đź‘‘Tylađź‘‘
As I slid into the car, my hands still trembling slightly, I opened the message again.
> Come home.
That was it. No emojis. No hi. No explanation.
Just a royal decree from the king of my life: my father.
His silence was louder than a scream.
My stomach sank.
I drove faster than I should've, my mind racing through a hundred possible scenarios. None of them were good.
The moment I stepped into the mansion, I froze.
They were here.
Shane.
His father, Damien. Stoic and terrifying in that quiet, old-money way.
His mother, Vivian. Flawless, unreadable, wearing luxury and silence better than any crown.
Daniella, his sister. Scrolling through her phone like she couldn't be bothered to notice the war about to begin.
All of them were seated in my father's private sitting room like it belonged to them.
Like this was their home now. Like I was the guest.
My eyes shot to my mother. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, eyes glued to her coffee cup like it held answers.
Lena stood nearby, posture tense. She caught my gaze and mouthed, "It's fine."
It wasn't.
My father appeared like a ghost behind me, his hand settling on my shoulder. "Come," he said. "We're all having breakfast together."
Together?
As in... family?
As in... what the hell is going on?
Scene: Dining Room
The table looked beautiful.
Too beautiful. Like it had something to prove.
They were a perfect picture. The Jacksons in the middle.
Probably a fake one.
I sat down next to Lena. Shane was across from me, of course. Because why not turn this hellish afternoon into a romantic comedy with knives?
He had the audacity to wink.
I nearly stabbed my omelet.
"So," Damien began. His deep voice made every sentence sound like a business deal. "The gala was… eventful."
I stiffened.
Shane's mother, Vivian, smiled softly. "Indeed. Quite memorable. Tyla, dear, you looked stunning. That dress was Dior, wasn't it?"
Fake compliment. Fake warmth.
I nodded. "Yes, thank you. You looked… prepared for war."
The table went silent for half a second. My mother's fork clinked against her plate.
Shane snorted.
My father cleared his throat. "Let's not make this awkward. This breakfast is about moving forward."
Moving forward?
No one asked me if I wanted to move.
Ethan, seated on my other side, leaned closer and whispered, "Do you want me to fake an asthma attack to get you out of here?"
I smiled, but I was dying inside.
"Shane," my father said, "you'll be spending more time here. I think it's important you and Tyla… reconnect. Rebuild."
Rebuild?
This isn't a bridge. It's a demolition site.
Shane raised his glass of juice like it was champagne. "I'd love nothing more, sir."
Liar.
Daniella didn't even look up from her phone. "Do we have to pretend we all like each other, or…?"
"Daniella," her mother warned.
"Oh, relax," Daniella groaned. "We're all fake enough already."
Lena choked on her water. Ethan couldn't stop laughing.
And me?
I just sat there, slicing into my omelet like it had personally offended me.
It hadn't. But the people at this table had.
Every single one of them. Including the boy who used to chase me through gardens and now acts like he's above them.
Damien reached for the jam, elegant as ever. "I remember when Shane was ten and declared he'd never marry. Claimed 'love is a liability,' his words, not mine."
He chuckled.
Everyone else went still.
Shane wiped his mouth with his napkin. "And now look at me. Fully invested in my liabilities."
Is this what I'm marrying?
A man who jokes about commitment like it's a disease?
I smiled sweetly. "Well, some investments lose value over time."
Ethan let out a low whistle. My father shot me a look. The kind that said, Control yourself.
I didn't.
"I think Tyla and Shane have always challenged each other," my mother offered. Her voice was too high, too strained. "That's healthy in a relationship."
Vivian nodded, sipping her tea. "Oh, I agree. Shane needs someone who doesn't coddle him. Tyla's… direct."
That was code for unrefined.
She might as well have said I had no grace.
"And Tyla needs someone who won't crumble under her fire," my father added smugly. "Shane's the only man I've seen stand his ground."
"I don't remember needing a man to stand at all," I muttered, slicing into my toast. "But thanks for the update on my personality."
I wasn't being cruel. I was being cornered.
"Tyla." My father's voice was sharp now. "This attitude is unnecessary."
"No," I said, looking up. "What's unnecessary is being summoned like a pawn to a breakfast where everyone already knows the script but me."
Silence.
Even Daniella looked up from her phone.
Damien set his cutlery down. "You're not a pawn, Tyla. This union is about alignment. Families. Power."
"Right," I said. "So love is just optional, like parsley."
Vivian smiled like she pitied me. "Love is a luxury, dear. We prefer strategy."
That shut me up for a beat.
Because deep down, I knew she was right.
Shane leaned back, eyes never leaving mine. "I don't need you to love me, Tyla. I just need you to play your part."
There it was.
Honesty, raw and brutal, served cold on a crystal plate.
Like caviar you didn't ask for.
I looked him dead in the eye. "Then learn your lines. Because I'm not carrying this play by myself."
Lena dropped her fork.
My mother whispered, "God help us."
And Ethan muttered, "Ten bucks says someone flips the table before lunch."
"Tyla, take Shane around the estate after breakfast," my father added, just as I set down my fork.
I forced a smile so tight it hurt.
"Of course, Father."
The second I stepped out of that dining room, the air hit different.
Colder.
Like the house itself was warning me to keep my mouth shut next time.
But I couldn't.
Not today.
Not after being humiliated in my own home by a table full of people who saw me as nothing more than a pawn.
My heels clicked against the marble as I turned the corner, fast and desperate for space.
Then I heard him.
"Tyla."
I didn't stop.
Didn't flinch.
But of course he followed. Shane never did know how to stay in his lane.
Just like old times. Always five steps behind and ten steps too late.
"What?" I snapped, spinning around just before the stairs.
He stood there like he owned the moment.
One hand in his pocket.
Calm.
That stupid silver ring glinted on his finger like a seal of power.
Like his birthright gave him the right to chase me down the hallway of my own house.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be."
I laughed, sharp and ugly. "Hard...