CHAPTER THREE #2
Kennedy stared at him. For a long, agonizing moment, her brain simply refused to process the words he was saying. She looked at his stern, handsome face, baffled.
"Tone what down, exactly?" Kennedy asked, her voice tight, the sheer absurdity of the accusation keeping her anger temporarily at bay. "Grayson, what are you talking about? What have I done?"
"You know exactly what you’re doing, Kennedy," Grayson replied, his patience clearly thinning. "You’re acting as though this is your house. You’re being overly familiar, you’re drawing attention, and it is making Olivia deeply uncomfortable. I’m just asking you to be respectful."
Kennedy’s mouth parted in disbelief. "I have literally been standing in a circle with your mother and mine, talking about the gardens.
I haven't even spoken to Olivia tonight.
I haven't looked at her. I haven't spoken to the staff, I haven't caused a scene.
I am existing, Grayson. I am breathing in my parents' best friends' home, exactly as I have done for the last thirty years.
How on earth is my existence a threat to her? "
"It is your attitude," Grayson insisted, blind to everything except Olivia’s distress. "You take up too much space. Just reel it in, Kennedy. For once, don't make it about you."
He turned and walked away before she could reply, leaving Kennedy standing alone by the roses, her face burning with a mixture of humiliation and boiling, helpless fury. She hadn't done a single thing wrong. She was being punished for a crime invented in the minds of strangers.
***
From the sweeping mezzanine balcony overlooking the pavilion, two pairs of sharp eyes watched the entire exchange unfold.
Ryder Ashford-Wale leaned his forearms against the carved marble railing, a crystal tumbler of scotch dangling loosely from his fingers. Beside him, Spencer Lockhart stood perfectly still, his blue eyes narrowed as he watched his sister’s face drain of color below.
"Well," Ryder murmured, taking a slow sip of his drink. "That was uncalled for."
"He just ambushed her," Spencer said, his voice tight with restrained fraternal anger. "She hasn't left my mother’s side all night. She’s been perfectly behaved. What the hell is his problem?"
Ryder didn't look at Grayson. He looked across the room, tracking the line of sight back to where Olivia was standing.
More specifically, he looked at the tight huddle of women surrounding her.
Linda, Chloe, and the aunts were watching Grayson return to Olivia with expressions of deep, vindicated satisfaction.
"It’s not Grayson’s problem," Ryder observed quietly, nodding toward the Ohio contingent. "Look over there. The whispering coven."
Spencer followed his gaze. He watched as Linda patted Olivia’s arm, shooting a triumphant glare across the room toward Kennedy. The realization hit Spencer like a cold bucket of water.
"They’re stirring the pot," Spencer said, a look of disgust washing over his features. "There wasn't any tension. They fabricated it."
"They walked in here tonight, saw the crest on the napkins, and realized they hit the jackpot," Ryder said cynically, though his eyes were sharp. "Now they’re marking their territory. Kennedy is confident, she’s beautiful, and she belongs here. To them, that makes her a threat to the throne. So they whisper in Olivia’s ear, Olivia gets anxious, she cries to Grayson, and Grayson goes full knight-in-shining-armor without checking the facts. "
"I should go down there," Spencer said, pushing off the railing, his protective instincts flaring for his sister. "I should tell him he’s being a blind idiot."
"Don't," Ryder said, catching Spencer’s arm. "Not tonight. It’s my parents' fortieth. If you go down there and confront Grayson, it turns into a public brawl. It ruins the night for my mother."
Spencer ground his jaw, looking back down at Kennedy, who had quickly composed her features into a mask of icy indifference and was walking toward the gardens. "So we just let them treat her like a punching bag?"
"No," Ryder said smoothly, his eyes never leaving the tight huddle of Olivia’s family. "We watch. People who manufacture drama eventually slip up and expose themselves. We let them get comfortable. And when they finally overplay their hand, we make sure Grayson sees it."
***
Down on the main floor, unaware that they were being observed, the women of the Winters family were feeling emboldened by their small victory.
However, the momentary triumph of seeing Kennedy scolded did not soothe their deeper, more pressing anxiety.
As the evening progressed, the sheer magnitude of the Ashford wealth continued to press down on them. The stakes felt impossibly high.
"We need a quiet place to sit down," Linda murmured to Beatrice and Brenna as the orchestra began a lively jazz set. "My feet are killing me."
They quietly slipped out of the glass pavilion, navigating the sprawling, empty corridors of the main house until they found a small, dimly lit solarium near the east wing.
The room was filled with the scent of potted ferns and damp earth, removed from the noise of the party.
Linda, Beatrice, Brenna, Chloe, and Haley filed into the room, shutting the mahogany door behind them.
"He handled her," Chloe said, sinking into a plush velvet armchair, looking deeply satisfied. "Did you see him march over there? He practically told Kennedy to sit down and shut up. He’s devoted to Olivia."