Page 54 of His Vow

"Lawyers showed up with documents she couldn't understand. A settlement. An NDA. Sign here, and the Lattimore family will leave you alone. She was nineteen." My jaw was shaking. I clenched it. "She was nineteen, she was pregnant, she was terrified, and the only person who could have protected her — your brother — did nothing. He walked away because his father told him to."

"No." The word left her on a breath. Not a denial of me. A denial of the world rearranging itself around her. Her hand pressed harder against her mouth.

"The stress — " I stopped. The hospital hallway was right there. The fluorescent lights. The smell of antiseptic. My sister's hand in mine, her grip so tight my fingers went white. "She lost the baby."

Soleil's eyes filled. The first tears. They didn't fall — they sat there, balanced, her lashes holding them in place.

"I was twenty-two. Broke. Powerless. I held her hand in a hospital room and watched her lose everything your family decided she didn't deserve." I took a breath that shook on the way in. "And I made a vow. That I would become a man the Lattimores couldn't ignore. And I would take everything they had."

The tears fell. Both sides. Down her cheeks, past her jaw, dropping off her chin onto the gold fabric of the dress she'd chosen for tonight. She didn't wipe them. She didn't move.

"You were part of the plan." The words tasted like poison. "The gallery. The dates. The dinner with your father. The advisory role. All of it — designed. You were my way in."

Her breath caught. A small, sharp sound, like someone stepping on glass.

"I photographed your father's financial records from the office you walked me past. The Hargrove Foundation, which funded your gallery, collapsed after Vanguard acquired the subsidiary that backed its endowment. I knew it would pull your funding. I did it anyway."

She was shaking now. Not the way I shook — not the weapon malfunctioning. This was different. This was a woman's body absorbing blow after blow and running out of places to put the pain.

"It stopped being the plan." My voice cracked. I heard it crack and couldn't stop it. "Somewhere between the fitting room and the night you showed me your paintings, I — it wasn't strategy anymore. You were never supposed to be — " I pressed my hand over my eyes. My palm was wet. "I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you."

The silence that followed was the loudest sound I'd ever heard.

She stood 3 ft. away. Arms at her sides. Tears on her face. The stillness in her was terrifying because Soleil was never still — she was motion and warmth and her hands always reaching for something. This stillness was new. This stillness was the absence of the woman I knew, replaced by someone I'd made.

"What happened to your sister is horrible." Her voice was steady. Quiet. Each word placed with the care of someone building on unstable ground. "If you had told me — from the start, the truth, who you were and what my father did — I would have listened." She swallowed. "I would have helped you."

She stepped closer. Not with warmth. With precision.

"But you lied to me. Every day. Every kiss. Every time I showed you something real about myself, you were taking notes." Her voice didn't break. The control was absolute, and the control was the thing that destroyed me because I recognized it. It was mine. She'd learned it from watching me. "You let me fall in love with you as a strategy."

"Soleil — "

"You used me." Another step. Close enough that I could smell the rosemary and vanilla. "You did to me what my father did to your sister. You decided I was a tool and you used me. The only difference is you made me love you first."

"I don't want to lose you." My voice cracked again. The controlled, measured, short-sentence man was gone. "I know what I did. But what I feel for you is real. Everything else was a lie but that was never — "

"Stop."

I stopped.

"You don't get to tell me what was real." Her chin lifted. "I don't know what's real anymore. That's what you took from me."

She looked at me one more time. The painter's gaze — reading my face, searching for the truth underneath. Whatever she found, it wasn't enough. Not tonight.

She turned. Opened the door.

Hugh stood on the other side. Hands in his pockets. Composed. The mask of the warm patriarch was gone — replaced by something quieter and more dangerous. The real Hugh.

Soleil passed him without a word. Without looking at him. Hugh watched her go down the corridor until she turned the corner. Then he stepped inside. Closed the door.

He didn't sit. He stood 3 ft. from me with his hands in his pockets and looked at me with an expression that was almost amused.

"You thought I didn't know."

I said nothing.

"Reeves." He shook his head. "I knew the night she brought your name home. My daughter texts her father — add one more to the guest list — and the name is Reeves." The smile was the worst part. Warm on the surface. Nothing underneath. "I remembered your sister before I remembered you. Pretty girl. Trusting. Your whole family has that problem."