Chapter 4

Faith Cain POV:

The slap echoed in the cavernous foyer. My cheek burned, a fiery imprint of his rage. Instinct took over, my hand balling into a fist, ready to retaliate. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them-the other guests, emerging from the drawing-room, their faces a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity.

This was their Thanksgiving celebration. I wouldn't be the one to ruin it.

I forced my hand to unclench, letting the anger settle into a cold, hard knot in my stomach. I glared at Brett, at Juliana who was now peering up from the floor with a triumphant smirk hidden behind her tears.

Brett saw the fury in my eyes and for a second, a flicker of regret crossed his face. He took a half-step toward me, his hand reaching out. "Faith, I-"

But Juliana was faster. She wrapped her arms around his legs, clinging to him. "Brett," she whimpered, "my eye... I think I got something in my eye. Can you look?"

It was enough to distract him. As he bent to fuss over her, the whispers started.

"Did you see that? Fighting with her own sister over a man."

"So unseemly. What would her father say?"

"She's bringing shame on the Cain name."

The disgust on Brett's face returned, tenfold. He straightened up, looking down at me as if I were something he'd scraped off his shoe.

"Apologize to Juliana," he commanded. "God, why am I with a woman like you? You're so embarrassing."

Behind him, his cousins were openly snickering.

"If she can't even tolerate her own sister," one of them stage-whispered, "how will she handle it when Brett is with other women?"

"She'll die of jealousy!" another cackled.

The words were a bitter echo of my past. I once told a friend I had taken up boxing because of Brett, vowing to beat up anyone who tried to steal him from me. It had been an impulsive, foolish boast, born of a desperate love. Now, hearing it thrown back in my face, I just felt a profound sense of shame for the girl I used to be.

The laughter swelled around me.

Brett stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, condescending murmur. "My father is going to announce our engagement tonight. If you really want to marry me, don't forget what I told you before."

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Separate wings. No interference. You stay out of my life, and I'll forgive you for being the vicious, insufferable woman you are."

I stared at him, truly baffled. How could a man so educated, from a family so powerful, be so utterly devoid of decency? He saw my silence and mistook it for agreement. A smug, self-satisfied look spread across his face.

"And as long as you listen to me," he added, as if granting a great favor, "I'll make sure you're not embarrassed in public."

He was so certain. So absolutely convinced that I would never choose anyone but him. The crowd of onlookers watched us like it was a play, their eyes hungry for more drama.

Suddenly, a sharp rapping sound cut through the air. The footsteps were firm, authoritative.

Ferdinand's personal assistant, Mr. Harrison, stood at the top of the grand staircase, his face a thunderous mask.

"What is all this commotion?" he barked, his voice carrying an authority that instantly silenced the crowd. "Do you want to upset Mr. Kline?"

Behind him, another figure emerged from the shadows. It was Kaleb.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit and, to my surprise, he was not in his wheelchair. He stood on his own two feet, looking taller and stronger than I had ever seen him. His gaze swept over the scene, landing on me, on the hand I was pressing against my still-stinging cheek.

Without a word, he descended the stairs, walking past Brett, past Juliana, past everyone, and stopped directly in front of me.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice low and steady. It was quiet, but it cut through the tension in the room.

Seeing him there, so unexpectedly strong and concerned, unlocked a memory from the end of my last life. I was wandering the streets, broken and destitute after Brett had cast me aside. A car had pulled up, and Kaleb's face had appeared in the window. "Miss Cain," he had asked, "what are you doing out here?" He never called me by my first name. I always thought it was because he didn't accept me as his sister-in-law. It wasn't until I was dying that I realized how wrong I'd been.

The memory was so vivid, it brought tears to my eyes.

"Does it hurt?" Kaleb asked again, his brow furrowed with genuine worry.

I looked up, meeting his dark, serious eyes. I shook my head, managing a small, watery smile. "I'm fine."

From across the room, Brett snorted in derision. "What are you doing, Kaleb? She's my future wife. Why do you care?"

Mr. Harrison shot Brett a look that could curdle milk, but said nothing. "Mr. Kline is waiting," he announced to the room at large.

Brett brushed past me, giving my shoulder a deliberate shove. "Don't forget what I said," he muttered, a smug little smile playing on his lips. He was already imagining himself as CEO, the master of the universe.

His triumph, however, was short-lived.

We all gathered in the main drawing-room. Ferdinand, leaning on his cane, made his way to a small, raised platform. His hair was white, but his presence was as formidable as ever. He took my hand, his grip surprisingly firm, and smiled.

"Today is a joyous day," he announced, his voice booming through the silent room. "My dear Faith has just turned twenty-two. As per the agreement I made with her late father, it is time for her to choose a husband from the Kline family."

He paused, letting the drama build. "Upon their marriage, I will be transferring eighty percent of my personal assets and all of my controlling shares in Kline Innovations to the happy couple."

Gasps echoed through the room. Ferdinand Kline's wealth was the stuff of legend. Eighty percent was a king's ransom, an empire.

"I wish for you all to witness their happiness," Ferdinand concluded.

Brett puffed out his chest and took a confident step forward, ready to claim his prize.

But Ferdinand held up a hand, stopping him. He turned, his gaze sweeping past Brett, and settled on his elder son.

"Kaleb," he said, his voice ringing with pride. "Come here."

Kaleb, who had changed into an even sharper suit, stepped forward. Under the brilliant chandeliers, he looked nothing like the sickly recluse of popular rumor. He looked powerful. He was holding a bouquet of white roses.

He walked up to the platform, his eyes finding mine.

"Faith," he said, his voice soft but clear. "Are you ready?"

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