26. Jamison
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
JAMISON
Ihated hunting, animals. Fucking useless sport.
Men dressed in expensive coats, carrying polished rifles through wet forest, pretending they had discovered masculinity because something smaller and stupider than them bled on command.
It was pathetic. Worse, it was boring. There was no strategy in it.
No real resistance, or intelligence on the other side of the chase.
A stag ran because instinct told it to.
A man ran because guilt did.
That was better.
I preferred hunting people. No. I loved hunting people.
People lied, and calculated. People left trails they thought were invisible, with the belief that if they smiled properly at dinners, no one would notice the blood under their family crest.
People made it interesting.
Animals just died.
The Bellemere men gathered at dawn near the northern edge of the estate, where the pine forest thickened. The retreat staff had set out coffee, black cars, gun cases, riding coats, dogs, maps, and enough old-family bullshit to decorate a museum wing.
Her father stood near the largest gun table, smiling because he thought inherited land made him powerful.
Mr. Bellemere had the kind of face men got when they had spent decades being obeyed.
Not feared like Crows were feared. Bellemere power came dinner seating and daughters arranged like corridors.
He looked comfortable in the forest. Beige coat.
Leather gloves. Rifle broken open over one arm.
He laughed with Sienna’s brothers and uncles while two dogs circled his boots.
I watched him from the edge of the path and decided I hated him more outdoors. Inside, at least, men understood walls. Out here, they mistook trees for freedom.
Every sane man in that forest noticed the second I arrived.
Good.
I had worn black because I disliked costume.
Black trousers. Black coat. No hunting tweed, no ridiculous cap, no bright little tie to make the ritual feel old and charming.
My rifle stayed with Reeves, still locked in the case, because I had no intention of shooting anything that didn’t know how to answer questions.
The dogs saw me first. Both stopped moving.
Smart animals.
Then the men.
Conversation thinned. One of Sienna’s brothers looked toward me and immediately looked away. Her uncle adjusted his gloves. Two cousins near the coffee table straightened like someone had just dragged a blade over their spines.
Her father turned last. His smile faltered by half an inch before he repaired it.
“Jamison,” he said. “You decided to join us.”
“I was invited.”
Technically, I had been assigned. Not the same thing. But I enjoyed the way his mouth tightened.
“Of course.” He recovered quickly. Bellemeres were good at that. Smooth recovery was practically bred into them. “We weren’t sure you’d attend. Sienna mentioned you usually had commitments in Harlan.”
Sienna mentioned.
My jaw tightened.
How many years had she explained me away to these people? She stood in this place alone and said I was busy.
“I cleared them,” I said.
His eyes flicked briefly to my hands. Checking for blood, maybe. There wasn’t any. That felt generous of me.
“How considerate,” he said.
I smiled.
No one relaxed.
We moved into the forest fifteen minutes later.
The Bellemere hunting party split into small groups like the whole thing had been planned by men who wanted privacy but disliked admitting it.
Her father walked at the front with two sons and one older uncle.
I walked beside him because I had not come here to trail behind anyone in a fucking forest.
The ground was wet from the night rain. Pine needles softened the path. Mist moved between trunks. Somewhere above us, birds made noises I found personally irritating.
One of the dogs flushed something out of the low brush.
A rabbit, maybe.
Someone lifted a rifle.
“No.” I said.
The man stopped.
Her brother looked at me. “No?”
I glanced at him. “Did I stutter?”
The dog stood in the brush looking confused.
The rabbit vanished. I kept walking. After a beat, so did everyone else.
Her father gave a quiet laugh, trying to turn the moment into amusement. “Not a sportsman, then?”
“No.”
“I would have thought Crows enjoyed hunting.”
“We do.”
Silence followed. I enjoyed it. Then I looked at him.
“Not animals.”
The forest became much more pleasant after that.
Men stopped pretending this was recreation. They started remembering who I was.
Her father carried his rifle for another hundred meters.
“Give it to your son.” I said.
He looked at me. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
His sons stopped behind us. So did the uncle.
Mr. Bellemere’s expression tightened. “This is my family land, Jamison.”
“And yet.”
His fingers flexed once around the rifle. Slowly handed the rifle to his eldest son.
There.
That was better.
Men lied differently when their hands were empty.
I continued walking.
He followed.
We reached a clearing a few minutes later, where the trees opened around a patch of mossy ground. It was probably beautiful to people who liked pretending nature did anything but rot, feed, and repeat itself.
