Trey's POV
I let out a sigh of relief I did not even realize I had been holding when Amara excused herself to the restroom and Adrian stepped away to take a phone call. For a brief moment, the tension eased from my chest.
"So, what do you think about Amara and Adrian?" Tessa asked suddenly, her voice full of mischief as she leaned on her elbow. "I think they would make a great couple. But honestly, I would hate it if Amara left us for Europe."
Her words snapped something inside me, and my jaw tightened.
"Stop playing little cupid, Tessa," I muttered, keeping my tone flat. "They do not belong in the same world. If you are set on pairing Adrian with someone, I would rather it be Roxi than Amara."
Tessa's eyes narrowed instantly, cutting into me with a glare that made me feel like the guilty one.
"At least Adrian is being honest with himself," she shot back. "When are you going to admit that you like Amara, Trey?"
Her question knocked the ground from under me. For a heartbeat, I faltered, then quickly masked it with a sharp denial.
"Come on, Tessa. I am marrying Pauline, and you are spouting nonsense. I have never liked your friend. She was nothing but an annoying child who used to pester me." The words left my mouth cold, mechanical, but even I could hear the crack in my armor.
Tessa did not even flinch. She just looked at me with that maddening, knowing stare.
"Tell that to someone who does not know you," she said softly, but her words cut like knives. "I remember how many times you defended Amara to Father. And do not think I did not notice how you helped cover her tuition behind her back. Stop lying to yourself, Trey."
Tessa's words dug under my skin, sharper than I wanted to admit.
"You defended her to Father. You even helped with her tuition. Stop lying to yourself, Trey."
Her voice dragged me back to a night I had tried to bury.
It was supposed to be my night. Father had thrown the grandest celebration our estate had seen in years to mark my appointment as the new CEO of the company. The ballroom blazed with crystal chandeliers, glasses clinking with aged wine, and every guest congratulating him on his son's success as though the crown had finally been passed down. It was a triumph I had worked years for, but all I remember now is how wrong it felt.
Because while the world applauded me, it was also Amara's birthday.
She had stood on the edge of the ballroom in a dress that did not sparkle, in shoes that did not shine, trying to shrink into the wallpaper as the crowd swirled past her. No one sang for her. No one offered her a gift or a cake.
My victory had swallowed her day whole, and instead of being the boy who once used to sneak roses into her hand, I had become the man who allowed her light to be dimmed.
Later that evening, she waited for me in the rose garden. She looked so young, so brave, and so unbearably fragile. Her hands trembled as she spoke, as she whispered the words she had clearly rehearsed for hours, her first confession of love.
And God help me, I crushed it.
I told her to stop believing in fairytales. That she needed to grow up. That I could never see her the way she wanted me to. I still see the way her eyes broke when I said it, the way that bright spark in her gaze died all at once. She did not argue. She did not scream. She just turned away, and in that silence, I felt myself splinter.
I walked back to the ballroom, pretending it had not mattered, pretending it was just another childish dream I had extinguished. But every step away from her felt like I was leaving my own heart behind in that garden.
Hours later, guilt clawed at me until I could not breathe. I left the celebration, slipping through the darkened halls until I reached the servants' quarters. I told myself I would apologize, that I would make it right somehow. But as I reached the doorway, I froze.
Her voice stopped me cold.
She was inside, sobbing, begging her mother to leave the mansion. To take her away from me, from my family, from this gilded cage. Her mother's voice was soft, weary, whispering that they had nowhere to go, no money, no roof waiting for them outside these walls. But Amara kept begging, her voice cracking with desperation.
Amara promised she would work part time jobs, that she would stop studying altogether if it meant they could survive. She said she was tired of being looked at as the maid's daughter, tired of being pitied, tired of being unwanted.
And it broke me.
I leaned against the wall, fists pressed to my temples, my chest splitting open. I had done that to her. My cruelty had pushed her to beg for an escape that would cost her everything.
At midnight, when I was certain she was asleep, her lashes still damp from tears, I returned. I could not face her, not when I was the reason for her brokenness. So I asked for her mother instead. I handed her an envelope thick with bills, my voice low and harsh as though shame itself was strangling me. I told her to take Amara away, to start over, to give her back a chance at dignity.
Her mother tried to refuse, tears shining in her eyes, but I would not allow it. I promised her I would cover Amara's tuition, that I would make sure she had the future she deserved. But she had to keep it a secret. Amara could never know it came from me.
I made her swear.
