She sniffles again. "But why her? It could be anyone else."
I gaze past her, my mind already running through the necessities. "She can defend herself, plus her background is suitable."
The truth is that, the Chair woman who is also my grandmother, is now frail, weak. To take up my rightful position as head of the family, I must adhere to my late grandfather's binding instructions: I need to be married.
This promotion also means I instantly have a bigger target on my back. I cannot bring myself to put Angelica, who is like a delicate flower, in harm's way. I need a decoy.
And her half-sister, Tyr, is perfectly suited for the job. She is ruthless, financially beholden, and, crucially, unbreakable. I have just signed her up to take the bullet.
"It's only one year," I say, my voice a promise forged in necessity. "After that, I will marry you, and you will be the legitimate Mrs. Vastano."
Angelica's lips finally curve into a faint, fragile smile. My mission is affirmed. I turn to leave, ready to put distance between us and the Alaister house.
But she reaches for my hand. I stop and look back at her. Angelica bites her lower lip, her gaze anxious. "Just protect her," she whispers, the request surprising me. "I don't want her to get hurt."
"Mm," I acknowledge, a committal affirmation that I will uphold the terms of the contract. I can handle her physical safety. I then walk away, my mind already on the next task.
The group of bodyguards files into the other two vehicles waiting by the fountain. Seth opens the door of my car for me, silent and efficient. I slide into the seat, and Seth closes the door. We drive out of the property, leaving the opulent, corrupt house behind.
I pull out my phone, immediately responding to a backlog of messages.
"Boss, isn't that Miss Alaister?" Seth asks suddenly, his voice sharp with surprise.
I look up. On the side of the road, a long distance from the gate, is Tyr. But she's not alone. She is leaning against a sleek sports car with a man whose face is immediately familiar.
"Isn't that Chandler Dean, the F1 driver?" Seth confirms my suspicion.
I meet Chandler's eyes as we drive past, but I'm sure because of the tinted windows, he couldn't see anything inside. Tyr is talking to him, her posture relaxed yet challenging. She has a way of looking like she's about to either kiss or punch someone.
As we accelerate, Seth hands over the tablet. I take a look at the file he's pulled up on Chandler Dean. The information confirms what I already know. Dean is a playboy who can't go a week without being associated with a different woman. His girlfriends are numerous, and his reputation is a scandal waiting to happen.
"Should I send her a warning?" Seth asks, referring to Tyr. The contract explicitly forbids scandalous relationships.
I tap my thigh with my index finger once, considering the optics. A quiet threat to Tyr might make her stubborn. A public move will force her hand.
"No," I say, my decision final. "But make the engagement announcement tomorrow."
"But—" Seth begins, looking confused, ready to argue the sudden haste.
I glare at him, my patience exhausted. Seth immediately shuts it. The faster Tyr's private life is legally and publicly shackled to mine, the better.
***
TYR POV
I walk past the heavy gates and walk, needing the movement to burn off the residual fury. I want to calm myself down, to clear my head with some fresh air before I trust myself to hail a ride. The day is cool, and the long road is mercifully empty.
Just when I turn the corner onto the main street, a low, sleek sports car whizzes past me. It's gone almost before I register the color. I don't think anything of it until the car stops abruptly and the expensive engine whines as it reverses. It pulls up right beside me, and the window lowers.
The driver leans against the steering wheel. "Tyr, damn, it really is you."
When I see Chandler Dean's smug face, I sigh. Of all the people in this entire sprawling city, it has to be this idiot. My luck today must be truly shitty.
"Don't tell me you're stalking me," I say, leaning down slightly, my tone deliberately teasing. "It was only one drunk kiss, and I had mistook you for someone else."
Chandler laughs, but it's a practiced, dramatic sound. He pushes off the steering wheel and gets out of the car. "Tyr, you really know how to strike where it hurts—in the heart." He holds his chest, faking injury.
I chuckle, the sound dry. "You? A heart? I'm pretty sure you don't fucking have one."
"Says the woman who ghosted me," he counters smoothly, sitting on the hood of his car like he's posing for a magazine cover. He pulls out a cigarette. "What are you doing here?"
I move quickly, snatching the cigarette right out of his fingers before he can light it. "Came to visit family," I say.
He lights the cigarette for me, the little flame illuminating the cynical amusement in his eyes. "You still fuck with them?"
"No," I reply, taking the cigarette to my lips and inhaling deeply. "They are fucking with me."
I take a long drag, the smoke sharp and clean. Suddenly, I feel that these expensive, imported cigarettes actually do a better job at calming my tense nerves than anything else.
Chandler smiles, resting his chin on his knee. "If you want a new home, you can come live with me. I will be your family," he suggests with a wicked chuckle.
I lift my hand and slowly raise my middle finger at his proposition.
Chandler catches my hand mid-air, bringing it to his lips. "Gladly, if you let me," he murmurs, his eyes laughing.
I roll my eyes and yank my hand back. "Don't touch me," I instruct, already wiping my fingers on my sweatpants. "Who knows where those fingers have been."
He curls the corner of his lip, leaning in close until I can smell the expensive cologne and tobacco on his breath. He whispers, "You know, this means I have a lot of experience in that department. Care to try it?"
I stare him down. "No need. My fingers do just fine."
Chandler throws his head back and laughs out loud, a boisterous sound that echoes in the quiet street. He quickly pulls himself together, but his gaze fixes past me. I follow his line of sight and see three black cars, sleek, expensive, and intimidating, pass by, heading down the street.
Chandler keeps staring at the cars, clearly intrigued. I gently kick his knee with the side of my sneaker.
Chandler, ever the drama queen, gasps. "Ah, ah, my knee! Tyr, my career is over! You have to take responsibility." He clutches his knee dramatically.
"I will give you something to cry about," I promise, and smack the back of his head with an open palm.
He yelps, rubbing the spot. "Tyr, you are indeed heartless."
I put out the cigarette on the sole of my shoe and ask, "Are you busy?"
"No, why?" he says, sliding off the hood, his interest instantly piqued. "Do you want to come to my place?"
"You would love that, wouldn't you?" I deadpan. "Just drop me off somewhere."
Chandler immediately becomes giddy. He walks around to the passenger side, opens the car door with a sweeping gesture, and bows slightly. "Yes, madam."
He puts out his own cigarette, climbs into the driving seat, and starts the engine with a throaty roar.