The Johnson mansion was exactly as I had imagined, imposing, polished, and steeped in the kind of wealth that didn't need to speak loudly to be heard. Its marbled foyer stretched endlessly, the walls lined with abstract art and family portraits. At the centre of the high ceiling, a glass chandelier cast a golden glow throughout the room.
I adjusted my navy-blue dress and swallowed the tension building in my throat. My mother walked beside me, her hands tightly clasped around the straps of her purse, knuckles pale.
Frey had driven us here but said little along the way. He was unusually quiet, his jaw stiff, like he was preparing for battle rather than dinner.
"Welcome," Tyler Johnson's voice boomed from the grand dining room. He walked out to meet us, looking every inch the titan he was known to be, silver-haired, sharply dressed, and his presence too large for even this house.
Tyler Johnson walked toward us with a proud smile, his expensive cologne drifting through the air before he even spoke.
"Catherine," he greeted warmly, reaching out to shake my hand. "It's a pleasure to finally…"
His voice cut off mid-sentence the moment his eyes shifted to my mother, the colour drained from his face. His confident stride faltered.
My mother froze.
A sharp, loaded silence fell over the hallway.
"Vanessa…?" Tyler's voice was low now, barely a whisper, as though saying her name alone had knocked the breath from his chest.
Her lips parted in disbelief. "Tyler."
I'd never heard her say a name with that kind of weight, anger, surprise, and something else she buried too quickly.
"Oh my days…" he started, but caught himself, eyes darting toward Frey and me.
The look they shared was unmistakable, like ghosts had just walked into the room. History bleeding into the present, neither of them had expected to be face to face tonight.
And neither of them could hide it.
Frey frowned beside me. "Do you two… know each other?"
My mother composed herself first, inhaling slowly through her nose. "It's been a long time," she said with a brittle smile, her voice tight.
Tyler, still visibly shaken, cleared his throat and forced a more neutral expression. "Yes… It has."
The pause stretched awkwardly. Then she added with a strained grace, "Still as charming as ever, Tyler. Some things don't change."
His lips curved faintly, but his eyes hadn't stopped searching hers. "You haven't changed much either."
My Mom's breath hitched, but she recovered quickly, stepping back with a composed smile. "Well, some things manage to stay the same."
Tyler's lips curved faintly. "Shall we?"
He turned without waiting for a response, gesturing for everyone to follow him into the dining hall. Frey and I exchanged a glance before trailing behind. My Mum walked beside me, her posture poised but stiff, as though each step required conscious effort.
The dining room was just as grand as I'd expected, long mahogany table polished to a shine, crystal chandeliers casting warm light over a centrepiece of fresh white roses. Two butlers stood at attention by the sideboard, ready to serve.
"Please," Tyler said, holding a hand out toward the seats, "make yourselves comfortable."
We took our places. Frey sat beside me at the centre of the table while My Mum sat across from us next to Frey's Mum. My Dad couldn't make it because of his health condition.
Tyler remained at the head, his presence commanding but strangely silent for a while, as if processing something deeper than dinner.
The first course was served: cream of asparagus soup with toasted brioche. I lifted my spoon carefully, trying to mask how awkward the air had become.
"This looks delicious," I offered politely.
"It's one of Tyler's favourites," My Mum said before catching herself. Her eyes darted to him, then back to her bowl.
He chuckled. "Still remember that, do you?"
I glanced up sharply, but she didn't answer. Instead, she sipped her soup.
I shifted in my seat, glancing at Frey, who seemed unfazed or maybe just good at pretending.
"So, Catherine," Tyler spoke after a beat, his voice cutting cleanly through the room, "tell me, what are your goals?"
His word sliced through the room with quiet intent.
I straightened, choosing my words carefully. "I'm currently focused on my career path, sir. I still have a few years to go, but I'm determined to make something meaningful out of myself."
Tyler nodded slowly. "And what about family? Commitment?"
I met his gaze. "I believe in building something real. Whether it starts traditionally or not, it's what you make of it that matters."
His eyes lingered on mine for a second longer than necessary before he turned to Frey. "She's quick. You could learn a thing or two from her."
Frey scoffed, shaking his head with a half-smile. "You always think I need fixing."
"Because you do," Tyler replied without missing a beat.
Everyone laughed lightly, but it didn't wash away the tension that had begun to simmer again. The main course was served: grilled lamb chops with truffle mashed potatoes. The conversation turned to lighter matters: the upcoming wedding, Frey's childhood antics, and discussions about the Johnson's business empire.
Until Tyler turned to my mum, lifting his glass. "So, Vanessa… tell me, do you ever regret leaving the city?" The question landed like a thunderclap masked in politeness.
Vanessa's fingers tightened slightly around her fork. "Not at all. I built a life I'm proud of. A family. A home."
"Of course," Tyler said, swirling his wine. "Though, if I remember correctly, you used to dream bigger."
There was a heavy pause.
It became pretty clear that my mum's acquaintance with Frey's father, or whatever it was between them, dates back to Pensacola, Florida. Where I was born and where I first met Frey, but we moved to Chicago when I was thirteen.
"Dreams evolve," she answered softly. "Just like people."
I lowered my eyes to my plate, pretending to focus on the lamb.
"But they never really go away," Tyler added with a shadow of something unreadable in his tone.
I looked between the two of them, clearly aware now that there was more to this night than introductions and fancy meals.
Frey cleared his throat. "Dad, we're not here to discuss anyone's past. Tonight's about family… and the future."
Tyler raised his glass toward me. "To the future, then, may it be less complicated than the past."
Glasses clinked gently. But the toast felt like a question, not a celebration.
As dessert—raspberry tartlets and dark chocolate soufflé—was served, I noticed Tyler watching me again. Not with suspicion. With curiosity.
Like he was trying to recognise something he couldn't quite place.
Like he was searching for traces of a buried truth in the curve of my face.
And for the first time, I had a cold, crawling feeling in my gut…
Was it possible he already suspected?