Chapter 4

The Ashford estate's dining room had always intimidated me in my previous life—the vaulted ceilings, the oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors, the massive mahogany table that could seat twenty but somehow always made me feel utterly alone.

Tonight was different.

I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before me. The family elders were already seated, their conversations dying as they noticed my arrival. At the far end of the table, the family patriarch's chair sat empty—a reminder of power that had passed to the next generation. And there, conspicuously vacant, was the seat beside the head of the table.

Killian's seat.

Colton was already at the table, gesturing frantically toward the chair beside him—my usual spot, where I'd sat through countless dinners, invisible and ignored. His eyes met mine across the room, expectation clear in his gaze.

I walked past him without a glance.

The leather chair beside Killian's place was butter-soft beneath my hands as I pulled it out and settled myself into it. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Harper!" Colton's voice cracked like a whip across the dining room. Chair legs scraped against hardwood as he shot to his feet. "That's Killian's—you can't just—"

He was beside me in three quick strides, his hand closing around my upper arm with enough force to leave bruises. In my previous life, that grip would have had me scrambling to apologize, to fix whatever I'd broken.

"That's Uncle Killian's seat," he hissed, his voice low enough that the elders couldn't hear but sharp enough to cut. "Are you completely out of your mind? Get up. Now."

I looked down at his hand on my arm, then back up at his face. "Remove your hand from me, Colton."

Something in my tone must have surprised him because his grip loosened slightly, though he didn't let go entirely.

"Harper, I'm serious. You can't sit there. When Uncle Killian gets here—"

"When I get where?"

The voice that cut through Colton's protests was like aged whiskey—smooth, dark, with an edge that could slice through steel. Every head in the room turned toward the doorway, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

Killian Ashford stood framed in the entrance like he'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting. He was taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders, with silver threading through his dark hair that only made him more distinguished. But it was his eyes that held me—gray as storm clouds, sharp with intelligence, and currently fixed on his nephew with an expression that could have frozen hell.

Colton's hand fell away from my arm like I'd burst into flames.

"Uncle Killian," he stammered, taking a step back. "I was just—Harper was sitting in—I mean, she—"

"She was sitting where, exactly?" Killian's voice remained conversational, but there was something underneath it that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. He moved into the room with predatory grace, his expensive suit fitting him like it had been sewn directly onto his body.

Colton gestured helplessly at the chair I occupied. "Your seat. The one beside—"

"My seat," Killian repeated slowly, his gaze shifting from his nephew to me. Those storm-gray eyes studied my face for a long moment, and I saw something flicker in their depths—recognition, perhaps, or approval. "And you assumed I wouldn't want the lady sitting beside me?"

The question hung in the air like a blade. Colton's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his face cycling through shades of red that would have been comical if the situation weren't so charged with tension.

"I—no, of course not, I just thought—"

"You thought wrong." Killian's attention shifted fully to me then, and when he smiled, it transformed his entire face. "I apologize for keeping you waiting, Harper."

He moved to his chair with fluid confidence, and as he settled beside me, I caught his scent—cedar and leather, with something darker underneath that made my pulse quicken in ways I didn't want to examine too closely.

Colton remained standing for another moment, looking lost and furious in equal measure, before finally stalking back to his original seat. The scrape of his chair against the floor was unnecessarily loud in the suddenly quiet room.

Dinner began with the usual formalities, but I was acutely aware of the man beside me. Killian moved with the kind of controlled precision that spoke of power held in check, and when the first course arrived, he did something that nearly made me drop my fork.

He reached for the serving platter of prawns and began peeling them, his long fingers working with practiced efficiency. Then, without a word, he placed the perfectly cleaned seafood on my plate.

"Thank you," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

"My pleasure," he replied, and there was something in his tone that made heat bloom in my cheeks.

Across the table, I could feel Colton's stare like a physical weight. When I glanced in his direction, his jaw was clenched so tight I was surprised his teeth didn't crack.

Killian continued his attentions throughout the meal—selecting the choicest pieces of lamb for my plate, refilling my wine glass before it was empty, engaging me in quiet conversation about my work while largely ignoring the other dinner guests. It was the kind of focused attention I'd craved for years from Colton, now being lavished on me by a man who barely knew me.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

"So Harper tells me you've been working on international expansion strategies," Killian said to the table at large, though his eyes remained on me. "Fascinating work."

Before I could respond, the dining room doors burst open with enough force to rattle the crystal.

Violet stood in the doorway like she owned the place, her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the late hour, wearing a dress that was entirely too revealing for a family dinner. Behind her, looking sheepish but defiant, was Colton.

"Sorry we're late," Violet said with that saccharine smile I'd learned to despise. "Traffic was just terrible."

Elder Chad's face turned an alarming shade of purple. "What is the meaning of this, Colton? You know family dinners are for family only."

"Violet is family," Colton said quickly, his eyes darting to me with obvious expectation. "She's Harper's sister, after all. That makes her—"

He paused, waiting for me to jump in with my usual diplomatic smoothing-over, to make excuses and apologies that would make everyone comfortable.

I took a sip of my wine and said nothing.

The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable, then painful. Colton's face grew redder with each passing second.

"Harper?" he prompted, his voice tight with barely controlled frustration.

I met his gaze calmly and took another sip of wine.

Beside me, I felt rather than saw Killian's shoulders shake with what might have been suppressed laughter.

"Well," Elder Chad said finally, his voice dripping with disapproval, "I suppose since you're here, you might as well sit down. But this is highly irregular."

Violet practically bounced to an empty chair, pulling Colton down beside her with obvious satisfaction. She was glowing with triumph, clearly believing she'd won some sort of victory.

If only she knew what was coming.

"Now then," Chad continued, settling back in his chair, "the main purpose of tonight's gathering was to discuss wedding arrangements. There are several matters that need to be—"

"Actually," Colton interrupted, his voice gaining strength as he found his footing again, "about the wedding. Harper and I have already taken care of the most important part." He reached over and grabbed my hand, his grip possessive and performative. "We've registered for our mate marking ceremony. Haven't we, Harper?"

His eyes bored into mine, demanding confirmation, expecting me to play along with whatever narrative he was spinning. In my previous life, I would have nodded, would have smiled and agreed and let him control the story.

Not anymore.

I looked around the table, taking in the expectant faces—Chad's approval, Violet's barely concealed smugness, the other elders' polite interest. Then I looked at Killian, whose gray eyes were watching me with something that looked like anticipation.

"Actually," I said, my voice carrying clearly through the sudden silence, "there's been a misunderstanding."

Colton's grip on my hand tightened painfully. "Harper—"

"The person I'm planning to marry," I continued, pulling my hand free of his grasp, "isn't Colton."

The silence that followed was absolute. Even the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to pause its ticking.

"It's Killian."

The words hung in the air like an explosion waiting to detonate. I felt Killian go very still beside me, felt the collective intake of breath from everyone else at the table.

Then chaos erupted.

Chad's wine glass hit the floor with a crash that seemed to break the spell. Colton shot to his feet so fast his chair toppled backward. Violet's face went white, then red, then white again.

"What did you just say?" Colton's voice was barely human, more growl than words.

I stood as well, my movements calm and deliberate in contrast to his fury. "I said I'm going to marry Killian. Not you."

The dining room erupted in voices—shocked exclamations, angry demands for explanation, the scrape of chairs as people rose to their feet. But through it all, I was only aware of one thing.

Killian's hand, warm and steady, as it closed over mine.