Page 6 of By His Vow

“What are the conditions?” I ask, already dreading the response.

“After a year of marriage, the cottage will become yours,” Richard states.

All the air rushes from my lungs.

That’s all I want. That little cottage in the middle of a quaint little village in the Cotswolds in England.

I’d requested to buy it several times. But he always refused. He knew it was something he could hold over me, to force me to do his bidding. Because he knew how much I loved it.

“That’s not fair,” I argue.

“Wills often aren’t, my dear,” Richard says softly. “Unfortunately, the wishes of those who’ve moved on often don’t make that much sense to those who have been left behind.”

“What else did he say?”

His eyes hold mine. Sympathy oozes from them, and my skin erupts in goosebumps.

“If you don’t do this, you lose everything.”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

“Your apartment, your car, your job, your trust fund. Everything.”

“He can’t do that,” Miles roars.

“All of it belongs to your father. He can do whatever he wants.”

“No, there must be a loophole. You’ve got to find a way around this,” Miles begs.

All the while, Michael and Kingston sit behind us silently, probably enjoying the spectacle.

They already know the answer to Miles’s question. Hell, even I know the answer to Miles’s question. But until I hear it from the lips of the man who knows everything then?—

“There is no loophole. I’m sorry, Tatum, but you have two options. Get everything you ever wanted, or walk away with nothing.”

“Why?” I repeat. “Why would he do this?”

No one responds. Although I don’t for a second think that it’s because no one knows the answer.

The two men sitting behind me know everything.

There’s movement, and all the hairs on the back of my neck lift.

I know who’s going to speak long before his deep voice fills the room, but it still startles me.

“Would you all mind leaving my fiancée and me to discuss this private matter with Richard alone?”

“F-fiancée?” I stutter, my voice full of venom and disbelief. “I am not your fucking fiancée.”

His expression hardens, the tendons in his neck tightening with frustration.

I stare up at him, ignoring the height difference between us, and narrow my eyes.

“I am not, and will never be, your anything.”

The air crackles between us as my body burns red hot with a potent mixture of anger and disbelief.

“There has to be another way,” Miles muses again, but when no response comes, he sighs and concedes.