Connor's glass hovered mid-air for a second too long before he finally took a sip. His usual ease—his calm confidence—was thinning, fraying at the edges. I knew him too well not to notice.I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "You don't have to answer anything you're uncomfortable with," I murmured. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—but Xander noticed anyway. His eyes flicked to me.A warning.Or a challenge.
"Of course," Xander said smoothly, folding his hands together. "I'm only making conversation." Conversation. The word felt like a lie. Connor forced a small smile. "It's fine," he said, though his knuckles had gone white against the stem of his glass.
Xander's gaze returned to him, sharper now. "Tell me something, Connor. When life throws you a situation you didn't plan for—something… permanent—do you confront it immediately?" He paused. "Or do you hope time will erase it?"
Silence stretched.
Too long.
The hum of the restaurant faded into a distant blur. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Connor exhaled slowly. "I believe in accountability," he said carefully. "But I also believe some things don't need to be dragged into the light if they won't change the outcome."
Xander's lips twitched. "Interesting philosophy."
Aras let out a low chuckle, swirling his drink. "Sounds like someone who's lived a little," he said, eyes glinting with mischief. "Or survived something messy."
Connor shot him a tight smile. "Life isn't clean."
"Neither are secrets," Aras replied lightly—but his eyes stayed on Xander, as if daring him to push further.
Naiya shifted beside me, her knee brushing mine in a silent show of support. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were sharp, protective. She was watching every move, every word, storing them away.
Xander leaned forward again, voice dropping just enough that it felt intimate. Dangerous. "You're right," he said. "Life isn't clean. But secrets?" He paused, letting the word hang. "They have a cost. And usually, someone else ends up paying it."
Connor's jaw clenched. I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to stand up—to end this, to drag Connor away before whatever Xander was circling finally struck. But my body wouldn't move. Fear had its own kind of gravity. "And Amaiyla," Xander added casually, turning to me at last. "You trust him, don't you?"
The question landed like a blade. Every pair of eyes at the table shifted to me. My throat tightened. I forced myself to meet Xander's gaze. "With my life," I said. Something unreadable passed through his expression. Not anger. Not satisfaction. Something colder.
"Good," he replied softly. "Trust is precious. Especially when it's… incomplete." Emry straightened slightly, his attention snapping fully to the table now, his protective instincts flaring. Ocean noticed—of course she did—and their eyes met briefly. A silent understanding passed between them, unspoken but heavy. Connor reached for my hand under the table, squeezing it once—steady, grounding. But I could feel it now: the tension in his grip, the uncertainty he was fighting to hide.
Xander leaned back, finally breaking eye contact. "Well," he said lightly, as if nothing unusual had occurred, "this has been enlightening." But I knew the truth. So did Connor. So did Xander. This wasn't over. It wasn't even close. Whatever Xander knew—whatever he was hinting at—it was waiting. Patient. Dangerous. And when it finally surfaced, it wouldn't just test Connor's past or my loyalty. It would shatter the fragile illusion that any of us were still in control.
The moment the parents stood and excused themselves—murmuring about "details" and "logistics"—something in the air shifted. It was subtle. But unmistakable. Their departure left the table exposed, stripped of polite supervision. No buffers. No witnesses who mattered. Just us… and the truth circling like a storm that hadn't decided where to strike first.
Connor leaned closer to me again, his voice barely above a breath. "Amaiyla… talk to me. Please. You're shaking."
I hadn't even realized I was. "I'm okay," I lied, the word tasting bitter. "Just tired." He didn't believe me. I could see it in his eyes—the concern, the confusion, the quiet fear that something was slipping through his fingers.
Before he could press further, Xander stood. "I need a word with Amaiyla," he said calmly. Not a request.
Connor's head snapped up. "Is that really necessary?"
Xander met his gaze evenly. "Yes." The silence that followed was suffocating.
Naiya straightened. "I'll go with her." Xander's eyes flicked to her, then back to me.
"This is private." Naiya didn't move.
"So is family." For a moment, I thought Xander might push back. Instead, he smiled—slow, calculating. "Five minutes," he said. "Right over there."
I rose on unsteady legs and followed him a few steps away, close enough that everyone could see us… but far enough that they couldn't hear. The moment we stopped, his expression changed.
"No more pretending," Xander said quietly. "You're not just hiding something, Amaiyla. You're protecting someone."
My chest tightened. "You don't know anything."
"I know enough." He leaned in slightly. "And Connor Jackson is not the safe, spotless hero you think he is."
My pulse spiked. "Don't talk about him."
"Why?" Xander asked coolly. "Because you love him? Or because you don't want to find out what love costs when it's built on half-truths?"
I shook my head. "You're doing this on purpose."
"Yes," he admitted without hesitation. "Because you're entitled enough to believe love exempts you from consequences. And spoiled enough to think the past stays buried just because you refuse to look at it. Or acknowledge it."
Anger flared, hot and sharp. "You don't know me."
"I know your father," he replied. "And men like John Hollingsworth don't raise innocent daughters." That cut deeper than I expected. "You want out," Xander continued. "You want me to help you break this engagement. But you haven't even asked yourself what happens when everything comes out. When secrets stop being optional."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Then help me. If you're so smart—if you know so much—help me end this before it destroys everyone." He studied me for a long moment, eyes cold, assessing. "No," he said finally. "Not yet."
My breath caught. "Why?"
"Because right now," he said quietly, "you don't deserve saving. You want freedom without fallout. I intend to prove my father i'm right about you." And with that, he stepped back.
Across the room, Connor had risen halfway out of his chair, tension coiled tight in his frame. "Amaiyla," he said the moment I returned, searching my face. "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing," I replied too quickly. Xander resumed his seat as if nothing had happened. "We were just clarifying expectations."
Connor's eyes flicked between us. Something dark crossed his expression. "About what?"
"About honesty," Xander replied smoothly. "And what happens when it's delayed."
Connor's jaw tightened.
Aras let out a sharp laugh, finally pushing back his chair. "Wow," he said. "This is getting painfully dramatic." He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes flashing with defiance. "Let me be clear—no one here gets to decide anyone else's fate. Not fathers. Not contracts. Not you, Xander."
Xander didn't even look at him. "Sit down."
Aras ignored him. "You think you're in control," Aras continued, voice low, dangerous. "But whatever you're playing with? It's going to explode." Naiya stood then, her voice steady but unyielding. "And when it does, don't expect Amaiyla to be the only one standing in the wreckage."
Emry had gone quiet—too quiet. His gaze had shifted past the table entirely. That's when I saw it. Connor followed his line of sight. Across the room, Ocean stood near the bar, laughing softly at something Cleo had said. Emry's expression softened in a way that felt… intimate. Unguarded.
Connor frowned slightly. "I know her," he murmured
. Emry's head snapped up. "You do?"
"Yeah," Connor said slowly. "We crossed paths earlier. She helped me find parking. Small world." Ocean looked over then, recognition flickering in her eyes. Something unspoken passed between her and Emry. A thread had just connected—quiet, invisible, and dangerous. And somewhere behind the velvet curtain, two fathers shook hands over a contract none of us had seen or participated in. A contract already in motion. One that didn’t merely bind two people for life, but threatened to destroy countless others. Nothing had broken yet—but the cracks were already there.