13. Chapter Thirteen - Orchestrated Fate #2
Her presence filled the hallway effortlessly, her fitted dress whispering against her body as she moved to Liam’s side. Their bodies aligned naturally, her arm slipping through his while their fingers laced together with easy familiarity. It wasn’t performative. It was certainty itself.
A small ache stirred unexpectedly inside me. Not because of either of them specifically, but because of how naturally they belonged together. I wanted something like that someday.
My gaze dropped to myself.
A crop top and bare stomach. Definitely not an appropriate meet-the-family outfit.
Wearing Culver’s jacket suddenly felt rude, but taking it off would expose just how little I actually had on underneath.
Awareness crawled over every inch of visible skin, sharpening how out of place I looked among tailored suits and quiet luxury.
One might wonder why I’d worn a crop top in cold weather.
Yeah… I never claimed to make good decisions.
I could feel Anna watching me, amused and assessing all at once. Liam looked too, though more carefully, as if quietly cataloging details. I couldn’t tell whether they were judging me or simply curious, and the uncertainty prickled across my skin.
Culver wasn’t looking at me anymore. His attention had locked entirely onto Liam.
“Culver,” Liam said smoothly, his smile still in place despite the edge beneath it. “You seem… wound up today.”
Culver stayed silent for a moment. His expression remained unreadable, though his jaw twitched once beneath the tension pulling through him.
“Is there a particular reason for that?” Liam added lightly, his gaze flicking toward me just long enough for the implication to settle in.
Culver drew in a slow breath through his nose, visibly catching himself before responding.
His posture loosened only slightly. “No particular reason,” he said, while the entire hallway could practically feel the jealousy radiating off him.
“It appears I had no control over my expression a moment ago. Apologies.”
Rich people really did argue like corporate emails.
The thought almost made me laugh, but no one else seemed remotely amused.
Not Anna, smirking knowingly at her brother.
Not Liam, whose smile never faltered. And definitely not me, standing there in clothes that suddenly felt far too revealing while trying to act like I belonged among people whose lives seemed layered in secrets.
Anna reached for me suddenly, her manicured fingers sliding around mine with elegant confidence. “Delicate flower,” she cooed mischievously, “we have much to discuss at dinner. I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends.”
Oh, fantastic. Exactly what I needed. More emotionally hazardous conversations.
Culver’s hand settled on my shoulder at once, firm as he gently pulled me from her grasp. The contact sent a ripple through me. “Sister,” he said evenly, irritation barely contained, “you’ve caused enough disruption for one day. Liam, please rein in her enthusiasm.”
Liam sighed softly with the air of someone long accustomed to this role.
He leaned in and murmured something low into Anna’s ear, intimate enough to make her lashes flutter and her lips curve into a slow, satisfied smile.
Whatever he said worked instantly. She softened against him and released me without another word.
Culver’s hand slid to the small of my back, guiding me forward with a touch that felt both intimate and unmistakably possessive. His cool fingers brushed lightly against my skin, sending tingles racing up my spine.
We moved deeper into the estate, the lighting shifting subtly around us.
Then we stepped into the dining hall. The room swallowed us whole the second we entered.
It wasn’t merely large. It was imposing in a way that felt old beyond reason, as though it had been built to remind everyone exactly where they stood before they even sat down.
A massive table stretched through the center, polished so perfectly it reflected the lights like still water.
Its sheer size made my stomach tighten. This wasn’t a place for casual meals or awkward conversations.
It felt built for quiet power plays and decisions that couldn’t be undone.
Along the walls stood suits of armor, tall and motionless, their metal gleaming faintly beneath the lights.
They didn’t feel decorative. They felt watchful, like frozen sentries guarding something older than memory itself.
I resisted the urge to look away too quickly, irrationally worried it might make me seem weak.
Paintings lined the walls in heavy gilded frames, portraits of people long dead but somehow still present.
Their eyes seemed to follow us as we moved, though perhaps that was only my imagination fraying beneath the pressure of the room.
The air carried the faint scent of beeswax and polished wood, threaded with something earthy beneath it, clean and mineral-rich like stone after rain.
The entire room was beautiful in a way that left me deeply uneasy.
Culver’s hand remained steady at my back while we walked farther inside, the light pressure of his fingers against my skin sending warmth curling low through me.
Then I saw her.
At the far end of the table, seated between two figures who could only be Culver’s parents, sat someone I recognized instantly.
My mother.