Shane

The door creaks again, but this time, it’s not a flurry of pomp and circumstance that enters the parlor. This time it’s a shadow.

My father.

He steps inside like he owns even the air in the room. Measured. Intense. Wearing that ever-present look of restrained disappointment, like the world has let him down, and he intends to correct it personally. He closes the door behind him with a soft click. No entourage. Just him and the control he wields like a superpower.

He gives me a once-over, his eyes pausing for half a second on the undone button at my collar before that unforgiving stare meets mine. 

I wait for the reprimand.

To my surprise, it doesn’t come.

Instead, he crosses to the fireplace like we’re about to share brandy and life lessons. As if this is some father-son bonding moment and not a final reminder that my life will never be my own. 

He picks up a glass from the mantle, then the decanter—bourbon, probably. It’s not until he’s poured himself a drink that he finally turns to address me.

“Tonight,” he says, swirling the amber liquid, “you’ll take your first steps toward becoming the next great leader of this family. A man to be admired. Respected. Held in high regard by all. A Montgomery. A man we can be proud of.”

The words land like a weight I didn’t ask to carry. The closest thing to praise I’ve ever gotten from him—and yet all it does is make my stomach twist with nausea.

He takes a sip, eyes narrowing over the rim like he’s assessing where my head’s at. Unfortunately for him, he’s taught me well—my expression, my body language… I’m an impenetrable wall. After several seconds with no luck, he finally speaks. 

“I know you’ve struggled to accept this decision. You’ve strayed as of late. Made some significant mistakes that showed your immaturity and confirmed for your mother and me that this is the right path.”

With a hand in his pocket, he walks toward the large window that looks out over the back of our expansive property, like a king surveying his land.

“You’re not yet capable of making these kinds of choices. Your youth blinds you from seeing the bigger picture—something you’ll understand and learn to appreciate as you get closer to my age. But it’s no matter.” 

He turns to face me, a gratified look in his eyes.

“Because tonight, we’ll correct course. You’ve already started by deciding tonight is the night, and because of it, you’ll be in control of the narrative. This is your first showing as the official Montgomery heir. An opportunity to show the world what you’re made of. So stand tall. Be the man this family needs you to be. And make me proud. I know this isn’t easy. But I know you’ll get it done.”

Because my whole life, that’s exactly what I’ve done. 

Until Becca came into my life, not once have I ever gone against them. Not once have I ever defied them. Until Becca, I never had a reason to. 

I was so damn naïve… How is it that I’m only just now seeing my entire existence for what it is? 

I’m nothing but a pawn. A chess piece to be moved and wielded as they see fit. It’s all I’ve ever been to the people whose DNA runs through my veins. People whose only biological imperative should have been to love me unconditionally. Unselfishly. 

But biology, love, benevolence… those things have no place in our world. 

Yet another reason I want out.

Unaware of my disgust, he steps closer, eyes hard as he lays a heavy hand on my shoulder and squeezes. A move meant to serve as both reassurance and a warning. 

“Montgomery men don’t hesitate. We make the moment ours. We define it. You remember that when it’s your time to step up. To speak. To drop down on one knee.”

I nod.

Because it’s the only acceptable response.

And because if I open my mouth, I might say something I can’t take back. Something that might further threaten the future I want with Becca.

He claps that same hand on my shoulder like we’re teammates in some legacy I never asked to inherit. 

“Good. Don’t screw it up.”

Then he turns and walks out.

And just like that, I’m alone again, drenched in my father’s sick version of pride that feels more like poison.

Not thirty seconds later, my mother’s PR assistant enters the room to remind me that it’s time. The first guests are arriving, and as is customary, I must stand at my parents’ sides to greet them.

To my disappointment—though it comes as no surprise—the first guests to arrive are none other than Charles Kline, his new wife (thirty years his junior and only five years older than his daughter), and Amanda.

Charles stands tall, that smarmy, boastful smile he wields like a threat front and center as he stares me down. Beside him, Amanda damn near glows like a snow-kissed debutante in her soft white silk. When he catches me looking at his daughter, my anger slips for a moment, barely contained. Charles smirks, as if the sight of it confirms everything he’s been waiting for. He thinks he’s won.

