“I do,” I say. “But not one that comes with strings.” I’ve spent enough of my life being manipulated by people who think they know what’s best for me.
“Disappointing. You seemed ambitious. Guess I was wrong.”
I straighten, refusing to let her words sink in. “I am. But ambition doesn’t mean letting someone else dictate my future.”
Her expression shifts—subtle, but there—a crack inher armor. “This is a significant opportunity. I assumed you were mature enough to recognize that.”
And there it is—the dig. The implication that I’m too naïve, too inexperienced to understand. Just like my family decided I was too delicate to know the truth about my father. Just like Liam decided I needed shaping, controlling.
“I do recognize it,” I say, voice unwavering, “and I’m not interested.”
Mrs. Spencer’s lips press into a thin line. “Is this about Alfie? Are you really willing to jeopardize your future over a fling?”
I exhale, a shaky laugh escaping before I can stop it. “This has nothing to do with Alfie. This is about me. About my choices.”
She studies me, probably calculating, weighing her next move.
But I’m done being calculated. Done being weighed.
“You know,” I continue, heart pounding but voice steady, “I spent years being told what was best for me-that I needed to be more serious, more focused, less me.” I lean forward, matching her intensity. “But I won’t do that anymore. I won’t let anyone decide my future for me.”
Mrs. Spencer’s eyes flicker—surprise, maybe respect.
“I appreciate your offer,” I say, each word deliberate, final. “but I don’t need your connections or your influence. I’m capable of building my own path.”
A beat of silence.
“Very well,” she says, smoothing an imaginary crease in her dress. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
She turns to leave, but I stop her with one last declaration.
“And for the record, Alfie deserves more than to be another pawn in someone’s game. He deserves family who sees him for who he is, which is a pretty fucking amazing guy.”
She hesitates, then nods once, a grudging acknowledgment of a battle lost.
When she walks away, the weight lifts from my chest—years of being managed, sheltered, and lied to.
For the first time, I truly feel like I’m making choices for myself.
No strings. No lies.
Just me.
And it feels damn good.
It’s nearly closingwhen James corners me by the stock room. I’m exhausted, my guard down after hours of navigating Spencer family politics.
“You handled that well,” he says, standing too close. “Let me make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow?”
“James—”
His hand grips my arm, hard enough to hurt. “Come on, T. Stop playing hard to get.”
“Let go.” I try to pull away but hit the wall. “You’re hurting me.”
“Always so busy.” His fingers dig in deeper. “Always running off with that rich boy who’s clearly using you. We both know how this ends.”
I see Alfie over James’ shoulder before James does. See the exact moment something in Alfie’s expression goes cold.
