Chapter 104 You're My Life
I was still staring at the spot where Sienna had vanished when a familiar warmth settled against my back. Rhys’s hand slid around my waist, his palm broad and grounding. To anyone watching, it was the perfect possessive gesture of a man in love. To me, it felt like a cage built of velvet.
"What did she say to you?" he murmured against my ear. His voice was low, vibrating through my spine. I could feel the heat of him through the velvet of my gown, a stark contrast to the icy dread Sienna had just injected into my veins.
"Nothing," I said, my voice sounding brittle even to my own ears. "Just small talk."
"You’re a terrible liar, Ellie. Your pulse is racing." He didn't let go. Instead, he steered me toward the center of the ballroom where the orchestra had shifted into a slow, sweeping arrangement of a classic jazz standard. "Dance with me."
It wasn't a request. We stepped onto the floor. Being held by Rhys was usually my only sanctuary, but tonight, every touch felt like a question mark. His hand on my waist was firm, his fingers interlaced with mine in a way that felt choreographed for the photographers. Was this the 'protector brand' Sienna spoke of?
The music swelled, a haunting violin solo that mirrored the ache in my chest. Rhys spun me out, his eyes never leaving mine, and for a second, the world blurred into a smear of gold leaf and black tuxedos. When he pulled me back in, he did it with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs.
"You're stiff," he noted, pulling me closer until there wasn't a breath of air between us. His thigh brushed mine, a familiar intimacy that usually made my head spin. Tonight, it just made me ache. "Talk to me. Is it the press? Is it Dale?"
"It’s everything, Rhys," I whispered, looking at the knot of his silk tie rather than his eyes. I couldn't look at him; I was afraid I’d see the CEO staring back at me. "It’s the fact that I don't know where the 'mission' ends and where we begin anymore."
He went silent, his jaw tightening so hard I saw the muscle leap in his cheek. He didn't answer on the dance floor. He knew as well as I did that the walls here had ears, and the ears were attached to people who would love to see the Vance-Winslow union crumble before dessert was served. He waited until the song ended, ignored the polite applause, and led me through a set of French doors at the back of the ballroom.
The balcony was a narrow stone ledge overlooking the Public Garden. The Boston winter was brutal out here, the wind whipping my hair across my face in stinging lashes, but I welcomed the cold. I gripped the freezing iron railing, my knuckles turning white.
"Explain that," Rhys commanded, leaning back against the stone railing. He didn't seem to feel the cold, his silhouette cutting a sharp, dark line against the glowing city skyline. "What do you mean by 'the mission'?"
"Sienna Rossi told me you love a project," I said, the words spilling out before I could lose my nerve. My voice trembled, partly from the wind and partly from the sheer weight of the truth. "She said you love the drama of a woman who needs saving. That you thrive on the chaos because it gives you a reason to be the hero. And look at me, Rhys. My father is a monster who just got out of prison, a hacker is trying to ruin our lives, and my brothers hate you because of me. I am the ultimate project."
"You think I'm doing this for the optics?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy level that was more terrifying than a shout.
"I think you might not know the difference anymore!" I snapped, pacing the small, salt-stained space of the balcony. "This started as a fake engagement to fix a PR nightmare. But now we’re sleeping together, and you’re saying 'I love you' in the dark when no one is watching, and then we walk out here and you play the knight in shining armor against the press... how much of this is real? If Caleb Finch went to jail tonight and my father disappeared tomorrow, if the 'danger' was gone, would you even want to be in the same room as me?"
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the sound of distant traffic and the rustle of the trees in the garden below. A siren wailed somewhere down on Charles Street, a lonely, piercing sound. Rhys stepped toward me, his shadow looming large, blotting out the light from the ballroom.
"Is that what you think of me?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching mine with a raw intensity that made me want to flinch. "That I’ve spent the last six months, and half my sanity, protecting you just to satisfy some twisted hero complex? That I’ve put my family’s name on the line for a 'project'?"
"I think you're used to being in control. Of everything," I challenged, tears finally prickling my eyes. "And a 'fake' engagement is the ultimate form of control. You get the girl, you get the loyalty, and you get to be the savior—all without the actual vulnerability of a real relationship because we both have an 'out' built into the contract. We have a kill-switch, Rhys. Real love doesn't have a termination clause."
I looked at him, my heart breaking in my chest. "I can't do the 'fake' part anymore. It’s eroding me. I’d rather be alone and dealing with Finch on my own terms than standing here wondering if your love is just part of the damage control."
Rhys didn't move for a long moment. He looked out at the city before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, the blue light reflecting in his dark eyes, and turned it toward me. It was an email draft to his personal attorney, dated three weeks ago.
“Rhys Vance and Elowen Winslow wish to clarify that their previous announcement was premature. They are no longer pursuing a professional or personal union…”
"I had that ready," Rhys said, his voice raw and stripped of its usual confidence. "I was going to release it because I thought I was hurting you by keeping you tied to my mess. But I couldn't press send. Not because of the PR, Ellie. But because the thought of you walking out that door felt like literal death."
He stepped into my space, his hands framing my face as his thumbs gently wiped away the tears I hadn't realized were falling.
"The engagement might have started as a lie," he whispered, his forehead resting against mine. "But the way I feel when I wake up next to you? The way I can't breathe when you're not in the room? There isn't a script in the world that could write that, Ellie. You aren't my project. You're my life."