15. Chapter Fifteen - Gilded Trap
Everything around us began to fade, as though the constant background noise of the world had been lowered just enough to leave only us sitting there.
The soft clink of glasses and distant hum of voices drifting through the dining hall dulled into something far away, replaced by the steady pulse pounding in my ears.
Ever since we met, he’d looked at me as though I weren't new to him at all, as though I were something known instead of someone he’d just met.
Now that feeling suddenly made terrifying sense.
It would’ve been romantic if it weren’t actively destroying my peace of mind.
Culver watched me without speaking, his eyes tracking every shift in my expression: my brow, my cheekbones, the curve of my mouth, as though he were reading thoughts I hadn’t fully formed yet. Eventually, he let out a slow breath, and when he spoke, his voice softened.
“I was on my way to your home.”
There it was. The confirmation I’d been searching for.
I held his gaze, surprised by how steady I managed to stay while the truth settled heavily between us. “So you knew who I was this whole time?”
My voice didn’t shake, though I felt the tension everywhere else. Deep down, I’d already known the answer. I just needed him to say it aloud.
“Yes,” he answered easily, without hesitation, his tone lacking apology but not care. “I knew who you were, which is why I picked you up yesterday. Ira, I promise this was meant to be a nice surprise. If you’re upset, I can make it right.”
I should’ve felt relieved by the honesty. Maybe even validated. Instead, something inside me tightened painfully. “I’m not angry that you didn’t tell me,” I said quietly, my voice clipped despite the frustration simmering underneath.
Because it wasn’t anger.
It was humiliation. The deep, sinking kind that made you feel stupid for letting yourself hope in the first place.
I wasn’t upset about the secret itself. I was upset that I’d fallen for him so quickly, only to realize it probably hadn’t meant the same thing to him at all.
Culver didn’t like me. He pitied me. I could see it clearly now: the lonely girl who’d just moved across the world, someone his parents and my ma thought needed looking after.
A favor with benefits. And he’d played the role perfectly.
Maybe every lingering glance, every brush of his hand, every charged moment had been part of the act. Something polished enough to fool me into mistaking it for chemistry.
“You’re clearly upset about it,” he said, tilting his head slightly as his fingers brushed against the bare skin of my arm.
A cold shiver raced up my skin at once, electric where he touched me. I flinched before I could stop myself, the reaction small but enough to remind me I was still trying to hold onto control while everything around me kept shifting.
“No,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t feel convincing even to me. “I’m just surprised.”
And emotionally unraveling. But mostly surprised.
I wanted to keep going. I wanted to ask everything.
How long he’d known. How involved he was with my ma’s job.
Why hadn’t he told me from the start instead of letting me build fantasies out of half-truths and optimism?
I wanted to yell at him for making me feel wanted, only to realize I’d been standing inside something planned all along.
But I never got the chance.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, voices approaching and slicing through the fragile moment before it could settle into anything worse. Whatever had started between us fractured instantly, leaving me clinging to scattered thoughts while I tried to gather myself again.
The door flew open with dramatic timing, and Rupert burst in with his arms spread wide as though he’d just stepped onto a stage.
“Hello, everyone! You may resume your activities now that I’m here,” he announced loudly, punctuating it with a wink.
Oh, thank God.
Another thirty seconds and I genuinely might’ve had a breakdown at the dinner table.
There was something effortlessly magnetic about Rupert that pulled attention toward him no matter how hard you tried to stay detached. Just behind him stood someone taller and far more composed, and I didn’t need an introduction to know exactly who it was.
Soroush.
He was the opposite of his counterpart in nearly every way.
Quiet where his partner was loud. Steady where his lover was chaos.
His calm presence softened the entire room somehow.
Rupert practically skipped toward the table, grabbing Soroush’s hand without hesitation and tugging him along while their fingers laced together as though it were second nature.
Even their affection somehow looked aesthetically coordinated.
Soroush didn’t resist, his small smile carrying the ease of someone long accustomed to his boyfriend’s energy.
