Chapter 4

Abby Talley POV:

The left side of my face throbbed, a dull, burning ache that radiated from my cheekbone to my jaw. Every instinct screamed at me to retaliate, to use the self-defense I' d rigorously practiced to put him on his back. But I couldn' t. A public brawl would not only destroy my family' s name but would also give Howard Barrett a reason to nullify the debt he owed my father. I was trapped.

Jana peeked out from behind Connor' s shoulder, a flicker of a triumphant smile on her lips before it was replaced by a more appropriate look of shock and concern.

Connor himself seemed to realize what he' d just done. A flash of something-panic? regret?-crossed his face. He' d exposed his true nature in a room full of the city' s most influential people. But Jana, ever the manipulator, chose that moment to whimper.

"My arm, Connor... it hurts so much."

His attention snapped back to her, his moment of hesitation gone. He wrapped a protective arm around her, glaring at me as if I were the source of all his problems.

The onlookers stared, their expressions a mixture of horror and morbid curiosity. They didn' t see a victim. They saw a problem, a messy drama unfolding at a corporate event. "She must have really provoked him," a woman whispered to her companion, her eyes filled with judgment. "Connor is always such a gentleman."

The blame was already shifting to me.

"Apologize to her," Connor commanded, his voice cold and flat.

His followers, a loyal pack of junior executives, echoed the sentiment. "Yeah, Talley, apologize." "You owe her that much."

Apologize. The word was a bitter pill. I thought of my past life, of the endless apologies I had offered for his mistakes, for his moods, for his violence. I had apologized for existing too loudly, for breathing in a way that annoyed him. I had sacrificed my pride, my dignity, my entire being on the altar of his ego.

No more.

He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do it, Abby. Apologize, we' ll announce our engagement, and this whole ugly incident will be forgotten. I' ll give you everything you could ever want. The Walls name, a place in society..." He was offering me the very cage I had died to escape.

I lifted my chin, my eyes meeting his without a flicker of fear. I held his gaze, letting him see the vast, empty space where my love for him used to be.

Just as he opened his mouth to issue another threat, a clear, resonant trumpet blast cut through the tense atmosphere. The ceremony was beginning.

A hush fell over the crowd as a man in the formal attire of a corporate attaché strode to the center of the room. He was Howard Barrett' s right-hand man, the Herald of the company. His eyes scanned the room and landed on me, widening slightly as he took in the bright red handprint blooming on my cheek. A flicker of pity crossed his face before it was smoothed away into professional neutrality.

Behind him, another figure emerged from the shadows near the grand staircase. He was tall, dressed in a severe black suit that seemed to absorb the light around him. His hair was as dark as his brother' s, but there was no warmth in his face, only sharp angles and a cold, calculating intelligence in his dark eyes. His presence was a physical weight, silencing the remaining whispers in the room.

"It' s Brannon Walls," someone breathed, their voice tight with fear.

Brannon. The Butcher. The man they all feared. He moved with a silent, predatory grace, his gaze fixed on one person and one person only: me.

He stopped directly in front of me, his shadow falling over me like a shield. His eyes dropped to my cheek, and for a fraction of a second, his cold composure cracked. A muscle in his jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Who did this to you?" he asked. His voice was a low rumble, devoid of emotion, yet it carried more menace than all of Connor' s shouting.

I looked into his eyes, and a memory from my past life surfaced. A memory of Brannon standing over Connor' s broken body, his face a mask of cold fury, his hands stained with his own brother' s blood. He had been too late to save me then, but he had avenged me. He had been the only one.

"I tripped," I said, my voice quiet but firm. It was a lie, but it was my lie to tell. I would not give Connor the satisfaction of being exposed by anyone but me, on my own terms.

"She' s my problem, Brannon," Connor interrupted, stepping forward to reclaim the spotlight. "Stay out of it."

The Herald cleared his throat, about to speak, but Brannon silenced him with a single, sharp glare. The man visibly flinched and fell silent.

Brannon' s attention remained on me. "The ceremony must proceed," he said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "It is time to choose."

I took a deep breath, the air tasting of freedom. Without a glance at Connor, I walked past him, my head held high. The path to the ceremonial dais was clear.

"She' s just trying to make me sweat," I heard Connor mutter to Jana as I passed. "She' ll come crawling back. She always does."

His arrogance would be his undoing.