No surprise there.

“Shane.” Charles steps forward, extending a hand I wish I could ignore. “Proud of you, son. You made the right choice.” 

To anyone else, his expression might be deemed cordial, but knowing this man the way I do, what I see damn near pushes me to the brink of my control. I’d give anything to plant my fist in his face and take him down once and for all.

But I can’t.

Instead, I force myself to shake it. My grip firm. My eyes flat, conveying absolutely no emotion, just as I’ve been taught.

“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.” I say for the benefit of anyone within earshot, my voice almost robotic.

He gives me a knowing look, the kind that says we own you now, then clasps Amanda’s shoulder with one fatherly pat before turning away and heading toward my father. His tailored coat catches the light like the dark cape of an evil villain.

Amanda lingers, standing in front of me with that coy smile that’s as real as cubic zirconia.

I’ll admit she’s radiant tonight—hair swept back in a perfect twist, cheeks flushed just enough to look charmingly youthful. Her dress is designed to make her look both sophisticated and innocent in that way the press will eat up.

“I’d say you clean up nice,” she teases, voice warm, lips curving in a delicate smile as she reaches for my tie, adjusting it in a perfect show for the cameras. “But you always do. You’re very handsome, Mr. Montgomery.” 

When she leans up to press her lips to my cheek, it takes everything in me not to move… not to flinch.

I know what she’s expecting. Hell, what the cameras and everyone in this room is expecting. But try as I might, I just don’t have the stomach for it. Not right now. Not until I say my piece. Not until I’m sure she and I are on the same page.

So instead of returning her affection, my lips curve in a faint smile—one that takes far more effort than it should. Then I extend my elbow in a silent request for her to take it. 

“We need a minute. To talk.” I say it loud enough to appease those listening, injecting just enough intonation to hint that I’m eager to get her alone. It makes everyone smile in that knowing way that tells me it worked. They think we’re slinking off like lovebirds, because I can’t wait to get my hands on her. 

Even Amanda seems to buy it. She blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before her lips morph into a radiant smile that, by all accounts, is all hearts and love. 

It sickens me that she actually believes I’d want her alone for anything other than reminding her I’m not interested. Even more so when she accepts my arm and moves in close, the feel of her body against mine irritating the pool of bile sitting low in my gut.

We step into the alcove beside the parlor, out of view of the cameras, our parents, and the staff. The second I’m sure we have privacy, I turn to her.

“I want to make sure you understand my feelings on this marriage haven’t changed. I will not be marrying you, Amanda. What I’m being forced to do tonight—none of it is real.” I say quietly, just in case there are ears nearby. “It’s all bullshit. A performance. You get that, right?”

“Don’t be such a fool.” She scoffs, sounding offended as her mask momentarily slips. “Stop acting like either of us has any choice in the matter.” 

“Oh, but that’s just it. I do have a choice. And I intend to take back my life. I suggest you work on doing the same.”

Amanda’s eyes narrow to slits as she gives me a smile so similar to her father’s that it sends a wave of dread shooting up my spine. 

“Oh, I intend to,” she says smoothly. “I’m not a fool. Or an idiot. I know exactly what I have to do.”

“Good.” I snap, ignoring the hidden threat behind her words. “Then let me make one more thing clear.” 

I meet her gaze, steady and unflinching. 

“Stay the fuck away from Becca. Don’t approach her. Don’t speak to her. If you so much as look at her the wrong way—I swear to God, I’ll make sure this entire deal burns along with your trust fund. Nick and I told you we’d protect you from your father, that we’d support you financially so you weren’t beholden to him. So he could no longer hold your trust fund over your head. You fuck with Becca, and I promise you—I won’t lift a finger to help you when the time comes. You’ll be on your own. This is your only warning.”

All semblance of amusement slips from her face. A flicker of steel sharpens her gaze before she resets the mask—smooth, graceful, and dripping with faux innocence.

“As long as you play your part,” she says, smoothing an invisible crease on the lapel of my suit, “I’ll play mine. And as long as you keep your trailer-trash whore away from me, and your affair from tarnishing my reputation, we won’t have a problem.”

Then she steps past me, leaving behind the stench of wilted roses and selfish ambition in her wake.

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