Chapter 4
Alistair Ward had understood my father perfectly.
Father trusted blood first.
Then loyalty.
Then usefulness.
Gabriel’s place beside me blocked everyone else.
We fought constantly, but no outsider came between us.
Until the betrayal.
After Gabriel’s exile, Alistair became my father’s most trusted adviser.
When Father died three years later, Alistair remained beside me.
He introduced Celeste into my social circle.
Not immediately.
Gradually.
Dinner.
Charity event.
Holiday reception.
Nothing obvious.
By the time we began dating, Gabriel had been gone five years.
Ward was already part of the architecture around me.
Then Alistair died.
Celeste remained.
Perfect transition.
I looked at Gabriel.
“You think the engagement itself was planned eight years ago?”
“No.”
Good.
He had not become paranoid.
“Alistair wanted influence. Celeste wanted you.”
Different.
Important.
“Did she love me?”
Gabriel shrugged.
“Ask her.”
So I did.
Celeste sat exactly where I had left her.
Engagement ring still on.
I put the silver Ward tie clip on the table.
Her face changed.
Then the film reel.
She closed her eyes.
“How long have you known?”
She whispered:
“Two years.”
My chest tightened.
Before our engagement.
Before I asked her to marry me.
Before she stood at my mother’s grave and promised she wanted no secrets between us.
“Two years.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Her father confessed when he was dying.
Not everything.
Enough.
He told her Gabriel had never betrayed Ashford.
Told her why he framed him.
Told her the original footage existed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She started crying.
“Because by then you loved me.”
That answer hurt more than calculation.
Not because it was romantic.
Because she used my love as justification for continuing the lie.
She feared if Gabriel returned, I would look at the Ward family differently.
Correct.
She feared I would question how we met.
Correct.
She feared every happy memory would acquire an asterisk.
Correct.
So instead she kept my brother exiled.
Then Gabriel contacted her after finding the reel.
Celeste panicked.
She invited him to tonight’s engagement dinner under the pretense of helping reconciliation.
Then arranged for him never to reach the door.
I looked at her.
“You were going to have my brother killed?”
Her face snapped up.
“No.”
Important.
“Then what did ‘make it look like an accident’ mean?”
“Stop the car.”
“How?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Cowardice.
May you like
Again.
She wanted the outcome without owning the method.
