say yes. Had wanted to slip his ring on my finger and become Seraphina Vance, completely and irrevocably his.
And that terrifies me more than all of Knox's masterful manipulations combined.