By His Side

{Vanessa’s POV}

The morning light spilled across the Sinclair mansion, warm and golden. Vincent’s arms had held me close, and even now, two weeks later, his words still echoed in my mind: “Don’t leave me again…

This time, there was no hiding. No late-night sneaking through the hallways, no shadows to cover what we felt. When I stepped into the dining room, Vincent was already at the head of the long polished dining table.

Lady Sinclair sat poised at his right, and across from him, Lisa’s eyes locked on me—sharp, cold, cutting through me like glass.

The moment Vincent saw me, his lips curved in the kind of smile — the kind that made my heart trip over itself. He didn’t care who was watching.

He pulled out the chair beside him.

“Sit here,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I hesitated, feeling Lisa’s glare burn into me and catching the sharp inhale from Lady Sinclair. But I refused to shrink back this time. Lifting my chin, I walked forward and took the seat beside him.

His hand brushed against mine under the table, a small touch, but it was enough to send warmth rushing through me.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Yes,” I breathed, though the truth was I hadn’t slept much at all. Not with his lips still burning against my skin, not with his words replaying in my head.

Lisa set her cutlery down with a little too much force, the sharp clink echoing across the table.

“Vincent, I was just telling your mother about the upcoming gala. You’ll be attending with me, of course.”

Vincent didn’t even glance her way. He reached for my cup and poured me coffee before answering, his tone calm but firm. “No, Lisa. I won’t.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Lady Sinclair’s fork paused midair. Lisa’s jaw tightened, her painted lips parting in disbelief.

“What do you mean, no?” Lisa demanded, her voice rising.

“I mean,” Vincent said, his arm brushing mine deliberately, “I’ll be attending with Vanessa.”

My breath caught. He had said it, out loud, in front of everyone. The tension at the table sharpened like a knife.

Lady Sinclair’s voice sliced through the silence, cold and precise. “Vincent, may I remind you that appearances matter? You cannot just—parade an employee in front of society as though she belongs—”

“She does belong,” Vincent cut in firmly. His hand found mine beneath the table, warm and steady. He turned to me, his gaze softening. “With me.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. My heart pounded, not just from the weight of his words, but from the storm I could see brewing in Lady Sinclair’s eyes.

Lisa gave a bitter laugh. “You can’t be serious. Her? She doesn’t fit, Vincent. She never will.”

That was when Vincent did something that silenced the room entirely. He took my hand, lifted it from beneath the table, and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. Slowly. Tenderly. Right in front of them.

“I don’t care who approves,” he said. “Vanessa is the only one I want.”

The air seemed to vanish from the room. Lady Sinclair’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Lisa pushed her chair back so suddenly it scraped against the polished floor. Without a word, she stormed out, her heels clicking like gunshots against the marble.

I sat frozen, trembling, unable to believe what had just happened.

When breakfast ended, Diane found me in the garden. Roses climbed the pale wooden arches, and the air smelled sweet. She grinned, her dark curls bouncing as she held my hand.

“Vanessa Taylor,” she teased, “you have my cousin wrapped around your finger. Do you realize what just happened back there? He just chose you over Lisa Westin—in front of his mother. That’s practically a war declaration.”

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t ask him to.”

“No,” Diane said, her voice softening, “but he’s waited years to do it.”

Her words should have soothed me, but instead, they made my stomach twist. Because the truth was, I knew this wasn’t over. Lady Sinclair wasn’t the kind of woman to surrender.

That evening, the storm showed itself.

I was making my way through the west wing when Lady Sinclair stepped in front of me, her tall frame commanding attention in a silk gown that caught the chandelier’s glow.

“Vanessa ,” she said, her voice laced with frost. “A word.”

I stood straighter, refusing to shrink even as my palms grew damp.

“You may have wrapped my son around those little fingers of yours,” she said, eyes narrowing.

“But don’t confuse infatuation with forever. Vincent has responsibilities—an empire, a legacy. And you?”

She paused, scanning me from head to toe as if I were nothing. “You have nothing to uphold.”

Her words stung, but I kept my chin lifted. “With all due respect, Lady Sinclair, what Vincent and I have is not your decision to make.”

Her smile was sharp and merciless. “You think love will save you? Love does not last in this world. Power does. Position does. And you will never have either.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. But then I remembered Vincent’s hand around mine, his lips on my skin, his voice telling me I belonged.

“Maybe not,” I said quietly. “But I have something stronger than power or position. I have him.”

Her expression faltered, just slightly, before her mask slipped back into place. “We shall see,” she said, and with that, she swept past me, her perfume lingering like smoke.

When I returned to my room, Vincent was waiting for me. The moment he saw my face, he frowned.

“What did she say to you?” he asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I whispered.

His arms pulled me close, his breath warm against my ear. “From now on, you don’t handle it alone. Do you hear me, Vanessa? I will protect you—protect us. Whatever it takes.”

I nodded against his chest, my heart swelling even as fear lingered in the corners of my mind.

Because even as he held me, even as his love burned brighter than ever, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lady Sinclair was already planning her next move.

And whatever it was… it would not be merciful.