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Chapter Twenty-Three
Molly
I’m in the middle of a heated chess match in the garden with Reginald when I get a suspicious text from Rowan.
Come to the office.
Discreetly.
Reginald promises not to cheat when I excuse myself, but my heart pounds as I quietly slip through the manor, careful not to catch the attention of the maids bustling between our rooms and the kitchen.
The moment I open the doors to see Sam sitting on the couch, and Rowan clenching his jaw, I know something’s very wrong.
“Shut the door, please,” Rowan says.
I close it with a gentle snick, then gradually take a seat beside him. “What’s going on?”
“It’s come to my attention that you’re planning to go back on the deal we made.”
My heart lurches for my throat when Sam sets his phone on the glass table between us and presses play on a recording.
A portion of Rowan and my conversation from the party last night filters through the speaker. It’s a single segment of Rowan stating everything we’ve been keeping secret—conveniently omitting the parts where we’ve professed our love to each other—and when it stops, I look between them, confused.
Rowan’s sitting back, one arm slung across the couch like a man unbothered, and I imagine this is who he is as Mr. Kendrick—the CEO from Seattle with a billion-dollar business—not the version of him I’ve spent nearly two months learning intimately.
“You were listening to us?” I ask, incredulous.
“I cut across the lawn on my way out,” he explains with a shrug. “Seized the chance when it presented itself.”
“I don’t respond well to threats, Sam,” Rowan says.
“And I don’t appreciate being made a fool.”
Rowan sits forward, remaining calm, but just barely. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want,” he fires back. “I thought you were a man of your word, but now that you’ve violated the terms of your inheritance, it doesn’t matter.”
He jabs a finger at the table. “This isn’t going to get you what you’re after. If you sabotage our marriage, you still won’t get the estate.”
Sam sits back, crossing one ankle over his opposite knee. “That may be true, but you two are obviously in love. Would you really leave Molly on the sidelines while you married another woman?”
A sudden dose of panic makes my pulse thud erratically. Of course he wouldn’t, and the smug look on Sam’s face tells me he knows it.
Turning back to Rowan, he adds, “If you refuse to give me the manor, I will bring this to her.”
Rowan’s fists clench, and a tar pit of dread bubbles in my stomach. We marry and give him the estate, or he outs us to Patricia for violating the will and our engagement is null and void.
“I don’t want to be the bad guy here. I just want what was promised to me.”
“Fuck you.” Sam flinches at his cutting tone. “You came here to manipulate me into giving you what’s rightfully mine. You are the bad guy, whether you want to be or not.”
“If that’s how you want to see it, then fine. Nevertheless, you’ve got a decision to make.” He removes a stack of folded papers from his suit pocket and sets a pen on top of them. “This is a written contract stating exactly what we agreed on from the beginning. That way, in case you get any ideas, you can’t back out of this after you and Molly are married.”
Rowan takes a cleansing breath before trying to reason with him. “It doesn’t have to be like this. There’s housing all over the property. I’ll give you one of your own, or if it’s money you want, we can work something out.” His facade slips with an edge of desperation. “We can rebuild this place together. Show Magnolia Creek a new era of Radleys, who wants to be a part of the community instead of being a source of cash flow.”
“You think this is about money?” he scoffs before standing, his neck and face red from frustration. “You’re not a Radley, Rowan. Regardless of what you’ve convinced yourself to believe, none of this is yours.”
“I’m just as much part of this family as you are,” he says, but it lacks his usual conviction, and I turn my worried gaze to him.
