Chapter 2: Loyalties and Sacrifice

Once Miles left, I heard from the maid that the little one had been to my studio, which startled me into rushing to check my painting. My heart hammered as I tore down the hallway. Every step echoed off the polished floors. I couldn’t get there fast enough.

The painting was still there, untouched. Seeing no sign of disturbance, I finally relaxed. Relief washed over me, leaving me shaky and strangely disappointed. Maybe I wanted her to see it, just a little. Maybe I wanted her to know.

The little one was still young, pampered and delicate at the Delacroix estate. As the overlooked fifth son, how could I let her know how I felt? The thought was laughable—and it hurt. I had nothing to offer her but shadows and scars.

But the little one changed, as if she started to deliberately keep her distance from me. Her laughter was a little quieter, her gaze a little more guarded. I felt her slipping away, and it scared me more than anything. I’d never admit it, but it did.

I thought she must have seen that painting. Maybe, in her heart, someone as cold and brooding as me wasn’t a good match. Maybe she realized what I was before I did. That thought stung more than I cared to admit.

I told myself, maybe she was still young. As long as I stayed by her side, as long as I wasn’t so cold and distant, she’d eventually see my good side. I tried to be patient, to wait her out. But patience was never my strong suit. Never has been.

But things didn’t go as I wished. Life has a way of laughing at your plans. You think you’re in control—then everything shifts.

Dad fell gravely ill, and all my brothers started circling Harrison’s position like sharks. The air in the house grew thick with tension. Every conversation a battle. Every glance a threat. You could feel it, heavy as a storm cloud.

After being protected by Harrison for so many years, in the end, I had to repay him. Loyalty runs deep in the Grant blood, even when love does not. That’s just the way it is—like it or not.

I could only become even more ruthless, even colder, to clear away all obstacles for my brother. I became the family’s blade, cutting down threats before they could take root. It wasn’t pretty, but it was necessary.

In two years, I wiped out every challenge, my hands metaphorically stained with blood, just so Harrison could inherit the family estate without a hitch. I did what needed to be done, no matter the cost. My reputation was already blackened; what was one more sin?

“Emmy is about to turn twenty-one—let me grant you two a marriage!” Not long after Harrison became head of the family, he said this to me in his study. His tone was light, but his eyes? Sharp as ever. He didn’t miss a thing.

My brother had always been sharp—how could I hide my feelings from him? He’d known all along, of course. Brothers always do. No use pretending.

But I thought about how, in these past two years, although the little one treated me as before, she kept her distance. If she was unwilling, how could I force her? I’d rather cut off my own hand than hurt her. That’s just the truth.

“Let’s wait a while,” I said, withdrawing from the study. Looking up at the crescent moon, I remembered Valentine’s Day was near. The night was cold, the city lights a distant shimmer. I stood there a long moment, lost in thought.

The little one loved watching the lantern parade downtown. She’d talk about it for weeks, her eyes lighting up every time. Made me want to see it through her eyes, just once.

But when she came to see the lanterns, she brought Quinn Rowe with her. Quinn was always the buffer between us—steady, easygoing. She made things less awkward, but sometimes I wished it was just the two of us.

Quinn looked at me apologetically: “It was Emmy who dragged me along.” Her voice was gentle, almost regretful. I nodded, pretending it didn’t sting. I was used to this by now; this was the third year the three of us went to the lantern parade together. Every year, I told myself it would be the last. But every year, I went anyway.

The little one clearly didn’t want any further entanglements with me, but how could I be willing? I’d tasted sunlight—I couldn’t go back to living in the dark. Not now, not ever.

Having seen the sun, how could I go back to the dark? That thought haunted me, a refrain I couldn’t shake. I told myself it didn’t matter, but it did.

“Emmy, will you marry me?” I asked softly as she looked at the lanterns. My voice barely made a sound, but it felt like shouting in church. My heart was in my throat.

I watched her closely, forcing a gentle smile. No one knew that my hand at my side was clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palm. The pain kept me anchored. Kept me from shaking apart.

She widened her eyes at me, then looked at Quinn, seemingly startled, and then her eyes filled with anger. A storm gathered in her eyes—fierce, sudden.

“No way! That’s the one I like!” Her voice was full of anger, her small hand pointing at the man standing under the lanterns not far away. Her words cut deeper than any knife. I felt it, sharp as anything I’d ever known.

Of course I knew that man—he was a young Army captain named Lucas Jennings. He had the kind of face that made mothers sigh and daughters swoon. I’d never liked him. Not for a second.

I released my clenched fist. Never had I felt such coldness from head to toe as I did at that moment. It was as if the sun that should have belonged to me suddenly ran off with someone else. The world felt hollow, colorless. For a moment, I didn’t know what to do.

The whole city knew Emmy and Lucas Jennings were engaged; after all, there was no other case of a girl chasing a guy so openly. It was Maple Heights gossip for months—her laughter echoing down Main Street, his awkward, blushing acceptance. It stung every time I heard it.

“If only I’d let you two marry earlier, this wouldn’t have happened, right?” Harrison set down a chess piece, forcing me into a corner. His voice was gentle. The words stung.

I conceded, shook my head, and smiled: “I won’t force her.” My voice sounded steady, but inside I was unraveling. I was used to being alone; even if I remained alone all my life, it didn’t matter to me. That’s what I told myself, anyway.