I am done. The contract is signed, the deal is done, and my obligation to stay in this suffocating room is over.
I get up from the couch, placing the now-signed contract on the coffee table. Without so much as a glance or a word of good-bye, I walk out, my steps imposing and loud on the polished floor.
I am furious with my grandfather for setting this trap, for using my father as bait without so much as a word. But the moment I recall the images of the bank ledger and the need to be the one helping my father, I restrain the anger, keeping it locked down in my core.
I stride into the lounge. My grandfather spots me and struts over, his Cheshire Cat smile still plastered on his face. "Did you behave yourself?" he asks, his tone condescending.
I bypass him, not stopping, and walk straight out the front door. Behind me, I can hear the old man scold me, his voice rising in outrage, but I truly don't care.
I reach the fountain, moving quickly toward the gate.
Just then, I hear my mother's nectar-like voice calling my name. "Tyr! Tyr!"
I don't stop walking. I keep pushing forward, ignoring the sound.
Then, the voice changes, softening and twisting the knife just right. "TT!"
I finally stop. TT is the nickname only my father uses. It's a violation for her to use it. I turn and glare at her. She rushes toward me, perfectly coiffed and utterly clueless. I walk back toward her and get right in her face, forcing Amara to stumble back a step.
I speak in a cold whisper, the fury concentrated and lethal. "Don't you dare call me that ever."
Our gazes lock for a moment, a lifetime of resentment packed into one second. Amara reaches out, her hand aiming to hold mine. "Tyr, this is for your good."
I take my hand away instantly. "Don't touch me."
I turn to walk away again, but she follows, her voice earnest. "This is good. Think of it as helping your father pay off his debts."
I stop, my teeth gritted. I turn back, my body language screaming danger. "Don't you dare talk about him. He is none of your business. Also, if it was such a good thing, why didn't you let your precious daughter do it? Why didn't you sell her, huh?"
I let a sinister smile spread across my face. "Oh, I forgot. She is too precious. Unlike a child from a filthy affair, right?"
Amara's face falls, the polished facade cracking. Her eyes redden, threatening a flood of tears. But I don't wait for those tears to drop or for her to play the victim. I have had enough. I turn and storm off, the engine of my fury revving, leaving her standing alone by the fountain.
***
VEGA POV
I sit in the deep leather chair, the silence of the study settling in after the storm named Tyr. I click and unclick the pen several times, the small metallic sound the only noise in the vast room. I'm running the scene back in my mind, the chaos, the fury, the sheer, unbridled force of her presence.
"She is intimidating," Seth, my secretary, finally manages, his voice a low strain. "Scary, even."
My fingers, which were about to press the pen again, pause. I turn my head slightly and gaze at him with the corner of my eye.
"How is your shoulder?" I ask.
Seth sucks in air, a tiny, involuntary hiss of pain. "It's fine."
I recall the scene earlier today. We were leaving the hospital after seeing the chairwoman. Tyr had walked out, blind with rage, and bummed into me hard, walking away without so much as a glance or an apology.
When Seth tried to stop her, to politely get her attention, she had executed a flawless shoulder throw, slamming him hard on the ground. Seth is a large man, easily twice her size. I knew she was strong, but I didn't think she'd actually move him like that.
I was right. Tyr was the perfect decoy.
I stand up. My steps are slow and deliberate. I walk out of the office and into the lounge where the rest of the Alaister family members are gathered, their faces eager, expectant, and completely transparent. They all disgust me, their greed visible in the way they hold their crystal glasses.
Well, all except for Angelica.
After that night, the memory of which is always a dull ache beneath my ribs, I vowed to protect her and love her deeply. I know she is weak, but she is the only person in this world worth protecting. Thus, I could only resort to this method a marriage of convenience with the most viable shield to protect her.
I ignore them all and walk directly over to Angelica. She's sitting on the couch, her head lowered, her expression still appearing wronged and fragile. I reach down, grab her wrist gently, and lead her outside.
The others start to follow, their greedy questions already forming. I raise my hand, a silent, absolute command. Seth immediately steps forward, blocking their path.
"Mr. Alaister," Seth says to the old man, his voice smooth and professional, "everything you have been promised will be taken care of, sir. There is no need to worry."
I lead Angelica out, her small hand trembling in my grasp. We stop just inside the doorway to the front of the mansion. I reach for her face, intending to cup her cheek gently, but Angelica flinches, pulling her head back as though to reject my touch.
My fingers freeze mid-air. Despite her reaction, I gently pinch her chin and force her tear-stained face up to look at me. Her tears are dropping like pearls, each one a tiny stab of guilt.
I wipe the corner of her eye with my thumb. "If you keep crying like this," I say, my voice low and steady, "they will think I bullied you."
I release her, but she instantly grasps my hand and rubs her cheek against my palm, a desperate, kitten-like gesture.
"I thought I could handle it," she sniffles, her voice catching. "But it hurts knowing you will marry someone else."
I take out a clean, crisp handkerchief and hand it to her. I watch her wipe her tears, studying her delicate features, her vulnerability.
"Remember what I said that night," I prompt.
Angelica purses her lips, her cheeks becoming even redder. The memory of that night, the promise, is a silent pact between us.
"I said from that moment on, you are mine and no one else will take your place," I reiterate, making the vow absolute.