Chapter 8

I blinked. Then snorted. ‘You’ve officially lost the plot. You’re pimping me out to a man who looks like he gets senior citizen discounts.’ ‘Don’t be dramatic,’ Mum snapped, though her voice stayed polished and posh. ‘If you won’t marry Rhys, you’ll have to marry someone. You don’t get to float around like some spoiled socialite with no value. That’s not how this works.’ I stared at her. ‘So, this is it? I dump Rhys, and suddenly you’re throwing me at the next billionaire with a functioning heart valve?’ Mum pursed her lips like she was trying not to roll her eyes. ‘I was furious when I heard about the state of your relationship with Rhys. Especially your attitude yesterday. You were cold. Rude. Disrespectful. You embarrassed me. But the situation, as it turns out, could still be salvaged.’ ‘Right, because now that your precious Catherine’s back in Skyline City, suddenly it’s “convenient” I’m out of the way,’ I said, unable to stop the bitterness from slipping out. Mum didn’t even blink. ‘It is convenient. Rhys and Catherine have history. They’re better suited.’ ‘So I did you a favour then.’ ‘You didn’t do me a favour,’ she snapped. ‘You created a mess. Without Catherine’s timely return, what you did may have seriously offended the Grangers. Do you have any idea how valuable that connection is? You don’t want Rhys? Fine. But you’re going to make it right by finding another match—and soon.’ ‘No,’ I said flatly. Mum leaned forward, that terrifying stillness settling over her face—the kind that always came before she did something diabolical. ‘I invested a fortune raising you. Education. Clothes. Debutante nonsense. Do you think that was free? You’ve done nothing for the family, Mirabelle. At the very least, you owe us a strategic alliance. It’s the least you can do.’ I scoffed. ‘Send me an invoice then. I’ll pay back whatever little expense I’ve cost you. But I’m not selling myself to the highest bidder just so you can recoup your “investment”.’ Throughout the mother-daughter debate, Frank—darling Daddy—just sat there. Silent. Supportive in the way that meant ‘I’ll let your mother destroy you and offer you a biscuit afterwards.’ I turned to Mum again. ‘That wasn’t why I came back. Why the hell did you call my boss? You got me fired.’ ‘That was the price of disobedience,’ she said coolly. ‘You don’t get to disrespect me and walk away unscathed. And Rhys deserved better than your tantrum yesterday. You embarrassed all of us. You should be thinking about how to make things right instead of behaving like a brat. I suggest you start by making a date with Leonard Shaw.’ I clenched my fists. ‘I’m never marrying Shaw. Or any other sleazebag you dig up from your Rolodex of corporate creeps.’ Mum was utterly unfazed. ‘You’ll fall in line. You always do.’ ‘You’ve already cost me my job. I don’t even live at home anymore. There’s nothing else you can take from me.’ Her smile was slow. Cold. ‘Don’t be so sure. I can do plenty. You like your apartment, don’t you? Shame if your landlord suddenly decided your lease was void.’ My stomach dropped. ‘And that best friend of yours… what’s her name? Yvaine? Her parents’ little family business still depends on our supplier network. That could change. Fast.’ I stared at her, completely stunned. ‘You wouldn’t.’ ‘Would you be willing to risk it?’ The way she said it, I knew—without a shred of doubt—that she meant every vile syllable. Caroline Vance didn’t run a Fortune 500 company, but she did run my father like a high-end Roomba, and Daddy dearest was neck-deep in Skyline City’s business scene. If she wanted to destroy someone’s livelihood, all she had to do was give the word. I didn’t have a choice. Not really. I couldn’t let Yvaine get caught in the crossfire of my family’s twisted drama. If someone had to go down, it wasn’t going to be her. So I went on the offensive. ‘I can’t marry Shaw, because I’m already engaged,’ I said, with the conviction of someone who absolutely wasn’t but desperately needed to be. Mum actually blinked. ‘You’re what?’ ‘Engaged,’ I repeated, casually inspecting my nails like I wasn’t making this up on the spot. ‘Met someone incredible. Very powerful. We’re getting married.’ Dad gave a little cough like he’d just woken up from a nap. ‘That’s not possible. You were engaged to Rhys for years. You broke it off last week.’ ‘Well, it’s been a productive week,’ I said, flashing my most deranged pageant smile. ‘Turns out, I rebound very well.’ Mum narrowed her eyes. ‘Who is he?’ ‘You’ll meet him soon enough,’ I said, lifting my bag and stepping towards the door. ‘I’ll bring him home for dinner sometime. And I promise, he’ll make your Leonard Shaw look like a budget haircut in a back alley barbershop.’ ‘Mirabelle—’ I left before she could start interrogating me. Back at my flat, I flopped onto the sofa like a collapsing deck chair and groaned. I was furious. Not just at Mum—though her high-handed, Machiavellian meddling had definitely earned her a prime spot on my personal hit list—but at myself. Because after all these years of therapy, wine, and telling myself I was immune to her manipulations... she still got under my skin like glitter in a carpet. And now I’d gone and thrown a bloody fiancé into the mix like I was auditioning for a Hallmark Christmas special, minus the snow, the charm, or the actual fiancé. The woman would suss me out in three business days, max. Probably sooner if she skipped brunch. I needed to make my little lie true. Somehow. I needed a man who oozed enough wealth and power to make my mum clutch her pearls and my dad reach for his investment portfolio. Someone untouchable. Impressive. Preferably with enough bite to make them both second-guess every smug word out of their mouths. Too bad every eligible guy I knew who fit the bill was either married, morally bankrupt, or part of Rhys’s polo-playing inner circle. ‘Shit,’ I muttered, burying my face in a throw pillow. Then, just as I was ready to spiral into a full-blown panic, a face floated into my brain.