“All of us?” I repeat, something uneasy is stirring in my gut. “Why would they need my signature? I’m not—”
“You’re a MacGallan,” Connor cuts me off. “One of Tomas’s heirs. Of course, they need you.”
The word “heir” hits me like a punch to the stomach. In all the drama of discovering my true parentage, I never considered the practical implications—that I might have a claim to the MacGallan fortune, the business empire, all of it.
“I don’t want any of it,” I say immediately, the words tumbling out before I can consider them. “Ididn’t know the man. I have no right to his money.”
Connor’s expression softens slightly. “It’s not that simple, Kane. And it’s not just about money. There are properties, businesses, and responsibilities. Tomas was very clear about how he wanted things divided.”
Before I can argue further, Declan appears, his expression thunderous. “There you are,” he says, glaring at me. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, not sounding particularly apologetic. “Lost track of time.”
His eyes flick to Kori, then back to me, his meaning clear: he knows exactly what we’ve been doing. “The lawyers are waiting in the study. We need to get this sorted before we leave for Alberta.”
I sigh, resignation settling over me. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”
Declan nods, then turns to Kori. “This might take a while. Wren’s in the kitchen if you want some company.”
It’s a dismissal, and we all know it. Kori stiffens beside me, and I feel a surge of protectiveness. “Of course,” she murmurs.
“She stays with me,” I say firmly. “Whatever this is about, she can hear it.”
“No, I can’t, Kane. I’ll be in the kitchen with Wren,” she says, and walks away.
Chapter 34
Kori
I watch Kane’s face fall as I walk away, but I know this is a family matter that doesn’t involve me. As much as I’ve gotten entangled in the MacGallan drama, I’m still an outsider—a woman Kane met on a plane two weeks ago, not someone who belongs in high-stakes legal meetings about inheritances and empires.
The kitchen is warm and bright compared to the tension-filled hallway. Wren stands at the marble island, flour dusting her hands as she kneads what looks like bread dough.
“They kick you out, too?” she asks without looking up.
“I removed myself,” I clarify, washing my hands at the sink. “Seemed like a MacGallan-only situation.”
Wren snorts. “Tell that to the lawyers. Declan and I’ve been married for a year and a half, and they still treat me like I’m the help whenever legal matterscome up.”
I dry my hands on a towel, studying her. Despite her casual tone, I can see tension in her shoulders. “Does that bother you?”
“Sometimes,” she admits, punching the dough with more force than necessary. “Other times, I’m grateful not to be dragged into the MacGallan madness. Like now.”
I lean against the counter, watching her work. “What exactly is happening in there?”
“The reading of Tomas’s second Will, essentially. Dividing the kingdom.” She glances up at me. “Want to help? Baking’s always been my therapy when the MacGallans get like this.”
“God, yes,” I say with feeling. “What are we making?”
“I started with bread, but I’m thinking we need chocolate. Lots of it.”
“Brownies?” I suggest already scanning the kitchen for ingredients.
“Perfect.”
We fall into an easy rhythm, working side by side as I measure and mix while Wren continues with her bread. There’s something soothing about the familiar motions, the precise measurements, the transformation of simple ingredients into something comforting and delicious.
“So,” Wren says casually as I pour the batter into a pan. “You and Kane.”
