It was the second week of the silent treatment with my guardian, Alistair, when he announced his engagement to the press. He was so afraid I’d cause a scene that he had ten burly security guards watching my every move. But for once, I was the picture of calm. No tears, no tantrums. Just quiet compliance. After the press conference wrapped up, his call came through. “Have all the sharp objects been put away?” Alistair’s voice was tense on the other end. “Did she make a fuss? Keep a close eye on her. I’ll be home tonight.” The butler, Peterson, shot a nervous glance at me before replying, “Sir, Miss Song is fine. She’s been very quiet.” “She said… she said…” Alistair’s voice was low. “She said what?” “She said that you look much older on television, and that you two really don’t suit each other. She said she finally understands your good intentions and has decided to be your dutiful, obedient niece from now on…” The line went dead. 1 Before Peterson even finished speaking, my phone lit up on the table. Seeing the caller ID, and the color draining from Peterson’s face, I couldn’t help but break into a grin. “It’s just my sister. Don’t worry, I’m not calling in reinforcements.” Peterson let out a long, shaky breath. My smile widened. I pointed to my bedroom, signaling I was going to take the call in private. The bodyguards looked to Peterson, and when he nodded, they parted like the Red Sea to let me pass. I slipped inside and locked the door. My sister’s voice came through, cold and sharp. “Cassie. Have you made up your mind? When are you coming to Port Calloway?” I cupped my hand over the phone, whispering, “Tomorrow night.” Seraphina scoffed. “You sure? If you flake on me again, I’m flying to New York to drag you there myself.” “I’m sure!” I promised, my voice filled with conviction. Sera was silent for a moment. Just as I thought she was about to hang up, her voice drifted through the line, softer now. “…You’ve finally given up on him?” “Don’t come back just to throw another fit about going back to that guardian of yours.” I winced. “Don’t worry, Sera. I’m over him. Completely.” The silence on the other end was thick with disbelief. I thumped my chest for emphasis. “Dead and buried!” I’d chased him for eight years and confessed my love more times than I could count, only to watch him announce his wedding on TV. Eight years of pining was a testament to my persistence. But forcing my way into someone else’s relationship? That crossed a line. That was just asking for public humiliation. It wasn’t worth it. This hopeless crush? I was done. 2 When I came out of my room, Peterson followed me like a shadow, clearly terrified I was about to have another meltdown like I did a few years ago. Back then, Alistair had gotten so fed up with my constant advances that he’d avoided me for three solid months. He hadn’t even come home. I’d tried everything—crying, screaming, threatening to run away—but nothing worked. Then, I overheard two of the maids talking. “Why is Miss Song still fighting with Mr. Croft?” one asked. “Well, I heard he’s been getting cozy with that actress lately. He’s probably giving Miss Song the cold shoulder on purpose,” the other replied. I emerged from the corner where I’d been hiding. They froze, their eyes wide with fear. I was holding a half-peeled apple, the paring knife still in my hand. “What actress?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. If the maids were scared, Peterson was about to have a heart attack. His one job was to keep me safe, and here I was, armed and emotional. The thing is, it was a complete accident. The knife was already in my hand. When no one answered me, my anger boiled over. “Which actress? Tell me!” Peterson’s voice was trembling. “Miss Cassie, my dear, please give me the knife. Don’t hurt yourself.” His words only made it worse. My hand shook, and the blade slipped, slicing a thin red line across my arm before I dropped it, the tip landing squarely on my big toe. It was a bloody, dramatic mess. I heard later that Alistair rushed home like a man possessed that night. He saw the bandages on my arm and foot and flew into a rage, firing every maid who had been gossiping on the spot. If Peterson hadn’t been with the family for over a decade, he would have been gone too. I threw myself into his arms, sobbing pathetically. “Alistair! You broke your promise! You said you wouldn’t date anyone until I turned twenty-three!” My tears and snot soaked the front of his expensive shirt. “How could you do this? What would my parents say if they could see you now? How could you betray my undying love for you…” “It’s not real.” My sobs hitched. His thumb, warm and gentle, wiped the tears from my cheek. His expression was even softer than his touch. “You silly girl,” he murmured. “I would never play games with my heart. Don’t listen to a word of that nonsense.” … A soft, tinkling sound pulled me from my memories. A breeze had drifted through the open window, stirring the set of wind chimes hanging there. Peterson’s gaze followed mine. He sighed. “Miss Cassie, do you remember? Mr. Croft made those for you by hand for your thirteenth birthday.” Of course, I remembered. Peterson had been a front-row spectator to every single one of my embarrassing attempts to win Alistair’s heart over the past eight years. He’d seen it all. I smiled and patted his arm. “I know he’s been good to me. Don’t worry, Peterson. I’m not going to do anything stupid anymore.” Because this time, Alistair had broken his promise for real. Tomorrow was my twenty-third birthday. And he chose the day before to announce his wedding. I had to hand it to him. Well played. 