Chapter 3 Pride vs Provenance
Sloane
“Are you okay, Sloane?” Richard asks. His voice is kind and steady.
I try to pull myself back together. I take a deep breath and brush a stray hair behind my ear, hoping he didn't see the tears starting to form. "I’m fine. Just… thinking," I whisper.
“I can tell that it’s a lot of weight, what your grandma is asking you to do. We know how hard it was for you after you and Cade ended things,” Richard says. He leans in, looking at me with worry.
My heart stings at his words. “It wasn’t me and Cade that ended things, uncle. Just Cade. Just him.” I say it firmly because I want the truth to be clear. I didn't have a choice. I didn't get a say. I was just thrown away like trash.
“Yes, I agree with that,” he says softly. He doesn't try to argue or make excuses for what happened six years ago. He just lets the truth sit there between us.
He stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s a warm, solid weight. “I can't tell you what to do, and I won't force you. But I think you know what the right thing is. Sometimes the hardest path is the one that actually sets you free.”
He doesn't wait for me to answer. He gives my shoulder one last squeeze and walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. He didn't give me a map or a list of instructions; he just gave me a choice.
I stand up, my legs feeling a bit like jelly. I look down the porch back to the tree where Cade is standing. Now that I actually look at him, he looks different now, older, maybe a little more tired, but he still has that same look of someone who has everything money can buy.
My heart is pounding against my ribs as I start walking toward him. But this time, I’m not the girl waiting for him or crying on a bed. I’m the one walking toward him. Every step feels heavy, but I keep going. I have to see if he’s still that same coward, or if six years was enough time for him to finally grow a spine.
I reach him, and for a moment, we just stand there. The air between us feels thick, like we are underwater. It’s been six years, but seeing him this close makes all those memories of the restaurant and the breakup come rushing back. He looks at me, and I can tell he’s waiting for me to speak first. I don't give him a smile. I don't even give him a polite "hello." I just get straight to the point.
"Did you know about the will. My grandmother’s will?"
"Your grandmother's will? No. Why?"
“Because she mentioned you”
“Oh! Well, I’m not as surprised as you are?”
I feel my brows knitting together in a mix of confusion and mounting suspicion. I searched his face for a tell, a smirk, a flicker of guilt, but found only a cool composure. The fact that he was standing there, completely unfazed while my entire life was being upended by a legal document, made my blood boil. It felt like I was the only one left out of a secret everyone else had been keeping for years.
"Why wouldn't you be surprised?"
"Your grandmother and my mother were friends. They stayed in touch over the years."
"How convenient.", I say, rolling my eyes. “Well I’m not going along it. After a lot of thought, and remembering how you walked out on us. I decided I’m not going along with it. I don’t care what the will says. I’m willing to lose everything than restart a relationship with, let alone marry you.
I turn around ready to leave, but his response stops me.
“I’m not the one who loses if you walk away, Sloane. I already have my own life now.”
I feel a jolt of pain so sharp it makes my head spin. It’s a low blow. A low blow and we both know it.
"Is that all we are to you now? A line in a will that doesn't affect your 'own life'? I’ve spent six years trying to piece myself back together after you shattered me, and you're standing there perfectly fine, watching me choose between my pride and my family's history like it's a simple math problem."
"It isn't. But it is the reality," he says with a calm tone. "Your grandmother spent ninety years protecting the Hartford name. If you let your hatred win, then you’re burning down her entire life’s work. Is my presence really more painful than seeing this place belong to her?"
"You have no right to..."
"To what?”, he cuts me short. “To point out the obvious? You're practical, Sloane. You always were. You do the math: your pride versus your grandmother’s legacy."
I felt my hands ball into tight fists at my sides, the skin of my knuckles stretching white. For a split second, I wanted to lunge across the space between us and wipe that calculated look off his face, to slap him, to scream, to make him feel even a fraction of the chaos he was causing. I had to consciously force my breath in and out slowly, my fingernails digging into my palms so hard it stung. I fought to keep my feet planted, knowing that if I moved, I might actually lose control.
“I hate you!”, I finally tell it to his face.
"I know. But that doesn't change the numbers.", his voice still calm
A heavy, suffocating silence stretched between us. In that stillness, his words began to sink in.
He sighs. “Look Sloane...”, he says walking close.
“No. I don’t want to hear anything from you ever again”, I say, shaking my head and putting my arms out to stop him from coming any closer. “Nothing you ever say will make me marry you. Coming here was even a mistake. We’re done here, Cade.”