Chapter 2

Greer’s POV

The wedding was six days away, and every morning the mansion seemed to close in a little tighter. I woke with the same knot in my stomach, the kind that never fully loosened. The house was beautiful in the daylight, sunlight poured through tall windows and turned the marble floors gold, but beauty didn’t make it feel like home.

It only made me feel smaller. I avoided the main dining room at breakfast. Too many eyes. Too many polite smiles that never reached anyone’s faces. Instead I slipped into the kitchen hoping for something simple, something familiar. Coffee. Toast. Anything that didn’t come on a silver tray.

The moment I stepped inside, the conversation stopped. Three staff members stood around the island. One of them, the older woman who always wore her hair in a severe bun and looked at me like I had tracked mud across the floor.

“Miss,” she said. Not a question. Not a greeting.

“I just wanted some coffee,” I said quietly.

“And maybe a piece of bread if there’s any.” She exchanged a glance with the others. “Breakfast is served in the dining room. Trays are prepared.”

“I know. I just… I’d rather eat here. Quietly.” The woman’s mouth thinned. “This isn’t the staff kitchen, darling. And even if it were, we don’t serve charity cases at the help’s table.”

The word landed like a slap. Charity case. Heat rushed to my face.

“I’m not—"

"You will be,” she cut in, voice low but sharp. “Your mother may marry the master, but blood doesn’t change overnight. We’ve seen girls like you before. You drift in, make a mess, drift out. Best not get comfortable.”

I stood there, frozen, hands clenched at my sides. No one spoke after that. The silence was worse than the words.I turned and left without the coffee.

Upstairs in my room I pressed my palms to my eyes until spots danced behind my lids. I told myself it didn’t matter. Words from strangers never should. But they did. They always had. I couldn’t stay in that room breathing the same air that carried her voice. I needed to find my mother.

Veda was in the sunroom, surrounded by fabric swatches and a woman pinning her hem. She looked like a magazine cover come to life, hair perfect, smile practiced.

"Mom,” I said from the doorway. She glanced up, irritation flickering before she smoothed it away.

“Greer. Not now. We’re finalizing the veil."

"It’s important.”

She sighed.

“Five minutes. Make it quick.” The seamstress stepped out. The door clicked shut. I crossed my arms.

"Call off the wedding.” I begged her.

“Excuse me?”

"The rumors are everywhere. Everyone’s saying you slept your way into this. That you're marrying him for money. They are laughing at you behind your back. That you're..."Veda's eyes flashed.

"And what if I am? I deserve this. After everything I gave up for you."

"For me?"

"Don't play the victim. You're an adult now. Act like it. Stop embarrassing me."

“Please” I said immediately.

Veda laughed once, short and sharp.

Her eyes narrowed.

“People always talk. Let them.”

"But they’re talking about me too. They look at me like I’m part of the joke. Like I don’t belong here. And I don’t. None of this feels right.” She stood, fabric rustling.

“You think I should throw away the best thing that’s ever happened to me because my daughter has a pity party?”

"I’m trying to protect you.”

"Protect me?” She stepped closer. “You’re protecting yourself. You’re selfish, Greer. You always have been. I finally got something good and you want to ruin it because you can’t stand seeing me happy."

"That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? You’ve spent your whole life resenting me for wanting more than your father could give. Well, guess what? He’s gone. And I’m not going back to scraping by.” I flinched.

“I never asked you to—”

"You never had to. Your existence was enough reminder.” She waved a hand.

“Go cry somewhere else. I have a fitting.”

I left before the tears came. In the hallway I pressed my back to the wall and slid down until I sat on the cool floor. My chest hurts. My father had been poor, yes. A security guard who worked nights so we could eat. Veda had hated it. Hated him. Sometimes I wondered if she had been relieved when he died. It opened the door for richer men. Men like Calder.

I hated that thought. But I couldn’t stop thinking of it. I stayed there until my legs went numb, then pushed myself up. Wandering was easier than thinking. I moved through the house like a ghost, past closed doors, past portraits of people who had never known hunger or shame.

A door stood open on the upper landing. Light spilled into the hallway, warm and inviting. I recognized the hallway. Wells’s suite was somewhere here. My heart gave a stupid, hopeful lurch. Maybe he would listen. Maybe he would look at me the way he had that first night, soft, like I mattered.

I climbed the stairs quietly. The door was cracked just enough. I pushed it wider, ready to smile, ready to say something light. And stopped breathing.

Calder stood in the center of the room. Naked. Completely. His back was to me at first. Broad shoulders, water still beading along the muscles of his spine from a shower I hadn’t heard. Dark hair damp and curling at the nape. He reached for a towel on the chair, movements slow, unhurried.

Then he turned. Our eyes locked. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t cover himself. My gaze dropped traitorously, helplessly down the hard planes of his chest, the ridged abdomen, lower. Eight inches. Thick. Veined. Heavy, even soft. Heat exploded through me. Shame and something darker, wetter, curling low in my belly. I should have run. I didn’t. His eyes stayed on mine. Steady. Unreadable. But there was something in them, something that wasn’t anger.

Something that felt like recognition.

“Greer,” he said. Voice low. Rough around the edges.I swallowed.

“I… I thought this was Wells’s room.”

“It isn’t.”

Silence stretched. Thick. Electric. He took one step forward. Not threatening. Just closing distance.

“You should go,” he said. But he didn’t sound like he meant it. And I still hadn’t moved.

My nipples tightened against the thin cotton of my shirt. I felt the ache between my legs sharpen into something needy, insistent. This was wrong. I knew it was wrong. And yet my feet stayed planted. His gaze flicked down, slowly taking in the way my chest rose and fell, the flush creeping up my throat, the way my thighs pressed together without meaning to.

“Greer,” he repeated. Softer this time. I turned then. Finally, I spun on my heel and fled down the hallway, heart slamming against my ribs. I didn’t stop until I reached my room, locked the door and leaned against it. I tried to pretend I hadn’t just looked at my stepfather’s cock and felt my body answer.