I stopped near the stream.
Her father stopped too. While his sons lingered behind.
I looked over my shoulder. “Leave.”
The eldest stiffened. “This is a family—”
“Leave.”
“Go ahead.” Her father lifted one hand.
They left. Smart enough. The uncle remained one second too long. I looked at him, and he suddenly remembered somewhere else he needed to be.
Then it was just me and Sienna’s father in the clearing.
Finally.
Business.
He adjusted his gloves. “If this is about the retreat accommodation—”
“It isn’t.”
His mouth closed.
“It’s about your daughter.”
His face changed in the smallest way. Calculation. That alone made something in me go cold.
“Which one?” he asked.
My hand flexed once at my side.
I could have killed him for that. Not because the question didn’t make sense in a dynasty family. It did. That was the problem. Daughters seen as categories, and assigned assets to the crest.
“Sienna,” I said.
He nodded carefully. “Of course.”
“You’re going to listen.”
His brows drew in. “Jamison—”
“No.” I stepped closer. “You’re going to listen first.”
I saw the moment he realized the forest had changed. That no son, brother, uncle, dog, or old-family tradition was standing close enough to save his pride.
“You offered Celeste,” I said.
His face gave almost nothing away.
“Damius spoke to you.”
“Damius speaks to everyone eventually. Try not to feel special.”
“You pulled Sienna from the merger.”
He exhaled through his nose. “The original arrangement had exceeded its viable term.”
I smiled. “Say that again.”
He paused, his mouth slowly opening.
“Careful,” I said softly. “I want to know if you’re stupid enough to say it twice.”
The color in his face faded. He looked toward the trees. No one there.
“I made a practical decision,” he said.
“No. You made a decision behind my back.”
“The review was opened by the Crow side.”
“By Damius.”
“Damius is Crow.”
I stepped closer. He stopped breathing for a second.
“Not me.”
The distinction mattered.
Legally, Damius could open, close, and bury any family commitment under Crow jurisdiction if the right clauses existed. Damius did not need my permission.
But Sienna had stood beside me for three years.
Me.
She had taken the public weight of my name, absence, cruelty, my refusal to marry her, my refusal to release her, my refusal to do anything clean with the life she had been forced to place near mine.
They did not get to move her like a chair when I finally turned around.
“I was told,” her father said carefully, “that you did not object.”
“I lied.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“To Damius.”
“Yes.”
“That is… unfortunate.”
I laughed once. “For whom?”
He did not answer.
Good.
He had some instinct left.
I moved around him slowly, letting him stand in the middle of the clearing while I circled him. Men like him understood boardrooms and dinner tables. They did not understand being circled in pine mist by a man who had hunted worse things than deer before breakfast.
“You offered Celeste because you thought I didn’t care which Bellemere girl settled the debt.”
He swallowed.
“Didn’t you?”
His silence answered.
I felt the sickness again. That strange, ugly twist under my ribs I still could not understand.
The thought of Sienna being removed without knowing. Of Celeste stepping into her place. Her father discussing her future while she lay in that cottage bed in soft pajamas, completely unaware that everyone around her had already decided her pain could be scheduled for convenience.
It made me feel sick.
Not weak.
Sick.
Like something inside me had rejected the shape of my own life.
I hated it.
I hated him for causing it.
I hated myself more because if I had married her when I should have, there would have been no opening for any of this.
“I spent three years with Sienna attached to my name,” I said.
His eyes flicked up.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“No. I think you know exactly that. That’s what makes it insulting.”
His mouth tightened.
“To me,” I continued, “because you thought I wouldn’t notice being handed a replacement. To her, because you thought three years of her public life could be erased with an updated bloodline review and a prettier clause.”
“She is not erased.”
“No? Then what is she?”
“She is freed from a merger you did not complete.”
That hit.
Clean.
He saw it too. For one foolish second, confidence returned to his face.
I stepped in close enough that he lost it.
“I decide what I complete.”
“You had three years.”
“Yes.”
“Three years, Jamison.”
“I’m aware of time.”
“Then perhaps you should also be aware of consequence.”
I smiled.
His voice had firmed.
Cute.
Men always found a little courage right before they lost leverage.
“Consequence,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“You want to talk consequence?”
His throat moved.
I leaned closer. “If one person at this retreat tells Sienna the merger changed before I speak to her, I will turn your family event into a case study.”