“I’m glad you could finally join us, Rupert,” Julius said from the edge of the table, a faint smirk breaking through his otherwise stoic expression.
“Being busy has its perks,” Rupert replied with a laugh, sticking his tongue out in a way that should’ve looked ridiculous but somehow worked on him. “And terrible downsides.”
It made me pause. I’d imagined Eunice and Julius running their home like quiet forces of nature, all refined grace and unspoken authority.
But Rupert’s easy teasing, paired with Julius’s visible amusement, painted something far more layered.
Less untouchable. It made me wonder if I’d misunderstood the Scarbroughs completely…
or if they were simply experts at becoming different versions of themselves depending on the room.
Still, I couldn’t ignore the shift beside me.
Culver moved closer again, his presence slipping back into the space I’d been trying so hard to keep neutral.
My gaze dropped automatically to his hand resting along the back of my chair.
He wasn’t touching me, but the placement felt purposeful anyway, claiming space without direct contact.
Across the room, everyone had someone.
Julius and Eunice existed inside their own restrained version of affection, subtle but unmistakable.
Anna leaned naturally into Liam while his steady presence softened her sharper edges.
Rupert and Soroush were openly affectionate, unconcerned with who noticed.
Every seat at the table seemed to have its counterpart.
From the outside, someone probably would’ve looked at Culver and me the same way.
Another mismatched pair somehow balancing each other out.
But the thought unraveled the second I let it sink deeper.
I wasn’t here because of fate or chance or some ridiculous storybook connection.
I’d been placed here intentionally, slotted neatly into something already mapped out for everyone else.
Whatever fragile hope I’d been holding onto faded quietly after that.
I shifted my chair slightly closer to my ma, needing some sort of grounding even while anger still twisted painfully inside me.
The scrape against the floor should’ve gone unnoticed, but Culver caught it instantly.
His gaze flicked toward me, his pupils widening for only a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed flat again.
I thought he’d ignore it. I was wrong.
His hand slipped beneath the edge of my chair, and without saying a word, he pulled me smoothly back toward him. The movement was controlled, leaving our seats nearly touching again, our bodies aligned close enough for heat to gather between us.
Damn him.
And damn my body for leaning toward him anyway.
He really was playing the perfect son, pretending he cared about me at all, and I had no choice but to let him guide everything exactly where he wanted it. I refused to look at him. I pretended not to notice our shoulders brushing together or the warmth building between us.
Then his hand wrapped around me.
His fingers brushed softly along my back, sparks racing upward before his hand slid lower to my hip and squeezed gently at the flesh there. I bit my lip hard to stop any embarrassing sound from escaping while he pulled me flush against his body.
My hand shot out automatically to steady myself, landing—of course—directly on his thigh.
I heard him sigh softly above me. Then came the quiet chuckle.
Nope.
I absolutely was not giving him the satisfaction of looking at him now.
Finally, I managed to adjust, pulling my hand off his thigh and placing it back in my lap. My eyes drifted down to where his long fingers rested on my hip, his touch slow and purposeful as he traced a soothing path from my stomach to my upper thigh.
The freaking pervert.
“Nice to see you again, Soroush,” Eunice said, her voice warm but measured as she rested a hand over her son’s. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?”
Soroush returned her smile calmly. He was the only one at the table who looked almost normal with tanned skin, gentle brown eyes, and messy golden-brown hair untouched by the same rigid perfection the rest of the family carried.
Even so, there was something difficult to place about him.
Not sharp like the Scarbroughs or playful like Rupert.
Just… quiet in a way that pulled attention anyway.
Something about the entire family dynamic kept nagging at me.
Even their softer moments felt strangely polished, as though there were always another layer hidden beneath the surface.
I couldn’t tell if it was simply the influence of old money shaping everyone into curated versions of themselves or if something deeper sat underneath it all.
I looked back down at the empty plate in front of me just as another door creaked open, followed by the soft, perfectly timed sound of clean shoes crossing tile.
A small group of uniformed staff entered, each carrying a silver tray topped with a domed lid.
They moved around the table in silence, placing the trays before us before lifting the covers in unison.