The dinner had ended, but the storm had only just begun.
Rayden stepped out onto the Westley estate terrace, loosening the top button of his shirt. The air was thick with tension and the smell of over-manicured roses. The low hum of distant conversation faded behind him.
He needed air.
But he should have known someone follow'd him.
Eleanor's heels clicked softly against the stone floor as she approached. "You certainly know how to make a statement."
Rayden didn't look at her. "If you're here to talk about Kayla—"
"I'm here to talk about the press, the whispers, and the board members who are already calling me asking why you introduced a complete nobody as your fiancée at a dinner meant to discuss Westley-Lancaster futures."
Rayden's jaw flexed. "Anne is not 'a nobody.'"
"She's a liability." Her voice was cold, sharp. "You think this is love? You think this is freedom? What you're doing is reckless. Sentimental. And completely unbecoming of a Lancaster."
He turned to her, eyes dark. "Maybe I'm tired of being a Lancaster."
Her gaze didn't flinch. "Then you'll lose everything you built under that name. You'll lose the power, the protection… the company. The moment they smell instability, they'll come for your seat."
Rayden stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "Let them. They are not worthy at the end."
Eleanor's lips curved into a smile—icy and knowing. "And what about her? Do you really think she can survive what's coming?" She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "You've already killed one girl because of this world. Do you really want to break another one?"
The words hit like a blade.
Rayden didn't respond immediately.
Because she wasn't wrong.
He saw Anne's face in his mind—soft, trusting, full of the kind of hope he never deserved.
He remembered how she held him the night before. How her warmth made him forget, for a fleeting second, the blood that had stained his past.
And suddenly, doubt crept in.
Was Eleanor right?
Was he dragging Anne into a war she couldn't survive?
"I won't lose her," he said finally, more to himself than to his mother.
But Eleanor heard him—and she smiled.
A quiet, cruel smile.
"We'll see," she said, turning away into the shadows of the estate. "We always do."
____
Private Drawing Room, Lancaster Estate – Later That Night
The guests had gone. The halls quieted, save for the distant clink of glasses being cleared by staff.
Kayla stood near the fireplace, her arms folded, her perfectly composed expression cracking just slightly as she stared into the flickering flames. The silence was oppressive.
Eleanor entered gracefully, a crystal glass of wine in hand. She studied the young woman before her with mild amusement—and a trace of expectation.
"You're quiet," Eleanor said, taking a seat on the velvet chaise. "I would've expected fireworks."
Kayla's jaw tightened. "He humiliated me."
Eleanor tilted her head. "He surprised us both. I'll admit that."
"No," Kayla snapped, turning to face her. "You don't understand. I had him. I know him. Everything was falling into place—and then she happened."
Eleanor sipped her wine, unmoved. "Rayden's impulsive. He always has been. This isn't the first time he's played the savior."
"But he's never gone this far." Kayla's voice dropped lower, colder. "Introducing her in front of the Westleys and board members? Our families were supposed to be merging through us. That was the entire point of this dinner."
"And instead, we got a circus," Eleanor murmured, eyes narrowing. "He doesn't realize how fragile his image is. The board won't tolerate sentiment for long."
Kayla stepped forward, voice sharp. "Then let me fix it."
Eleanor raised an elegant brow. "What do you mean?"
Kayla's lips curled into a soft, eerie smile. "I have a plan."
Eleanor blinked, curious. "What kind of plan?"
Kayla didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the window, the moonlight slicing across her profile like a knife.
Her voice was calm when it finally came:
"One that doesn't involve waiting around for him to come to his senses."
Eleanor studied her for a moment—then nodded, amused.
"You always did have a flair for theatrics," she said. "Do what you must."
She stood, leaving the half-empty glass behind. "Just keep it clean. The last thing we need is a scandal before the stockholder's meeting."
Kayla's smile remained, frozen in place.
"Of course," she said sweetly.
"Leave it to me."
But as Eleanor exited the room, never once looking back…
She didn't see the storm simmering in Kayla's eyes.
Didn't see how tightly she clenched her fists behind her back.
Didn't see the madness quietly blooming.
Because Kayla wasn't planning something clean.
She was planning a disaster.
____
Next Morning – Penthouse
Sunlight poured into the kitchen in gentle streaks. The scent of last night's breakfast still lingered faintly, but the mood had shifted—subtly, but enough for Anne to feel it.
Rayden was already dressed. Not in his usual sharp, imposing suit, but in a plain white button-up and slacks. Still, he looked… heavier. Like something had curled up behind his ribcage and refused to let go.
Anne padded in quietly, wearing his oversized shirt, her hair still slightly messy from sleep.
"You're up early," she said softly, pouring herself some coffee.
Rayden didn't look up from the tablet in his hand. "Couldn't sleep."
Anne watched him for a beat. "Is it because of last night?"
That made him pause.
He set the tablet down, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. "She cornered me after dinner."
Anne didn't need to ask who. The weight in his voice told her everything.
"What did she say?"
Rayden hesitated—his jaw tensing, the way it always did when he was trying not to let something spill. "She said I embarrassed the family. That I'm damaging our public image. That the board's going to start asking questions."
Anne's fingers tightened around her mug.
"She said I was being reckless," Rayden continued. "That I'm letting 'some girl' drag everything I've built into chaos."
There was a beat of silence.
"Some girl," Anne repeated, barely above a whisper.
Rayden flinched at her tone. "That's not how I see you."
"But it's how she does."
"And she's wrong," he snapped, more fiercely than she expected. He stood, restless now, pacing the edge of the room like he needed to burn the anger off.
Anne watched him carefully. "Then why do you look like she might be right?"
Rayden stopped in his tracks.
He turned to face her, and for a moment, the air between them felt like glass—thin, fragile, ready to break.
"It's not you I'm afraid of," he said finally. "It's me."
Anne took a slow step forward. "Rayden…"
"I can handle boardrooms. Markets. Scandals," he murmured. "But you… you make me want things I can't afford to want."
She blinked. "Like what?"
"Peace," he said simply. "And if I get used to it—if I start needing it—what happens when it's gone?"
Anne stepped in front of him now, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Then you fight for it. Just like you do with everything else."
He leaned into her touch for a moment—just a moment—before gently pulling away.
"I don't know if I deserve to have that."
"You don't get to decide what you deserve," Anne said quietly. "Not when you're trying."
Rayden looked at her, really looked at her. There was something unspoken behind his eyes—fear, perhaps, or guilt—but also something else.
Longing.
"Will you still be here," he asked, voice barely audible, "if everything falls apart?"
Anne didn't flinch.
"I'll be here even if it does."
The tension between them lingered, but it was no longer sharp.
It was soft. Frayed at the edges. Human.
Rayden closed his eyes, letting out a breath he'd been holding all morning.
He didn't say thank you.
He just reached for her hand.
And held it.