Chapter 111 The Flour and the Fire
The kitchen was a controlled explosion of powdered sugar, laughter, and the high-pitched debates of eight children over the proper way to decorate a reindeer. In any other year, I would have been in the thick of it, but today, every time I moved, I felt the weight of three sets of eyes tracking me from the edges of the room.
Jace, Grant, and Owen were a wall of tension near the coffee station, looking like they had been cordoned off from the joy of the morning by their own stubbornness.
"Uncle Rhys, you’re doing it wrong!" Ivy giggled, shoving a bowl of orange icing toward him. "Reindeer don't have racing stripes."
"This one does, Ivy," Rhys said, his voice warm and steady as he sat on the floor with Blake and Nell. "It’s a Vance Racing reindeer. Aerodynamically superior for the North Pole run."
Watching him with the kids made my throat tight. To the children, he was just the man who had always been there—the one who sponsored Garrett’s karting and knew exactly how Nell liked her stories read. He was part of the fabric of our lives long before we’d signed that cold, clinical contract a month ago.
"Ignore them, El," Naomi murmured, nudging my shoulder as we rolled out a fresh batch of dough. "Jace is just pouting because the 'CEO of the Year' didn't ask for his permission. He’ll get over it, or I’ll make him sleep on the sofa until New Year’s."
Chloe and Simone laughed, flanking me like a protective detail. Even my mother, Cassandra, was across the room sharing a quiet smile with Helena, Rhys’s mother. The matriarchs were settled; the sisters-in-law were on board. It was only my brothers who were still treating a genuine confession like a tactical betrayal.
"I’m going to get more flour from the pantry," I whispered, needing a moment of air that didn't smell like cinnamon and judgment.
I was barely inside the walk-in pantry when the door creaked. I didn't have to look up to know it was Owen. At twenty-six, we were the closest in age, the two who had always navigated the chaos of our combined families as a pair.
"He’s good with them, Ellie. He’s always been good with them," Owen said, leaning against the shelving. He looked tired. "Blake’s already asking if he can spend a week at the Vance HQ this summer."
"He loves them, Owen. He’s been a part of this family since before I could walk. Why is it so hard to believe he loves me too?"
"It’s not that," Owen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t care about the status. I don't care that he's a three-time champion or that he's got more money than God. He’s my best friend. Or I thought he was."
"He is your best friend."
"Is he? Because for a month, he sat across from me and watched me worry about you. He knew about the Caleb Finch leaks, he knew about the deepfake attacks, and he knew Dale was back on the street. He let me talk to him about my fears for your safety while he was holding a secret contract with you in his pocket. He looked me in the eye every day and played a part."
The coldness in his voice hurt more than Jace’s shouting. "He did it to keep me close, Owen. With Finch tied to Dale, Rhys thought a legal tie—an engagement—would let him use his security detail to protect me without causing a panic. It was about safety."
"I know what it was about," Owen snapped softly. "But the fact that he could keep a secret that big from me... it makes the last ten years feel like a script. It’s the secrecy, El. It’s not the relationship. It’s the fact that my best friend didn't trust me enough to be honest, and my sister didn't either."
I stepped toward him, my heart aching. "We weren't dating for years, Owen. There was no 'secret romance.' It was a month of fear that turned into something real seventy-two hours ago. Rhys didn't 'take a gap' in your defense. He stood where you couldn't."
Owen stiffened, his eyes snapping to mine with a sudden, sharp alarm. "Wait. Seventy-two hours? You’re telling me this 'fake' engagement was a business arrangement until three days ago?"
"Yes," I admitted, my voice small. "But the feelings were always there, Owen. We just—"
"You just what, Ellie? You fell into a crisis, he offered a contract, and now, seventy-two hours later, you’re convinced it’s true love?" He let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, pacing the small space of the pantry. "That’s not a relationship; that’s a trauma response. He’s using your fear of Dale to anchor you to him. He’s my best friend, but he’s also a man who wins by calculating every variable. Don’t you see how this looks? He took a girl who was terrified for her life and convinced her she needed a ring to be safe."
"It wasn't like that," I argued, but Owen was already shaking his head, his jaw set in a line of pure, protective fury.
"It’s exactly like that. You’ve been 'engaged' for a month to a ghost, and 'in love' for three days. It’s reckless, Ellie. It’s not Rhys and Ellie, the childhood friends. It’s a mess."
Owen looked out through the crack in the door at Rhys, who was currently laughing as Skylar dumped a pile of sprinkles on his head. "I want to believe that he’s the guy I grew up with. I really do. But right now, when I look at him, I don't see my brother. I see a strategist who outmaneuvered me while my sister was at her most vulnerable."
I watched him walk away, his silhouette disappearing back into the kitchen. I stayed in the pantry for a long minute, the silence ringing in my ears. The contract was null and void, and the truth was out, but the bridge between the man I loved and the brothers who raised me was still burning.