Shane

(10 Months Earlier)

The silence in the room is thick enough to choke on.

I sit rigid in the chair beside my father, my hands clenched beneath the table where no one can see. My jaw aches from the sheer effort it takes to keep it set. My lungs burn from holding my breath, because the moment I exhale, I’m afraid I’ll fall apart. And if I fall apart now, they win. I’ll lose my chance to find a way to fix this.

So instead, I focus on mirroring my father’s calm. His posture. His icy expression. 

But inside?

I’m a fucking storm.
Every part of me is coiled tight, straining to keep the dread from clawing through my chest. My stomach turns with nausea, and my heart pounds with panic. I keep seeing Becca’s eyes, glassy with tears, her voice trembling as she begged me to come back to her. “Promise me. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

And I did. I swore I would. I meant it with the kind of certainty that lives in your bones.

But this? The ring? This insane ultimatum?

I’m terrified of what this will mean for us. For our future. For the promises I made.

I draw in a slow breath to steady myself before I speak. “Help me understand, Dad. Why now? Why Amanda? What does Charles Kline have on us that justifies this?”

Because it doesn’t make any sense. The Montgomerys… we’re old money. Our name is renowned, well-respected. Our wealth, our reputation, our business holdings… what we have far exceeds anything the Klines have to offer. There has to be a reason for this madness. 

At the head of the table, my father doesn’t even blink. My mother rolls her eyes, lifting her champagne flute and sipping it like my very existence is driving her to drink. 

My father sets his glass down with deliberate precision, then leans back in his chair, the picture of poise and power. “That’s not your concern,” he replies, his voice clipped. “When you’ve taken over, when you’re finally mature enough to sit in my seat as the head of this family, only then will you understand the sacrifices that were made to get you here. Only then will you appreciate the sacrifices that have been asked of you.”

Not my concern?

Not my fucking concern?

I grit my teeth so hard it’s a wonder they don’t break. His words land like a backhand across my face. The implication that my job isn’t to question what’s being asked of me, but only to fall in line, is infuriating. It might have worked when I was a kid, but now? I’m an adult. A man. And this? What he’s proposing… it’s not some business merger. It’s not some negotiation or power play. This is my life. 

“So let me get this straight,” I say, the restraint in my voice starting to fray. “You expect me to sign away my future—my life—on blind faith. Just because you say it’s best for the family. But you won’t even tell me why?”

His face doesn’t change. Not even a flicker of emotion. “Correct.”

Across the table, my mother sighs again, like I’m being difficult. Like I’ve inconvenienced them with the outrageous notion that I should get a say in my own goddamn future.

“It’s about legacy, Shane. Specifically, your legacy as a Montgomery,” she says, setting her glass down and folding her hands like she’s delivering a lesson I should’ve learned years ago. “This arrangement is positioning you for a life most people could only dream of. Power. Influence. Access. And a partner who knows how to wield it. You should be grateful.”

Grateful.

Grateful?

The word settles in my gut like poison.

She looks at me with that sad smile, like this is all so obvious, and she feels bad that I’m struggling to comprehend it. Like she genuinely believes that once I get it, I’ll thank them for selling me off like a pawn in a game rigged to their benefit. A legacy built on sacrifice, and I’m the one they’ve chosen to bleed.

Something in me snaps.

Maybe it’s the way my father’s looking at me, like my reaction is a disappointment. Or the way my mother’s smile tilts, just enough to make me feel like a naïve kid who doesn’t understand how the world works. It’s no wonder the mask I’ve been holding onto—the one I spent my whole life perfecting—starts to crack.

“I’m in love with someone else,” I say quietly. The words feel more like a confession than a declaration. Like a truth that’s tearing me apart. The fear of hearing my love for Becca reduced to something insignificant, when she’s my entire world, makes it almost impossible to say aloud.”

My father doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. He just sits there, his bored expression unwavering, like what I’ve said isn’t worth acknowledging. 

But I push on. For Becca, I have no choice. “I’ve made plans. We’ve talked about a future together.” 

One that looks nothing like this. 

I pause for a second, letting myself see it. 

New York. College. Coffee runs and late-night study sessions. A cramped apartment filled with laughter and love. I see myself proposing in our kitchen, her eyes shining as she screams yes. A quiet elopement. A baby girl in her arms. Crayon on the walls. Crumbs on the couch. A life that’s messy and real. Built on love, not legacy.

My voice tightens. “I’m not giving that up. I won’t. I love her. She’s my future.”

Like he’s had enough, my father finally speaks. “Your future is not yours to plan.” He says it like it’s fact. Like it’s always been fact. “You’re a Montgomery. And as long as I’m alive, as long as I’m in charge of this family, you answer to me.”

There’s no fury in his tone. No threat. Just finality.

My mother scoffs lightly, shaking her head. “You’re being naïve, sweetheart.” She leans in, her voice soft but cutting. “You think love matters in our world? Marriage isn’t a fairytale. It’s about sacrifice. Appearances. Alliances. That girl, whoever she is, will never fit into our world. She’ll never understand it. She hasn’t the faintest idea what it means to carry the Montgomery name, let alone represent it well. It will bury her, Shane. And your relationship right along with her.”

The words hit me like a blow to the chest, stealing the air from my lungs. Not because she’s wrong, but because, for the first time, I wonder if she might be right. At least about that.

