Chase POV
The food sat between us.
Untouched. Cold. A peace offering from a mother who had no idea what to offer anymore.
I sat in my chair, dressed in ceremonial black with the crested ring on my finger. The pin of the heir on my chest. Everything I was supposed to be. Everything I was pretending to be.
Greyson sat across from me in his usual clothes. He had no intention of watching Tilly walk down the aisle to me and I had no intention of having him there either.
He was healing, slowly I might add. The bruises had faded to yellow and green. The bullet wound was still fresh beneath the bandage.
Neither of us spoke to each other in the two hours our mother had us locked in here.
Neither of us touched the food. We just sat and stared.
The door opened and Mother stepped inside. She stopped in her tracks.
I watched her take in the scene. Two sons sitting quietly in opposite corners, calm as hell. It took wrapping her head around.
