He shook his head—calm, composed, not a single blond hair out of place. Snow had been falling steadily outside, but his perfectly tailored pants were immaculate. Not even Mother Nature dared ruffle him.
"It's okay. I didn't mean to offend you."
His voice was smooth, polite... and completely hollow. Like a shrug dressed in silk.
I hated how calm he was. Hated how calm I was trying to be.
"You didn't," I murmured, my voice small, apologetic. "I just... shouldn't have snapped at you."
"Let's stay focused," he replied, brushing it aside with infuriating ease. "There are a few more things we need to
discuss. Unfortunately, I have a meeting tonight and an early flight tomorrow morning."
"You're heading to New York... for Nicole and Tony's engagement," I said softly.
His brow lifted—barely. "Yes. That's right."
Our family hadn't been invited. Just like with Lauren's party. Those gatherings were always reserved for the core families—New York, Chicago, Georgia. I pretended it didn't sting. Truthfully, I was relieved. I didn't want to be paraded around like some fragile heirloom no one was allowed to touch.
Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet box, placing it gently on the table between us.
I hesitated. My fingers hovered, then slowly curled around the box. I opened it.
Inside sat a diamond ring—cold, brilliant, perfect.
Not long ago, I had slipped off the rings Jason gave me. They had never meant anything. Just props in a farce we both agreed to play.
"I hope you like the design," Grayson said, voice neutral.
"It's beautiful. Thank you."
I slid it onto my finger. He didn't offer to help. Just watched, like he was finalizing a transaction.
And then I saw it.
His right hand.
The wedding ring still sat there.
Something brittle cracked inside my chest.
He still wore it. After all this time.
Was it love? Habit? Some misplaced sense of loyalty he hadn't buried yet?
He noticed me looking. For a fleeting second—just a flicker—his expression shifted. But the emotion passed before
I could name it. No explanation. No apology. Just silence.
"Your father requested a public appearance before the wedding," he continued, as if nothing had happened. "Since
we've agreed not to host an official engagement party—"
We? No one asked me.
"—I suggest we attend the DeTrolio family's annual Christmas party together."
I blinked. "We've been going there every year since I was a child. That sounds... reasonable."
He gave a small, decisive nod. "Then it's settled. I'll let your father know when I'll pick you up."
"You can tell me. I have a phone. I'm not eighty."
A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—briefly tugged at the corners of his mouth before vanishing again.
"Of course. If that's what you prefer."
He pulled out his phone, businesslike, fingers already poised to type. "Your number?"
I gave it, and he entered it with the precision of a man orchestrating a weapons deal.
Then he stood.
So did I.
I took my time smoothing out invisible creases in my skirt, keeping my expression politely pleasant, though irritation
prickled beneath my skin.
"Thank you for your time," he said, tone clipped and formal.
God, I hoped he wasn't always like this. I'd heard the rumors—how he secured his place as Georgia's heir, how he
handled betrayal like it was janitorial work.
There was something dark beneath that calm. Something coiled and watchful.
"You're welcome."
We walked to the door. He opened it for me, ever the gentleman. But there was no warmth. Just duty.
"I'll go get my parents so they can say goodbye."
"I'd like a private word with your father, if you don't mind."
There was no point in asking why. His face was a locked vault.
I turned and walked down the corridor, heels clicking sharply against the marble as I approached my father's office.
A hush fell on the voices inside as I knocked.
The door opened. My father stood there, and behind him, my mother—Isabelle Whitaker—hovered like a hawk, eyes already sweeping over my face with surgical precision.
"Grayson would like a word with you," I said to Dad. Then I turned back to Grayson. "Until the Christmas party, then."
For a second, I debated whether to kiss his cheek. But something about him warned me not to.
Instead, I gave him a small, polite smile and walked away.
Click. Click. Click.
My mother's heels echoed behind me as she caught up and slipped her arm through mine.
"Well?" she asked, practically vibrating with curiosity. "He didn't look thrilled. Savannah, did you say something?"
I rolled my eyes. "Please. Grayson has one face. Just one. You could stab him in the leg and he'd blink once. Maybe twice."
"Shh!" she hissed, casting a nervous glance behind us. "What if he hears you?"
I doubted he'd even care.
She studied me, eyes narrowing. "You should be happy. You've landed quite the match. I'm sure underneath all that
cold, there's a passionate lover just waiting to be unleashed."
"Mamma, stop," I groaned. "Not again."
I'd survived two of her infamous "talks."
One at fifteen—awkward, misinformed, and utterly scarring.
The second, right before I married Jason.
A third might actually kill me.
Still... I hoped she was right.
Jason had never touched me—not like a husband should. I was tired of being a statue. Tired of being untouched,
unseen.
I was ready for more.
Even if it meant risking everything.
Even if it meant Grayson might one day find out the truth...