As the panic closes in, my father leans back in his chair, lifts his glass, and takes a slow, deliberate sip. His gaze is calculating. Cold. Designed to unsettle me. And it’s working.

“You’re still young,” he says finally, calm and unbothered. “Still idealistic. I get that. We’ve all been there. But love—even real love—rarely survives reality. Especially in our world. If you’re dead set on this girl... keep her. For now. Just don’t be stupid about it. Be discreet.”

Discreet?

The word slithers down my spine like a toxin, twisting my insides. My stomach turns.

Is that what this is? Permission to compartmentalize the woman I love? To reduce her to a secret?

Beside him, my mother’s smile returns, polished and approving. “Amanda will be your wife. She’s beautiful. Elegant. She presents well in the media. She knows how to host a gala and when to smile and hold her tongue. She’ll give you strong heirs. She’ll be the other half of your image. The world will see her and see success. Stability. A woman whom other women will strive to be like. She’s perfect.”

She lifts her glass like she’s toasting the illusion.

“And as such, it’s important you protect that image. Discretion is of utmost importance for anything that happens outside your marriage,” she continues. “She’ll represent the Montgomery name beautifully, and her reward for that must be that you’ll treat her like she’s your everything. To the public eye, she is and will always be the only woman you love.”

My jaw locks so tight I feel it click. Rage and disbelief pulse beneath my skin like magma, pressurizing inside me with nowhere to go. 

My father nods along, then casually adds, “Behind closed doors... love whoever the hell you want. Fuck and defile whoever the hell you please. That’s your business… hell, it’s your right. You say you love this girl, then help her understand her place. She gets your heart in private. Amanda gets your hand in public and in any other way that matters.”

Something in me breaks loose.

“You’re asking me to make the girl I love my mistress?” My voice slices across the table—sharp, raw, barely restrained. It hangs there between us, violent and quiet.

My father doesn’t blink. “What I’m offering you is a compromise.”

I go still.

Everything inside me freezes as I watch them. My parents. Calm. Comfortable in this arrangement. Like this is just how things are. How they’ve always been.

Their marriage isn’t a partnership. It’s a performance. A carefully rehearsed illusion. And they expect me to step into the same role. To live my life behind glass, playing a part I never wanted, while the woman I love waits for stolen moments in the wings.

This isn’t a future. It’s a goddamn cage. Two cages, in fact… one for me, one for my pretty girl. And they’re handing me the keys, expecting me to lock us both in.

My fingers curl into fists beneath the table, knuckles white. My jaw aches, the muscles twitching as I force each breath past the fury threatening to tear me apart.

I don’t trust my voice when it finally comes. “You’re asking me to give up on my life,” I say quietly, the words scraping out like gravel. “On my dreams. On the future I want.” I pause, my eyes flicking between them. “What kind of parents would ask that of their son?”

My father doesn’t flinch. He just lifts his glass again, sips once, then sets it down with a quiet finality.

“The kind who raised you to understand that nothing matters more than the Montgomery legacy,” he replies, his voice calm. “Not our individual aspirations. Not our personal desires. Not even love.”

His words don’t stab—they burn. Slow and corrosive.

Across the table, my mother looks pleased, like her husband has just dropped some pearls of wisdom instead of spewing grotesque bullshit.

And then he gestures toward the ring box, still sitting on the table between us like a ticking bomb. “Your time is up.”

The words land with a low thud in my chest.

“I want your final decision.”

That he has the nerve to act like he’s giving me an actual choice only intensifies the rage and helplessness suddenly drowning me. 

The candlelight flickers, dancing off the polished silverware, casting long shadows across my hands as I stare down at the symbol of everything that’s now at risk. The life I’m building with Becca. Every word I whispered. Every promise I made.

I swallow hard, my throat raw, like I’ve been screaming for hours, even if only on the inside.

In my mind, I hear her voice. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.” My pretty girl. Brave. Hopeful. Holding my face in her hands like I’m her world, just like she is mine. 

“I’d walk through hell to get back to you,” I’d told her.

And now I realize—I wasn’t lying. Because this? This is hell. And this is me preparing to walk through it. 

One choice cuts us off at the knees, ends us right now, no warning. No hope. 

And the other… 

The other buys me time. 

Time to find a way out. Time to come up with a plan. Time to earn her forgiveness—if she’ll even let me try. It’s the only choice that gives me a chance at keeping her in my life the way I want. Permanently and completely. 

And God help me, I hope she sees that. I hope she understands.

I reach for the ring box. Not with reverence, but with fury. My fingers close around it like a vice, squeezing hard until I feel the sharp edge of metal shift and bend beneath the velvet. It digs into my skin, grounding me in the only thing I can control right now—how tightly I can hold on to the rage inside me before it explodes.

My breaths go shallow. My head bows, and for the first time all night, the room goes still. No words. No movement. Just the sound of the box groaning beneath the pressure of my grip… and the pieces of my future splintering with it.

No matter what I choose… she’s going to get hurt.

And if she walks away… I won’t blame her. 

But I’ll be damned if I let her go without a fight. I can fix this. I know I can.

So I draw a slow, ragged breath and lift my head, forcing the words out through a throat full of broken glass.

“I’ll propose tomorrow night.” 

And just like that, my heart splinters inside my chest.

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