Chapter 196
Chapter 196:
Alistair’s jaw tightened.
“It’s not about love, and it’s certainly not about money,” he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “The Hayes family is under investigation by Interpol. Victoria is the informant. If I don’t play the doting fiancé, the Triad puts a bullet in her head. It’s a protection detail, Skye. Nothing more. She’s staying at my estate because it’s the only fortress in the city they can’t breach p>
Skye laughed. It was a brittle sound. “Protection detail? That’s a new one p>
Alistair flinched. “Don’t compare me to him p>
“Then give me the truth!” Skye slammed her hand on the desk. “Is she expecting to marry you p>
Alistair hesitated. “She… has to pretend to. For now p>
“Pretend,” Skye repeated. She stood. “So I’m the mistress. The side piece while you play house with the heiress for politics p>
“It’s not like that p>
“Get out,” Skye said, pointing to the door. “Go handle your fake fiancée. I have a company to run p>
Alistair stared at her, frustration radiating off him. “Skye, you’re making a mistake p>
“The mistake was thinking I needed a man to save me,” Skye said coldly. “Goodbye, Mr. Thorne p>
Alistair stormed out.
Skye sank back into her chair. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
That night, she broke into Alistair’s study—she still had the key—to retrieve a file she’d left there. On his desk, facedown, was a photo frame.
She turned it over.
It was a photo of Alistair and Victoria, laughing on a sailboat. On the back, in fresh ink, it read: To Alistair, my only safe harbor. Forever yours, V.
Skye felt her heart crack. It wasn’t just an old photo.
𝗢p𝘵𝗂𝗺𝘢𝗹 𝗿𝗲adin𝗴 е𝘹p𝖾𝗿𝗂𝖾ոс𝘦 o𝘯 b𝖾l𝗻𝘰v𝘦𝗅ѕ.𝘤о𝘮
The ink was wet.
“Fine,” she whispered, placing the photo back down. “Message received p>
Her phone pinged. An invitation.
The Thorne Annual Charity Gala. Mr. Alistair Thorne and Guest. It was tomorrow night. Victoria would be there. Liam would likely try to crash it.
Skye deleted the text. Then she undeleted it.
“I’m not hiding,” she told the empty room. “If they want a show, I’ll give them a finale p>
The Thorne Estate was a palace of light and music. Chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the hundreds of guests swirling below.
Skye stood at the top of the grand staircase.
She had rejected the stylists’ suggestions of soft pastels and reds. Tonight, she was mourning her stupidity.
She wore black.
It was a gown of crushed black velvet, strapless and fitted to her body like a glove before flaring at the knee into a dramatic mermaid tail. Around her neck glittered a necklace of emeralds and diamonds—sharp, cold, and obscenely expensive. Long black gloves covered her arms.