Part 3Married Him At Your Engagement Party

Camilla’s smug expression faltered.

"I pulled personal favors to secure that space," I said, my voice steadying. "If you want to party there, Camilla, I suggest you go make your own reservation."

Camilla's face flushed a furious, ugly shade of red.

"Rowan Sinclair! You—"

Margaret lunged forward, raising her hand to strike me again.

This time, my hand shot out. I clamped my fingers around her frail wrist and shoved her back hard.

The older woman stumbled, her expensive heels catching on the pavement as she nearly went down.

"Mrs. Prescott, I am no longer your daughter-in-law," I said, my tone laced with ice. "I strongly suggest you learn how to speak to me. I let you hit me once. Try it again, and I won't hesitate to hit you back."

"You—!"

"And one more thing," I interrupted, staring dead into her terrified eyes. "My mother is dead. Keep talking about her like that, and she might just drag you down to hell with her."

Margaret’s lips trembled. She pointed a shaking finger at me, stuttering for a long moment before finally spitting out, "Stay away from my son!"

She turned and practically fled down the street, Camilla trailing anxiously behind her.

A moment later, my phone buzzed in my hand.

Holden.

I stared at the glowing name for three long seconds before swiping to answer.

"Rowan? Where are you? Are you okay?"

His voice was laced with a careful, probing caution.

I looked at the small crowd of strangers who had stopped to watch my humiliation, and a dry laugh escaped my lips.

"Checking in to admire your handiwork, Holden?"

"In the middle of the street, I was publicly humiliated by your fiancée and your mother. I was called a whore, a parasite, a homewrecker, and told to drop dead. Tell me, are you satisfied with these results?"

The silence on the line fractured into panic. "No, Rowan, it's not like that. They were just running hot. They needed to blow off steam. Just... just endure it for a little while. Let it blow over."

Just endure it...

As the words hit my ear, a profound, chilling numbness spread through my veins.

"Camilla Beaumont..." I murmured to the empty street. "She was the legacy match your mother always wanted for you, wasn't she? The old-money girl you've secretly kept on a pedestal all these years."

Dead silence on the other end.

A sharp, physical pain pierced my chest, radiating outward into a dull, heavy ache.

The man I had spent my entire adult life looking up to had spent his life looking up to someone else.

I thought that if I worked hard enough, if I made myself indispensable enough, I would finally be worthy of him. I didn't realize that from the very beginning, he had his eyes on a better prize.

I was just the placeholder. The convenient, eager stepping stone.

I pulled my lips into a bitter smile. "You're the golden boy of the New York tech scene now, Holden. A perfect, high-society match. Congratulations."

"Rowan, stop! That's not what this is!" Holden's voice grew frantic, shedding its usual polished control. "You have to believe me, what we have... no one can ever replace you. Just give me two more years. Just two years, and then—"

"Holden."

I cut him off. My own voice sounded so hollow, so alien to my own ears.

"There are no more years left."

"My resignation—"

Click.

He hung up on me.

A second later, a text message pushed through:

You are being completely irrational right now. We need to take some time and cool off.

Cool off.

The silent treatment. His favorite weapon. Whenever he couldn't manipulate his way out of a corner, he would freeze me out. He would leave me alone in the dark to overthink, internalize the guilt, and eventually come crawling back, begging for a peace he never earned.

I stared at the glowing text bubble, entirely consumed by disgust.

What gave him the right?

What gave him the right to constantly rip my heart out and expect me to apologize for bleeding?

Why dangle a future in front of my face only to snatch it away the second I reached for it? He knew the hell I grew up in at the Sinclair house. He knew more than anyone that all I ever wanted was a home...

"Ahhhh!"

A feral scream tore from my throat, and I hurled my phone as hard as I could at the pavement.

The glass shattered into a hundred glittering pieces. The few remaining onlookers jumped back in shock.

I stood there, gasping for air, the edges of my vision blurred with angry, burning tears.

"Well, well. Look who finally found her spine."

A lazy, amused voice drifted from the brick wall behind me.

"I thought that when they dragged you into the city and forced you to take the Sinclair name, they completely erased that beautiful, violent little spark of yours."

My breath hitched. I whipped around.

Beckett Harrington was leaning casually against the alley wall, flipping a silver Zippo lighter open and closed, the rhythmic clink echoing in the quiet space.

I stared at him, my brow furrowing. "Who the hell are you?"

He pushed off the wall and closed the distance between us, his long strides agonizingly slow. His dark eyes were locked onto mine, a soft, affectionate smile playing on his lips.

"You seriously don't remember my name?"

He leaned down, bringing his mouth agonizingly close to my ear. His voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur, enunciating every single syllable.

"I'm Ruby's number one follower."

I froze. The blood roared in my ears. My pupils dilated.

Ruby.

Nobody had called me by that name in a very, very long time.