CHAPTER THREE #3
"He is devoted now," Aunt Brenna corrected, pacing slowly across the Persian rug, her brow deeply furrowed.
"But devotion isn't a ring on a finger. Devotion isn't a legal contract. We are sitting in a house with twenty bedrooms and a Monet in the hallway. Do you understand what happens to Olivia if he wakes up tomorrow and decides he’s bored of the small-town girl routine? She loses everything. We all do."
"He won't do that. He loves her," Linda said, though the tremor of raw anxiety in her voice betrayed her.
"Love is fickle, Linda," Beatrice warned, leaning against a grand piano in the corner.
"Especially with these billionaires. They have options.
They have people whispering in their ears all day long.
What if Kennedy decides to actually make a play for him?
We need him locked down. We need an engagement. "
"Well, we can't force him to propose," Haley pointed out, crossing her arms.
"No, but we can make him feel like he has to," Brenna said quietly.
The room fell silent. The older women looked at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
"They haven't slept together," Chloe whispered, voicing the secret they all knew but rarely discussed. "Liv told me last week. He hasn't even pressured her. He sleeps in the guest room when she stays over."
"Because he’s a gentleman," Linda said defensively, though she looked uneasy.
"Or because he’s keeping his options open," Brenna countered sharply.
"Think about it. Why would a man that powerful, that attractive, hold off this long unless he isn't fully committed? But if they did sleep together... Olivia is a good, innocent girl. If he takes that from her, a man with his kind of old-fashioned pedigree would feel morally obligated to do the right thing. He’d propose out of honor. "
"So what are you saying?" Beatrice asked, her eyes darting toward the closed door. "We lock them in a bedroom tonight? Tell the staff to conveniently lose the key?"
"Don't be stupid, Bea," Chloe scoffed. "You know Grayson. You could lock him in a closet with her for three days, and if she said she wasn't ready, he’d sleep standing up. He has too much self-control."
"Exactly," Brenna said, stopping her pacing and looking directly at Linda. "His self-control is the obstacle. They love each other. They’re going to get married anyway. Sometimes, nature just needs a little... push."
Linda stared at her sister-in-law, her stomach turning cold as she realized exactly what was being suggested. "Brenna, no. We are not talking about..."
"Why not?" Brenna pushed, her voice lowering into a deadly, rational whisper.
"A little crushed supplement in his drink.
Something mild. An aphrodisiac, just to lower his inhibitions.
To make him feel a little more passionate, a little less rigidly controlled.
Once the spark catches, nature takes its course.
He wakes up tomorrow realizing they crossed the line, his protective instincts kick into overdrive, and he puts a ring on her finger to make it right. It secures her future."
"That is a crime, Brenna," Linda breathed, her hand flying to her chest, genuinely horrified. "You are talking about drugging a man."
"I am talking about securing a billionaire for your daughter!
" Brenna hissed, stepping closer. "Look around you, Linda! This isn't a high school romance in Ohio! This is empire-building. Do you think the people in this house got here by playing fair? Do you think the Lockharts wouldn't do whatever it takes to get Kennedy that ring? It’s not a drug, it’s a push. A natural enhancement. We’d be doing them a favor. "
"She’s right, Mom," Chloe said, her voice chillingly calm as she stared at her hands. "If they don't take the next step soon, the momentum will die. He’ll start looking at Kennedy again. We just give him something to help him relax. To make him let go. It’s basically just medicine."
"It’s harmless," Haley chimed in, nodding eagerly, swept up in the adrenaline of the conspiracy. "Just one night. They’ll both enjoy it, and then she’s set for life."
Linda looked around the room, her breathing shallow.
She looked at her sister, her sister-in-law, her daughter, and her niece.
They were normal women. They baked pies for church bake sales and worked as receptionists and teachers.
But in the shadow of the Ashford wealth, bathed in the intoxicating, terrifying light of unimaginable privilege, their moral compasses had warped.
The fear of losing this proximity to power was mutating into something dangerous and desperate.
Linda looked out the solarium window, gazing past the manicured hedges toward the glass pavilion where her daughter stood, oblivious and smiling on the arm of a man who owned the world.
"How," Linda whispered, the last shreds of her conscience quietly surrendering to the overwhelming seduction of the Ashford empire. "How would we even get it into his drink?"