Chapter 6: The Final Reckoning

Then I left without looking back.

I closed the door behind me, shutting out the noise and the pain. For the first time in years, I felt truly free.

$2,000 isn’t little, but far from enough to cover expenses. To save face, Trevor had to use Mrs. Whitaker’s assets. He really is foolish—he enjoyed the prestige, the second branch enjoyed the benefits, but he paid the bill. Because of money, Trevor and Savannah fell out. He tried to take back authority, but Uncle Mark refused. "If Savannah doesn’t manage, let Aunt Susan do it," he said.

Uncle Mark’s voice was final, brooking no argument. Trevor looked lost, his authority slipping through his fingers like water. The staff whispered, already speculating about who would be in charge next.

"We only have a few women; do you want to manage yourself?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Trevor’s face turned red, his fists clenched. He was out of his depth, and everyone knew it.

Trevor, only thirteen and still in school, couldn’t take over. So he came to me again, bringing gifts and apologizing at my door, recounting our ten years together to rekindle sibling affection. I stood under the maple tree, watching the leaves fall, feeling a sadness hard to describe. My birth parents died early; since I could remember, I lived with my uncle. He was decent, but poor, and with me as a burden, no woman would marry him. Over time, he resented me, beating me when unhappy, caning me when drunk. I did all the chores, scraped for money to avoid starving. So when Mrs. Whitaker, like a guardian angel, appeared and asked if I wanted to be her daughter, I knelt and cried yes. She told me frankly that our relationship was a transaction—she gave me status, taught me to read and manage, gave me a home, and in return I must live for Trevor. I cherished this, knowing it could change my life. But I longed for a real family, even if it was a transaction. So I treated Trevor with all my heart, as true family. But he never saw me as family. I was his hands, feet, cook, doctor, maid, purse—everything but family. So when he was unhappy, he clipped my wings; when he lost, he wanted me to fix it. To him, I was always at his beck and call. I told the reminiscing Trevor outside: "Our sibling bond is over. Take care of yourself."

The wind rustled the leaves, carrying my words away. Trevor stared at me, his eyes wide and hurt. I felt nothing—no guilt, no regret. Just relief.

The sounds outside stopped for five breaths, then Trevor, like an angry cub, pounded the door and roared: "Evelyn Whitaker, you ungrateful, lowly girl! It’s an honor for you to work for me; don’t think you’re something! Lock me out? Smash it! Smash it hard!"

His tantrum echoed through the house, but I didn’t move. I let him rage, knowing it would pass. I was done being his scapegoat.

Trevor smashed my room and took my jewelry box. He pointed at me, demanding I kneel before Mrs. Whitaker’s memorial. I sneered and, with Quinn and Bobby, prepared to leave. Trevor ordered the staff to tie me up, but before they could approach, Bobby broke their arms. I left smoothly, and a car was waiting at the gate. Trevor, losing all dignity, shouted at the gate: "If you leave, don’t call yourself a Whitaker again!"

His words were empty threats, the last gasp of a boy who’d lost everything. I didn’t look back.

He looked uglier than my uncle. I stepped into the car, turned back, and said: "I’ve never cared for that identity."

My voice was calm, final. I watched the house recede in the rearview mirror, feeling lighter with every mile.

I rode openly to Oak & Vine. Melody greeted me, led me to a private lounge, and within half an hour, news that the Whitaker trustee smashed his sister’s room, stole her jewelry, and drove her out spread through Maple Heights. Melody, afraid I’d be wronged, had the storytellers and waiters emphasize that it was because the trustee was broke, not my fault. I laughed, saying I wasn’t as concerned about reputation as other girls, only wanting a proper reason to leave. Melody said seriously: "Boss, that’s not right. You’re still unmarried."

Her concern was touching, if a bit old-fashioned. I smiled, grateful for her loyalty. She poured me a glass of wine, her eyes full of mischief.

She knew I was engaged, but also that the Jennings family would soon hear I’d been driven out and would surely break the engagement. If so, I’d be unmarried, right? I smiled: "Trevor actually did a good thing."

I raised my glass, toasting my newfound freedom. Melody laughed, clinking her glass against mine.

But I didn’t get a break-off letter—instead, Mr. Jennings and a pair of geese arrived. Mr. Jennings stood in Oak & Vine’s main hall with the geese, stunning everyone. His assistant, blushing, held a thick list, but he was calm, standing as if about to lead a meeting. Melody invited him in, but he insisted on waiting in the hall, so she fetched me. Facing him before hundreds of onlookers, I regretted making Oak & Vine so big. The assistant bowed deeply, embarrassed: "The Jennings family is at fault; please forgive us. It’s just..."

The sight of Mr. Jennings, standing tall and unflappable in the middle of the crowded hall, was almost comical. The geese honked, adding to the spectacle. I stifled a laugh, trying to maintain my dignity.

He glanced at Mr. Jennings, who said nothing, so the assistant braced himself and continued: "The wedding gifts were to come in half a month, but the young master leaves for Boston tomorrow and wants to confirm the list today..."

The assistant’s voice was nervous, his hands shaking as he held out the list. I took it, scanning the items—everything from fine china to a set of silver spoons. The geese flapped their wings, unimpressed.

Anyone could hear how awkward this was. The assistant finished and handed me the geese. "Just a token, maybe hang them in the hallway?"

I was dumbfounded. "You’re here to confirm the wedding gifts?"

Not to break off the engagement? Mr. Jennings looked at me seriously, frowning, scaring Quinn into hiding behind Melody. He said, "We have a matchmaker’s agreement and a marriage contract. Now you don’t want to marry?"

His tone made it sound like I was the heartless one. I gaped, unable to speak. Mr. Jennings seemed to smile a little. Someone in the crowd shouted, "Marry! Marry!" Melody scolded, "Go drink your wine!"

The crowd erupted in laughter, the tension broken. I felt my cheeks burn, but I managed a smile, leading Mr. Jennings and his assistant to a private lounge.

Oak & Vine burst into laughter. Regaining composure, I led Mr. Jennings and the assistant to the lounge. Someone asked Melody, "Why does Miss Whitaker act like the boss?"

Melody rolled her eyes: "Miss is the owner of Oak & Vine, of course she acts like the boss."

I poured Mr. Jennings tea; his eyes followed my hand to my face, burning and unashamed. I glared at him. He smiled with his eyes and lips. "You do know who your fiancé is."

I muttered, "If I didn’t know who I was marrying, I’d be sold and help count the money."