3. Heirs and Assets
Chapter three
Heirs and Assets
Dozens of overlapping conversations bounced off the high ceiling of the dining room.
I sat at the center of the massive rectangular table.
Arthur occupied the chair to my immediate left, his elbows crowding my side.
Octavia held court on my right, her posture immaculate.
I pressed my spine against my chair, enduring the claustrophobic proximity of my in-laws.
“Just a few more minutes,” I murmured to myself.
I traced a finger along the edge of the table.
The grueling logistical marathon of organizing this event was finally coming to an end.
Managing the estate staff all afternoon had drained my energy.
Taking Octavia’s endless critiques from the upper balcony had tested all of my diplomatic restraint.
The doors of the butler’s pantry swung open.
A line of caterers emerged in starched white uniforms. They wheeled a tall silver cart to the center of the crowded floor.
The squeak of the wheels drew the attention of the surrounding guests.
An elaborate, flawless white cake sat on the top shelf, illuminated by the chandelier.
The murmurs of the extended Kensington family faded into expectant whispers.
Cassian pushed his chair back from the head of the table.
He stood tall, adjusting his lapels. Scattered applause broke out among the rows of aunts, uncles, and cousins.
I watched him across the length of the white tablecloth, placing all my hopes on him.
I prayed this exact moment would finally bridge the gap between us. He picked up a silver serving knife from the cart. The metal caught the warm light of the room. I slipped my hand off the table edge, pressing it flat against my stomach. The silk of my dress slid under my palm.
Cassian drove the serving knife into the center tier. The sharp scrape echoed across the quiet room as he pulled the slice backward. A bright burst of pink confetti scattered across the cart. Pink frosting clung to the edge of the blade, standing out against the silver.
A daughter. That bright pink frosting brought a sudden rush of protective joy.
The daily battles and the constant isolation in this estate no longer mattered.
Once Cassian saw the color, he would finally understand we were building a real legacy.
He would finally stand up to them and put his family first.
“Well. It looks like we’re having a girl,” Cassian announced to the room.
The head caterer stepped forward, offering a small nod of respect. “Congratulations to you both! A beautiful little princess for the family.”
The extended family’s clapping faltered. A silence dropped over the fifty guests. I pulled my hand from the silk over my bump and gripped the stem of my water glass. My fingers pressed against the cold crystal as I stared at the frozen expressions of the cousins across the table.
Arthur slapped the table. The impact rattled the silverware near his plate. He leaned forward, dismissing the pink confetti with a sneer.
“Why are you congratulating them? Girls are a useless waste of a trust fund.”
“This is my child,” I whispered. I released my tight grip on the water glass. The condensation lingered on my skin. I kept my eyes locked on the pink frosting clinging to the knife.
The brutal reality of Arthur’s words hung over the long dining table. For months, I had absorbed his snide comments about my background. I had lowered my eyes and kept the peace to spare Cassian the friction.
That quiet compliance vanished the second Arthur aimed his cruelty at the baby inside me.
Arthur snatched his wine glass and slammed it back down onto the table. A wave of red wine sloshed over the rim. The dark liquid splashed onto the tablecloth, spreading into a jagged stain next to my untouched plate.
“At least we can use her for a decent merger down the line,” Arthur said. “Otherwise, she’s practically useless to the estate.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard, using the sharp pain and the taste of blood to keep my head clear.
The guests sat in silence, their eyes fixed on my face. They waited for me to shrink back into my chair. They expected me to apologize for disrupting the mood, just like I always did.
I braced my hands against the table, sitting perfectly straight. Ignoring Octavia, I looked directly at Arthur. He paused, blinking at me in genuine surprise.
“You will not talk about my daughter that way, Arthur,” I said.
My voice carried across the dining room.
Several cousins at the far end of the table shifted in their seats, the leather chairs squeaking against the silence.
Cassian remained standing near the cake cart, his hands empty.
I held my ground, waiting for my husband to step in and defend me.
When Cassian stayed quiet, I kept my eyes fixed on my father-in-law.
“She isn’t a corporate asset for you to trade,” I said.
Arthur’s face turned a mottled shade of red. He leaned closer to me. The scent of roasted meat and wine rolled off him. He pointed a finger at my face.
“Watch your tone at my table. I’m stating a simple fact about estate planning, something you know nothing about.”
The wine stain continued to seep across the tablecloth, inching closer to the edge of my plate.
My palms remained braced against the table.
My wrists began to ache from the pressure, but I refused to let my posture slip.
The sprawling dining room descended into a tense hush, leaving only the clatter of a caterer dropping a tray in the pantry.
Down the length of the table, a male cousin leaned toward his wife. “Is she actually yelling at Arthur?” he whispered.
“Keep your voice down,” the woman muttered back, staring at me.
They were watching a show. The morbid fascination gleaming in the eyes of the extended family turned my stomach.
This was not a private disagreement over estate planning.
This was a sanctioned public execution, and I was the evening entertainment for fifty guests who had waited six months to see the unpedigreed wife finally crack under the pressure.
To my right, Octavia calmly picked up her fork and placed it on her plate. The clink severed the remaining whispers at the far end of the room. Every face at the table pivoted toward the matriarch.
Octavia did not raise her voice. She did not point her finger or turn red like Arthur. She simply folded her napkin and looked at me. Her expression remained polite, composed, and lethal.
“Drop the act, Wren,” Octavia said.
Her tone carried with flawless, chilling calm, reaching every corner of the dining room. I dug my fingers into the edge of the table, bracing myself.
