LOGINHello, my gorgeous readers đ¤â¨
First of all, thank you sooo much for being patient with me these last few days. I know I havenât been updating any chapters, and I truly appreciate how understanding and supportive youâve all been.
Your kindness honestly means more than you know â¤ď¸.
I took a much-needed break to recharge and refill my creativity tank, so I can come back with fresh energy and give this story the emotion, drama, and chaos it deserves. In the meantime, Iâve been going through all your comments⌠yes â ALL of them đ â and your engagement, theories, reactions, and opinions are why I love going on this journey with you.
The good news is Iâll be back starting Monday, and to make up for the missed days, Iâll be posting 2 chapters a day going forward so we can jump right back into the madness together.
I promise you⌠Youâre going to want to stick around because whatâs coming next? Oh, youâre going to LOVE it!
See you soon, bestiesđŤśđ˝.
BETTYI remain there standing, shaking my head, not knowing if I should be furious that he made me the center of a public spectacle, or incredibly flattered that he just risked his mother's wrath to defend me.He closes the final foot of space between us and reaches out, his large, warm hand gently wrapping around mine, giving my fingers a reassuring squeeze."Are you okay?"I blink, the heat of his touch sending a jolt straight up my arm, and I slowly pull my hand away, turning to place my clutch on the marble counter to give my shaking hands something to do.He steps in right beside me, his shoulder brushing mine."You didn't have to do that," I mutter, swallowing the thick lump in my throat.He turns fully to face me and leans his forearm against the counter, bringing his face dangerously close to mine."I actually did, Betty," he says, his voice dropping into a quiet, intimate register meant only for us. "For years, I stood back and let my mother and her friends treat you like an
BETTYâYou are just dragging him along.âRhysâs parting words play on a relentless, brutal loop in my head as I trace the rim of the glass with my index finger, letting the heavy, uncomfortable weight of his accusation settle into my bones.I grab my clutch and pivot away from the counter, desperate to find a bathroom, a quiet hallway, anywhere to process the guilt, but instead, I spot Eleanor.She is weaving through the guests with three of her most dedicated sycophants trailing right behind her. They move in a synchronized, aggressive glide, their eyes pinned unblinkingly on me.I let my head drop back for a of a second, and I blow out a long, drained sigh. I simply do not have the bandwidth for a high-society theatrical performance tonight.I step to the left, aiming for a small gap between a chatting couple to slip away, but the second I move, the couple shifts their weight, stepping in unison to block my path. I click my tongue, pivoting to the right, but two of Eleanorâs friends
NATHANIELAfter a long moment of staring at the fairy lights, I force the impending death of our company out of my head and focus on the only thing that actually matters tonight.Is she here yet? Or did she bail?The thought pierces through the rage, and I push off the desk. I need to see for myself. I take a deep breath, cross the room, and pick up the heavy glass paperweight. I set it back on the desk, adjust my cuffs, and walk out the door.The bass of the string quartet hits my chest the second I step into the hallway, followed by the echoing, chaotic laughter of a hundred wealthy guests. But before I face them, I walk in the opposite direction to Graceâs room.The space is dark, bathed in the faint glow of a nightlight. She is fast asleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I cross the plush carpet, pull the heavy duvet up over her shoulders, and step back out, pulling the door shut with a silent click.I make my way to the grand landing, and unfortunately, I find R
NATHANIELThe heavy, soundproofed oak doors of my fatherâs study are shut, severing the swelling string quartet and the rich laughter of the ballroom below.In here, the silence is absolute. But the air is tainted.A thick, acrid cloud of cigar smoke hangs over the mahogany desk, clinging to the leather-bound books and the dark wood paneling. It is a blatant, calculated desecration of a space my father and grandfather treated as a sanctuary.I remain seated on the opposite side of the desk, keeping my palms flat against the smooth wood, forcing my fingers to spread so they don't curl into fists.Across from me sits Richard. The acting CEO of Blackwell Enterprise.Richard takes a long, arrogant drag of his cigar and leans back in the vintage leather chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, making himself far too comfortable. He wears a tuxedo jacket of gaudy gold with harsh black lapelsâa vulgar, loud disruption of the classic dress code down in the ballroom, a smug, self-satisfied gri
BETTYThe sheer, suffocating reality of him standing mere inches awayâfor the first time since we broke upâslams into my chest like a freight train and panic spikes hot in my blood. My palms turn clammy, slipping against the smooth gold metal of my clutch. I lock my knees to keep them from buckling and drag a sharp, jagged breath into my burning lungs.âGet it together, Betty.âI swallow the dry dust in my throat, bury the frantic hammering of my heart, and force my expression into a smooth, impenetrable mask. Only then do I let myself take him in.He looks different. Undeniably him, but fundamentally altered.He towers in my space, draped in a bespoke, all-black tuxedo that grips his broad shoulders and chest like a suit of armor, the sharp lines of his muscles pressing heavily against the dark fabric. He stands rooted in polished Italian leather shoes, one hand slid deep into his trouser pocket, pulling the jacket back to expose a heavy, gleaming silver watch at his wrist. The other
BETTYEleanor Blackwell. The one person I have never managed to impress since the day I entered this family.I stand still, drawing a deep, bracing breath into my lungs. One of us will leave this conversation upset, but tonight, I swear to God it will not be me.She paints a fake, glittering smile for the guests she passes, stopping a waiter to pluck a champagne flute from his silver tray before closing the final few feet between us.She says nothing at first. She just stands there, letting the heavy, judgmental weight of her gaze rake over me. I feel her eyes drag over the slit exposing my thigh, up the velvet to scrutinize the plunging V of my chest, before resting on my face."Betty," she sneers, the disdain dripping from the single word. "What are you doing here?"I let out a measured breath, forcing the corners of my mouth upward. "Nice to see you too, Eleanor. You look well." I keep my cadence flat and calm, refusing to let the tremor in my chest bleed into my voice. The absolut
BETTYI freeze outside the door, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat.I force myself to look in, and the sight steals whatever air was left in my lungs.The room looks like a battlefield, books scattered like fallen soldiers, and papers littering the floor in torn, angry flurri
BETTYI canât bring myself to go back home yet, probably because Iâm still riding the strange high from the meeting I just had with Amanda.There is something else I need to do first, something Iâve been avoiding for far too long, and because for the first time in a long while I feel like Iâm done
BETTYThe Virnkirkâs really do know how to throw a party.Every corner of this house hums with quiet wealth, soft jazz, expensive laughter, and glasses chiming like silver bells.I look around and recognize more faces than I expect to. Most of them are always on Harrietteâs guest list and part of he
BETTYI shift in my seat, heat flooding my cheeks, embarrassment prickling under my skin, and I glance at Grace, praying sheâs not paying attention.Luckily, sheâs busy playing with the ribbon on her dress, humming softly to herself, blissfully unaware of the tension wrapping the room like a storm c