Because if they stayed, I knew I would lose everything, my control, my place, my armor. Father would sense it and use it, tearing us both apart. So I let her go. I chose the shadows and silence over the truth, even though it hollowed me out.
Her mother kept her word. She sent me photographs when Amara graduated, her cap tilted back, her smile radiant, her eyes full of a future she had carved with her own grit. Each picture was a wound and a balm, proof that she had made it, proof that she no longer needed me.
But the truth never changed. I needed her. And that truth has been my curse ever since.
A muscle ticked in my jaw. Damn Tessa. She was digging too close to the truth, to the parts of me I had buried under years of silence and duty.
"Don't ever bring that up, Tessa," I said quietly. "And don't you dare tell Amara about what you knew. That was between us."
My sister's lips curved into a smug smirk.
"I don't want you to carry another regret," she pressed. "Amara isn't that little girl anymore. She's a woman now. And you know as well as I do our parents wouldn't dare make a scandal out of it."
Her certainty unsettled me, but I kept my expression steady. I leaned back, my tone clipped. "Stop pretending you know what is going on in my head. You can say whatever you want, Tessa. It will not change my decision."
But she was not finished. She never was.
"I'm trying to help you. Don't come to me when you finally realize she's the only one you ever wanted. I'm not blind, Trey. I see the way you look at her when you think no one's watching. I've seen it since we were kids, and I still see it now."
My hand lifted sharply, silencing her before she could strip me bare any further.
"That's enough, Tessa." My tone came out rougher than intended, but she backed down, slipping into silence, pretending to scroll through her phone just as Amara returned to the table.
Her eyes flicked between us, uncertain. "Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with a trace of worry.
"Yeah," I said quickly, forcing a smirk. "Just reprimanding my sister to stop playing cupid." Then, because the devil in me never seemed to sleep, I turned to her and added, "But I'll be honest with you, Amara. Adrian will never be serious with you, so don't keep your hopes up."
The instant flash of hurt in her eyes stabbed at me. I hated myself for saying it, hated the way the words tasted like ash. But I could not stop. Better she think I was cruel than for her to know the truth, that I could not stand the thought of her holding Adrian's hand, laughing at Adrian's jokes. That the sight of her beside him made my blood boil.
I did not even want to be out tonight. But the second I heard Adrian was planning to take her on a date, I made sure Tessa pushed for us to tag along. It was pathetic. Manipulative. Desperate. But I could not watch from a distance, not when another man was trying to claim what I still could not admit I wanted.
I did not know why relief loosened in my chest when Adrian came back and Amara did everything in her power to avoid him. She kept her distance, angling her chair toward Tessa instead, her laughter a little too bright, her voice a little too quick, anything to keep herself from looking at him. Every time Adrian leaned closer, trying to catch her eye, she shifted away, and for reasons I refused to name, it made me feel happy.
Or maybe not happy. Something sharper. Possessive.
Instead of indulging Adrian's easy charm, Amara let Tessa pull her into conversation, and somewhere between their teasing and Adrian's sulking silence, she started drinking more than she should. Her glass was never empty for long, and with each sip her cheeks flushed, her words tangled together. Tessa, no better, matched her drink for drink, daring Amara to keep up until both of them dissolved into giggles.
Adrian did not even notice. He was too caught up in himself, too drunk on the idea of Amara to see what was happening right in front of him. He threw back his whiskey like water, shoulders tight, jaw flexing every time Amara laughed at something Tessa whispered. He did not realize she was not laughing for him, that she was avoiding him with every fiber of her being.
And so the three of them, my little sister, Amara, and Adrian, spiraled together into a mess of flushed cheeks and slurred words.
But me? I stayed sober. I let the burn of temptation sit untouched in my glass, my fingers curled tight around the stem as I watched them unravel.
Watched Amara's lashes dip low when she tried to focus, watched her lips part on a sigh as Tessa tugged her into another round, watched Adrian stumble, trying and failing to mask the longing in his eyes.
And I hated it.
I hated how careless Adrian was with her, how he could stand there, drunk and oblivious, while she teetered on the edge of losing herself to the bottle. I hated how Tessa, in her reckless affection, pushed Amara past her limit just to make her forget what hurt.
And yet, beneath the anger, I could not stop the warmth spreading through me. Because Amara had not given Adrian what he wanted. She had not leaned into him, had not surrendered to his charm. She chose distance, chose distraction, even if it meant losing herself in the glass.
It was reckless. It was dangerous. And it was the only thing keeping me from tearing Adrian away from her.
So I stayed sober, watching. Waiting. Ready to step in when the night finally collapsed around us.