Chapter 6

A week before his twenty-fifth birthday, a vicious flu laid Donavan low. He was confined to his bed, feverish and weak. The news of his illness traveled fast.

Kortney, Danielle, and Jinnie arrived at the estate within the hour, their faces masks of concern. They bustled into his room, took his temperature, and fluffed his pillows. But their attention was a fleeting thing.

After the initial performance of care, they spent most of their time downstairs, in the sunroom, laughing and talking with Jeb. Jeb, who had fully "recovered" from his "injuries" and was now a permanent fixture in the Pittman household, a cherished guest of the three heiresses.

From his sickbed, Donavan would hear their laughter drifting up the stairs. He observed it all with a detached, clinical coldness. He was a sociologist studying a strange, alien tribe and their bizarre rituals of devotion.

Occasionally, one of them would come up to check on him.

"You're looking better, Donny," Jinnie said one afternoon, standing in the doorway. Her eyes scanned the room, a slight frown on her face. "Your room feels... emptier. Did you redecorate?"

The custom-made bookshelves Kortney had gifted him were gone. The antique globe from Danielle's father was missing. Everything that tied him to them was slowly being erased.

"Just cleaning things out," Donavan murmured, his voice hoarse. "Don't like clutter."

She looked at him with a flicker of suspicion, but before she could press the issue, Jeb's voice called from downstairs. "Jinnie! Come see this funny video!"

"Coming!" she called back, her face instantly brightening. She gave Donavan a quick, distracted smile and was gone.

He was a sick man, and they left him for a cat video. The thought was so bleakly funny that a dry, rasping cough, which might have been a laugh, shook his body.

His birthday arrived, and with it, his health returned. The estate was abuzz with preparations for his gala, the social event of the season. The night before the party, his parents came to his study.

"Son," his father said, closing the door behind them. "Tomorrow night. All of Boston will be there. It would be the perfect time to make your announcement."

"Announce the engagement," his mother clarified, her eyes hopeful. She still didn't understand his choice of Alexa Cain, but she trusted his newfound resolve.

"I agree," Donavan said simply.

As his parents left, he saw a shadow lurking in the hallway. It was Jeb. He had clearly been eavesdropping. His face was ashen.

"Mr. Pittman," Jeb stammered, stepping into the study. "Are you... are you really getting married?"

"Yes," Donavan said, not looking up from his papers.

"But... to who?" Jeb's voice was a desperate whisper.

Donavan ignored him. He was a gnat, a buzzing annoyance he would soon be rid of forever.

The night of the gala was a spectacle of wealth and power. The ballroom glittered with diamonds and chandeliers. Kortney, Danielle, and Jinnie were the stars of the evening, dressed in breathtaking gowns, surrounded by admirers. They moved through the crowd with an anxious energy, their eyes constantly seeking out Donavan.

The whispers followed him everywhere.

"Look at them. He has to choose one of them tonight."

"My money's on Kortney Mason. Their families are the oldest allies."

"I don't know, Danielle Peterson looks confident."

Donavan sipped his champagne and listened, a ghost at his own party.

The trio finally cornered him near the grand staircase.

"Donny, you have to tell us," Kortney demanded, her voice low and urgent. "Your father is about to go on stage. Who did you choose?"

"My fiancée's name is of no concern to you," he replied, his voice chillingly polite.

"Of course it's our concern!" Danielle hissed, her composure cracking. "It has to be one of us!"

The look on their faces was not one of love, but of sheer, cornered panic.

His father, Hillard, stepped onto the stage, tapping the microphone. A hush fell over the ballroom.

"Thank you all for coming to celebrate my son Donavan's twenty-fifth birthday," he began, his voice booming through the speakers. "Tonight is a special night, not just for a birthday, but for an important announcement about the future of the Pittman family."

A wave of excited murmurs rippled through the crowd. The Mason, Peterson, and Pierce family elders all beamed, beckoning their daughters to their sides.

Kortney, Danielle, and Jinnie exchanged panicked, triumphant glances. They were still convinced this was all a game, and one of them was about to be declared the winner. They reluctantly moved to stand with their families, their faces a mixture of dread and anticipation.

"And now," his father said, smiling at him. "I'll let Donavan himself share the good news."

His father gestured for him to come on stage. The spotlight found him. This was the moment. The final, public severing.

He took a step toward the stage.

And then, the world went haywire.

A loud screech of static erupted from the speakers. The massive video screen behind the stage, which had been displaying a placid Pittman family crest, flickered and changed.

An image of Jeb Clayton's face filled the screen. He was in a dimly lit room, tears streaming down his face. The entire ballroom gasped.

The video began to play.