Chapter 57 The Illusion of Domesticity
As the afternoon wore on, I found a moment alone with Rhys near the kitchen where Naomi was organizing the sprawling dinner preparation.
"A week," I whispered, keeping my voice low so only the sound dampener on my heart could hear it. "You told Grant a week."
Rhys and I were instantly interrupted by Naomi, who approached with Chloe and Simone in tow, their expressions a mix of excitement and sisterly concern.
"A week is wonderful!" Chloe exclaimed, adjusting the collar of my sweater with maternal care. "But honestly, El, you two look like you haven't slept since Ljubljana. I know the merger is huge, but you need a break."
"She's right," Simone agreed, linking her arm through mine. "Take a mental health day. Have you made plans to see Samira?"
"I was just about to call her," I lied smoothly, grateful for the opening. Samira, my middle school friend who was now a teacher, was the one non-corporate contact I desperately needed. "I thought maybe Tuesday? We could do lunch or something low-key."
Naomi, the pragmatic one, gave me a knowing look. "Rhys, she needs this. It's Tuesday. She can meet Samira downtown. The merger will still be there."
"Ellie, my love," he murmured, his gaze sweeping the room with a smile that was all possessive charm. "You know how critical this project is. We have to make the absolute most of this week together while we have the downtime, before the next travel blitz hits. I can barely stand the thought of us being separated by work for an hour, let alone a whole afternoon downtown." He was addressing me, but the sentiment—the gentle, yet firm refusal—was clearly intended for the three sisters-in-law.
"Rhys, darling, I'm literally right here," I said, pulling the cold bottle out, the cold shocking my fingers. "A week means I have plans. I intended to see friends while I'm here, including Samira. People who have nothing to do with Vance Corp or the merger."
Rhys’s eyes finally landed on mine, sharp and knowing. "You are officially engaged to the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation, working on a project of national security relevance. Your social itinerary is currently my purview. I suggest you cancel any extraneous meetings, especially those involving non-vetted individuals."
The sabotage was already beginning. He wasn't just controlling me; he was isolating me under the guise of security, ensuring that no one—especially not a potential date—could cut through the perfect web of our corporate engagement.
"I’ll let my friends know that my fiancé is an overprotective warden," I hissed, turning back to the noise of the children.
"Tell them I can't bear to be separated from you for a moment," he countered, his voice smooth and terrifyingly convincing. He stepped close, brushing my hair aside as if to kiss my neck, and whispered in my ear, "Sell the romance, Ellie. You have six more days to make this lie irreversible."
As Rhys walked away, heading toward Arthur to discuss the financial markets, I caught the eyes of the three women. Naomi gave me a quick, almost imperceptible nod. Chloe lifted one eyebrow, a clear message of "We've got this." Simone, ever expressive, shot me a quick, conspiratorial wink. The silent exchange confirmed the sisters-in-law would run interference; Samira was happening.
Dinner was mercifully short, dominated by the children’s excitement and the adults' exhaustion. As Rhys was confirming the arrival of the private driver to take us to The Ivy, the front door burst open, and a blast of cold air announced the arrival of my third, and most volatile, brother.
Owen was everything Jace was not: loud, physical, and immediately present. He was also the most emotionally honest, which meant his reaction would be unfiltered and devastating.
"The prodigal sibling returns!" Owen boomed, shedding his coat with careless speed. He was already striding toward the dining room, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on me.
"Ellie!" he shouted, his face breaking into a huge, genuine smile of relief that I was safe and home. He moved with a speed that startled everyone, sweeping me up in a crushing, protective bear hug, lifting me clean off the ground. "I heard you were back and I was afraid I’d missed you. I missed you, kid."
He set me down, his hands still on my shoulders, when his eyes finally dropped. They darted from Rhys's possessive stance behind me, down my arm, and then locked onto the enormous diamond flashing on my left ring finger. The color drained instantly from his face, replacing his initial joy with a look of stunned, utter disbelief that made my stomach drop.
The entire room went silent.
"What is that," Owen asked, his voice low and flat, stripped of all its natural booming resonance. He didn't look at Rhys; he only looked at me, his eyes searching, desperate for a sign this was some kind of elaborate, poor-taste joke.
"Owen, darling!" my mother called out cheerfully, rushing to fill the silence. "Isn't it wonderful? They're engaged! They're getting married!"
Owen took a slow, deliberate step toward us, and Rhys instinctively tightened his grip on my waist. The tension between the two closest friends in the room was now palpable, electric.
"Engaged," Owen repeated, the word tasting like bile. "You and Ellie."
"It was a rather sudden decision," Rhys said, his tone carefully neutral and warm, maintaining the facade of the ecstatic fiancé. "But a necessary one. We realized this morning that we couldn't wait."
Owen's gaze finally lifted to Rhys. The smile was gone, replaced by pure, concentrated fury. The volatile brother Jace had warned me about was now fully present.
"You knew I was on my way," Owen stated, his voice trembling slightly. "You knew I'd be here. And you decided to spring this... this development on everyone now? What is this, Rhys? A power play? A declaration of ownership?"
Rhys merely lifted his chin, his expression softening into an infuriating mask of affectionate pity. "Owen, you're exhausted from your travel. We can discuss the details tomorrow. Right now, we are heading to the hotel. Ellie and I have a great deal of work to do."
That patronizing tone snapped the last thread of Owen's composure. He lunged, a sudden, explosive movement that was half-shove, half-punch, aimed directly at Rhys’s chest.
Rhys, ever vigilant, sidestepped the attack with practiced ease, turning the movement into a controlled pivot. But before the fist could fully connect, Jace, moving with corporate-level efficiency, surged forward.
"Enough!" Jace roared, grabbing Owen's shoulder and twisting him back with practiced, fraternal authority. "We are not doing this here, Owen. Not now."
Owen fought, his face contorted in a mask of betrayal. "He is using her, Jace! Can't you see the ring?"
Rhys watched the ensuing struggle with infuriating calm, his hand never leaving my waist, cementing the image of the protective, steady fiancé against the backdrop of the volatile, emotional brother. He nodded to Jace, a clear signal that the intervention had begun, and steered me toward the front door, leaving Owen, pale with betrayed rage, struggling in Jace’s grip in the middle of the quiet dining room.