“You’re a pregnant gold digger who trapped my son,” she continued, offering a small, pitying smile. “You got what you wanted, and now you’re set for life.”
The room went completely dead. The silence stretched unbroken. No one gasped, and no one rushed to intervene. Dozens of relatives stared at me.
They waited for me to lower my eyes and burst into tears. They expected the inevitable retreat.
I pulled my hand away from the table and pressed it over my bump. The baby rested beneath my palm. My diplomatic restraint finally snapped. They were not just dissecting me anymore. They were branding my innocent child in front of the dynasty.
I did not look at Cassian standing near the cake cart. I did not look at the gossiping cousins. I pressed my back against the chair and kept my eyes locked on my mother-in-law.
“I am not a gold digger, Octavia,” I said.
My voice did not shake. It cut through the stale air of the dining room, steady and unyielding. Octavia’s pitying smile faltered.
“I haven’t asked this family for a single dime, and I will not sit here and let you speak to me like this.”
I kept my chin raised, refusing to break her gaze.
The quiet lingered over the scattered confetti. I looked away from Octavia, down the length of the table. Cassian still stood near the cake cart. The serving knife rested abandoned beside him. I watched his face, waiting for the righteous anger to spark.
“Promise me we’ll always be a team, Cassian,” I had whispered to him on our wedding night. “Promise me it will always be us first.”
I clung to that memory as the seconds ticked by. I waited for him to step forward. I waited for him to tell his parents they had crossed a line, to demand respect for his wife and the baby growing inside me. He remained rooted to the floorboards.
Vanessa stepped into the space between Cassian and the cake cart.
She did not hesitate. She slid her palm against his chest, pressing directly over his heart.
Her fingers traced the lapel of his jacket in a slow, possessive stroke.
The gesture was a clear warning, branding him as her territory in front of fifty staring relatives.
“Don’t try to reason with her, Cassian,” Vanessa said.
She pitched her voice to project over the room, adopting a tone of counterfeit sympathy. She did not look at me. She kept her focus on Cassian, treating me like an unstable patient.
“Her blood pressure spikes when she gets like this,” Vanessa continued, her hand still resting against his chest. “Just let her cool off.”
A cold shock swept over me. My fingers curled into the dress, as if I could physically shield the baby from what was coming.
Cassian did not pull away from Vanessa’s touch. He rubbed two fingers against his temples. He let out a long, irritated sigh. The sound cut through the dining room, louder than any shouted insult.
He was not afraid of his father’s temper, and he was not intimidated by his mother’s cruelty. He was annoyed. My distress was nothing more than an inconvenient disruption to his catered dinner.
Cassian dropped his hand from his temple and finally looked at me across the table.
“Wren, please,” Cassian said.
He spoke with the exhausted cadence of an executive placating a difficult employee.
“My mother is just talking, and you know how my father is,” he continued, dismissing the attack on our child with a wave of his hand. “Stop taking everything so personally and just sit down.”
The last lingering shred of my devotion to him vanished. I looked at the man who had promised to protect me. I saw a father who would let a room full of vipers tear our daughter apart, so long as it spared him an uncomfortable argument.
“You’re actually going to let them say that about me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “About our daughter?”
Cassian offered nothing but irritated silence. I stared at the man I married, waiting for a defense that was never going to come.
I kept my eyes on Cassian across the dining table. Vanessa still rested her hand on his suit jacket, and he simply offered another exhausted sigh, treating my anger like a mere nuisance.
I did not scream, and I did not throw my water glass.
I looked away from my husband. I reached across and gripped my engagement ring, sliding the platinum band over my knuckle. The ring snagged for a second before pulling free, leaving my finger feeling strangely bare.
“We don’t need this,” I whispered to my stomach.
I lowered my hand, setting the diamond on the white linen next to my plate. The spilled red wine pooled near the stone, soaking into the fabric. I gripped the edge of the table and pushed backward.
My chair scraped against the floorboards. The noise broke through the suffocating quiet of the room. Dozens of extended relatives stared at me from beneath the crystals. They waited for the inevitable apology or the tearful breakdown.
I offered them nothing. I stood up, smoothing the silk of my dress over my bump. I turned my back on Arthur and Octavia.
“A dramatic, silent exit,” Arthur said. His booming voice rang out, chasing me down the length of the room. “Exactly the kind of cheap theatricality I’d expect.”
I ignored him. I navigated the narrow gaps between the seated cousins, keeping my eyes forward. The guests shifted in their seats to watch me pass. The naked curiosity in their eyes fueled my steady pace. I was done bleeding out for their evening entertainment.
I reached the far end of the dining table and stepped toward the hallway threshold. The estate staff stood frozen near the butler’s pantry, watching in silence. I gripped the doorframe to steady myself.
“Let her go, Cassian,” Octavia called out. Her perfectly calm tone dripped with aristocratic condescension. “She’ll be back the second she realizes her credit cards are linked to this estate.”
They believed their wealth formed an unbreakable chain. They assumed poverty would terrify me into submission by morning. I stepped out of the dining room and entered the grand foyer. I left the scattered pink confetti and the ruined cake behind me. My shoes clicked against the floor.
“Wren!” Cassian shouted. His voice echoed into the cavernous hallway. “Stop acting like a child and come back to the table!”
The command cracked through the air. He expected me to turn around, lower my head, and resume my place as the grateful, unpedigreed wife. I did not break my stride. I marched past the grand staircase and the abandoned floral arrangements. I reached the grand entrance of the estate.
I pressed my weight against the doors and stepped out into the freezing night, letting the winter wind hit my face as I walked away.