3 When Alistair pushed open the door, he stopped dead, a vein throbbing in his temple. The scene before him was chaotic. Peterson and I had divided the ten bodyguards into two teams. He had five, and I had five. And we were in the middle of a loud, rowdy drinking game. “Three of a kind!” I yelled. “Royal flush!” Peterson countered. “Full house!” I slammed my hand on the table. “Two pa—” I cut him off with a triumphant laugh and a wave of my hand. “Drink!” Peterson’s face fell. He reluctantly picked up his glass, but before it reached his lips, his body jerked. The drink sloshed to the floor, and he dropped to the ground as if he’d been shot. The rowdy cheers from the bodyguards died instantly. My smile froze on my face. Oh, crap. I thought Alistair said he was coming home tonight. It was only five in the afternoon! Why was he home so early? My mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse. I was so wound up I still had one foot propped on a stool, and Peterson was now cowering at my feet. He risked a peek up, saw the frantic, guilty expression on my face, and let out a choked snort of laughter. A second later, his amusement vanished, his eyes widening in terror. “Sir! Don’t blame Miss Cassie! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have let her drink!” Peterson scrambled over and clung to Alistair’s left leg like his life depended on it. Meanwhile, Alistair’s right hand had already snagged the back of my collar, hoisting me up like a stray kitten. Tears welled in my eyes. I kicked my legs uselessly. “Alistair! Are you crazy? So what if I had a drink? I’m heartbroken! Devastated! I’m drowning my sorrows! Is that a crime? Is there no justice in this world?” I felt Alistair’s hand tremble. He only held me for a second before setting me gently back on the floor. His voice was dangerously calm. “Turn around and look at me.” I hunched my shoulders, trying to make myself smaller. Then I turned, plastering a bright, cheerful smile on my face. “Oh, you’re talking to me again? Is the silent treatment over?” He smiled back, a warm, pleasant expression that didn’t reach his icy eyes. “Heartbroken?” he repeated, ignoring my question. “Devastated? I must be blind, because I’m not seeing any of that.” Alistair looked down at me, his gaze intense. The room was so quiet that his dark eyes seemed even more bottomless, more dangerous. A knot of complicated feelings twisted in my gut. But I refused to be humiliated any longer. I took a deep breath, about to say something, when his phone rang. And just like that, the words that had been swirling in my mind, the questions I was finally ready to ask, were swallowed whole. What do you really feel for me? Can you just be straight with me for once? Please, stop making me guess. You push me away with your words, but your actions make it seem like you love me. Do you have any idea how confusing that is? The unspoken words lodged in my throat, and my eyes began to burn with unshed tears. Alistair didn’t notice. He stared at the caller ID, his brow furrowing. It took him a few rings to finally answer. I glanced at the screen. The name read: Isabelle Laurent. His fiancée. A woman’s voice, elegant and warm, came through the phone. “Alistair, darling? Have you picked up Cassie yet? The reception is about to start. You two should hurry.” Alistair murmured a few brief replies and hung up. He looked at me again, his frown deepening. “Are you…” he began, his tone questioning. I forced a grin, cutting him off before he could finish. “I’ll go.” He was clearly taken aback. His dark eyes were as turbulent as a stormy sea. But suddenly, I was just… tired. So tired of trying to decipher his thoughts. “Are you sure you want to? If you don’t, I can come home early tonight…” “I’m sure!” I interrupted him again, pointing upstairs. “I’m going to go change into that dress you had made for me! I’ve been waiting for a chance to wear it. Give me five minutes!” “That dress wasn’t for you to wear tonight…” Alistair started, but I was already gone. I couldn’t stand it. I ran up the stairs, my heart pounding. I was so pathetic. If I stayed in that room with him for another minute, I knew I would break down and cry. Get a grip, Cassie, I told myself, clenching my fists. Just one more day. You’re going back to Port Calloway tomorrow. Hold back these stupid tears.
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