Chapter 8 Lines In The Sand

Vanessa stood rooted in the grand marble floor, with the envelope still trembling in her hands. Cathan's gaze bore into her, colder than any winter she had ever endured. In the distance, the wall clock kept ticking once, twice, with each sound feeling like a countdown of something inevitable.

"I did not know about this," she said finally, her voice low.

"You didn't know?" Cathan's tone was almost mocking, but sarcastic. "You seem to inspire loyalty easily."

The accusation stung her more sharply than she cared to admit. She shoved the note down into her pocket and turned away to leave, struggling to breathe against the tightening band around her chest.

Behind her, were the murmured whispers floating from the dining room. Cousins, aunts, and second cousins she barely knew, all indulging in a favorite Hartwell's pastime; judging.

Cathan's hand swiveled forward, grabbing her wrist. Gently, but firmly.

"We need to talk," he said.

She pulled away. "We have nothing to say to each other."

Without waiting for his reply, she climbed the staircase two steps at a time, desperate for space, for air. The corridors upstairs were quieter, the heavy silence only broken by the distant clatter of servants clearing dishes.

She pushed the door of her assigned bedroom and shut the door behind her, slumping against it.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs. How had everything escalated so fast?

Just as she wiped at her eyes, the door opened without warning. Cathan entered, his face unreadable.

"You do not just storm off mid-scandal," he said, shutting the door firmly. "You're part of this family now, whether you want it or not."

Vanessa folded her arms. "Then maybe you should tell your family to start treating me like one of their own."

That made him pause for a second.

He crossed the room slowly, his towering presence shrinking the space between them. For a second, she thought he might yell or lecture her, but instead, he sat heavily on the edge of her couch, grazing his hand through his hair.

"You are right," he muttered. "You did not ask for this."

She stared at him, thrown off by the sudden honesty.

"Neither did I," he continued. "I was supposed to marry Madison, that was the plan. A clean and perfect alliance. The business, our reputation, and our future are secured."

Vanessa's stomach twisted into a knot. So it was true.

She thought about the words in Reggie's note; Ask Cathan about the engagement contract with Madison.

"I see," she said, her voice tight.

Cathan looked up at her. "My parents found out about something Madison was hiding. Something that would have destroyed everything. So they ended it. Quietly. Before the press got to know about it."

"What was she hiding?"

He hesitated. "It was an affair, with someone from Patrick's family. Our enemies."

"Oh," Vanessa said, her throat dry.

"She didn't love me," Cathan said. "She only loved the idea of being a Hartwell."

He paced around, restlessly. "When the marriage collapsed, my parents had to quickly find a replacement. They didn't want the media or our business rivals finding a weakness against us."

"And that replacement... was me," Vanessa whispered.

"Yes."

The word felt like a hammer hit her.

Downstairs, in the massive servants' quarters, Anna the housekeeper, whispered to the gardener, Micheal.

"They say she is causing trouble already," Anna said, sipping hot coffee from a chipped mug.

Michael chuckled. "I give her three months before she cries back, running to her family."

"Do not underestimate her," Anna said darkly. "The ones who survive here? They are the ones you least expect."

Their laughter followed them into the hallways.

Vanessa's P.O.V

Three hours later, Vanessa sat alone in the garden, beneath the heavy scent of the tall mango tree. She needed to think and to feel without all the eyes watching her like hawks.

A rustle in the garden made her body stiffen. She turned and found Reggie.

He looked tired, but he had a determined look.

"I told you not to come," she said.

"I had to," he said simply. "You are not safe here."

Vanessa blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Rumors are flying around," Reggie said, stepping closer. "Deals are being made behind your back. If Cathan's parents think you are a liability, they will cut you loose."

"And you expect me to just run away with you?"

Reggie reached out, touching her wrist lightly. "I want you to choose yourself."

For a moment, Vanessa imagined it; running, starting fresh somewhere else where the Hartwell's name meant nothing.

But she knew better that running would follow her like a shadow.

Before she could answer, another voice cut through the night.

"I suggest you remove your hands from my wife."

Cathan.

He stood on the stone path, his hands shoved in his pockets, but there was a warning in his voice and stance.

Reggie dropped his hand. "You do not deserve her."

"That is not your decision to make."

"You are keeping her trapped in a golden cage," Reggie said. "You treat her like a problem to be managed."

Cathan's jaw tightened. "And you think you can offer her freedom? You are just another man offering cages, painted prettier."

Vanessa stepped between them. " It's enough! Both of you!"

They both froze.

She turned to Reggie. "I appreciate what you are trying to do. I really do, but this is my fight."

Pain flickered across his face, but he nodded, stepping back into the shadows.

Vanessa faced Cathan.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Cathan broke the silence. "I don't want to be your cage."

"Then stop treating me like I am in one," she said.

Something shifted in his eyes. A flicker of something raw and terrifying: vulnerability.

"I don't know how to do this," he said quietly. "I was raised to think love was a weakness, that survival meant control."

Vanessa's breath hitched.

She had expected many things from Cathan. Arrogance, ego, coldness,, and pride.

But not this.

"I am not asking you to love me," she said, her voice trembling. "I am just asking you to respect me."

Cathan closed the distance between them. For a moment, it felt like the entire world narrowed down to just them, the warm night air buzzing with possibility.

His hand brushed against hers.

Small and hesitant.

"I can try," he said.

And for the first time, maybe she believed him.

Miles away, at an exclusive rooftop hotel in the city, Madison Smith sipped champagne and laughed with her latest conquest, a junior executive with a famous last name.

But when her assistant approached, whispering something in her ear, Madison's smile froze.

"The Hartwell's boy married that poor girl," her assistant said. "And rumor says... he's starting to care about her."

Madison's eyes darkened.

"Well," she said, setting her glass down. "We can not have that, can we?"

She tapped her manicured nails against her phone, contemplating her next move.

And just like that.

War was declared.