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I didn’t turn.
He walked over slowly and knelt in front of me. His hands were careful when he took the glass out of mine. He didn’t scold. Didn’t panic. He just held my bleeding hand in his and looked up at me.
“You’re a glass,” he said softly, “already shattered.”
I swallowed hard. “Then leave me that way.”
“No,” he replied. “Not this time. This time, I’ll be the one to fix you. Piece by piece.”
I looked at him through tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Why?”
He pressed his lips to my knuckles, careful of the cut. “Consider it pity,” he said. “Or devotion. Doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time that night, I let myself lean into him. Because even if he was dangerous, he wasn’t the one who broke me.
**
Next morning, I woke up in silk sheets that didn’t smell like fear or bleach or cheap perfume. Just lavender and ocean wind and something like safety. I blinked at the high ceilings of Ephraim’s estate and took a deep breath, like my lungs were finally allowed to expand. There were no angry footsteps down the hall. No shouting. No slammed doors. Just the slow rhythm of something I never thought I’d feel again peace.
Ephraim was already dressed and halfway through his second espresso. He looked at me like he’d been waiting hours just to see me blink.
“We’re going to Valverra Heights,” he said.
I sat up slowly. “What’s in Valverra?”
“My family,” he said, with a smirk that made me nervous and warm all at once. “And yours too, soon enough.”
The drive was long and quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t scream. It wrapped around me like a blanket instead of a chokehold. And when we finally arrived, I had to remind myself to breathe.
Valverra Heights didn’t look real. Olive trees lined the cobblestone path and sunlight spilled over everything like honey. The estate had towers and verandas and that old–money kind of quiet confidence. I thought I’d feel out of place. But the moment we stepped out of the car, they were already waiting.
Mr. Aldric Lambert and Madam Celeste stood by the front entrance like they weren’t just rich but royal. Celeste walked straight to me and held my hands. Her eyes were soft and sharp all at once.
“So here’s the girl who softened my son’s sharp tongue,” she said, and her voice didn’t carry
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judgement, just curiosity and something frighteningly close to love.
Before I could even stammer out a response…
They handed me legal papers next. Proof of ownership. A villa in Mirador Cove. A mansion in Bellisario Hills. Three hundred bars of ancestral gold. All in my name. I stared at the documents like they might vanish.
Ephraim chuckled beside me. “You can say no. But it’ll break my mother’s heart. And she rarely asks twice.”
I looked at Celeste again. Her eyes were misty. “We just want you to finally have something that is only yours,” she said.
That did it. I nodded, not trusting my voice. And for the first time in years, I felt like someone gave me something without expecting me to bleed for it.
Later, while Ephraim and Aldric disappeared into the wine cellar, Celeste led me to a sunroom filled with orchids and old books. She handed me a porcelain cup and said, “I’m hosting a tea party this Saturday at Rosevale Court. I would be honored if you came with me.”
I hesitated, but before I could answer, Ephraim reappeared and smirked.
“Mother,” he said, “she’s going to be my wife. That means you can’t borrow her anymore.” Celeste laughed. “I didn’t know my son was this deeply in love.”
I looked away, blushing, feeling too seen. Too held.
She leaned in and said softly, “You don’t have to say yes. But if you want a fresh start… this could be one.”
**
Saturday came faster than I expected. Ephraim sent over a dress in silver silk. It was soft and expensive and clearly designed to make a statement. There were gloves too. And an amethyst hairpin I knew came from his grandmother’s vault. I wore it all, hesitantly. I still didn’t know how to dress like someone who was wanted.
Rosevale Court looked like it belonged in another century. The garden was exploding with roses and the air was thick with harp music and money. Real money. Not the kind that bragged, but the kind that whispered and watched.
And then I heard her.
That voice.
Torren’s mother. Loud and rude and fake as ever. She was scolding a poor maid about the tea temperature and flashing her diamonds like they meant something.
She didn’t even see me at first. Too busy being important.
But then she turned.
And har fann ahanand
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And her face changed.
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Before I could open my mouth, Celeste stepped beside me like a silent storm.
“She’s with me,” she said.
Torren’s mother stiffened. “You must be mistaken. That woman is-”
Celeste didn’t let her finish. Her smile was calm, but sharp enough to draw blood.
“She’s about to become a Lambert. Which means she’s not that woman. She’s ours now.”
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to.
Because for the first time in my life… someone said ours, and meant me.
Chapter 17
