Instead, Janet's schemes multiplied. She drove wedge after wedge between us until the distance became a chasm.
And in the end, she dragged both me and Joan straight to hell.
Joan held Rhys's gaze without flinching. Her voice cut like a blade: "Keep her around, and you spit in my family's face. So tell me—is this engagement still happening or not?"
Rhys's expression darkened. He turned to Joan with barely concealed irritation.
"You grew up in this world. Why are you being so petty? Men have women on the side. Everyone does it."
Then he pivoted to me, his tone softening into something almost coaxing. "Honestly, I think I still prefer you, Ursula."
I lowered my eyes.
Prefer me. What a joke. He didn't want me—he wanted a well-behaved ornament. A wife who'd stay silent at home while he planted his flag wherever he pleased.
I lifted my gaze to meet his, and I understood exactly what he was waiting for.
He wanted me to fight for him. To scramble for the position of his fiancée so that all the whispers and humiliation would land on my shoulders instead.
"Rhys." My voice came out steady, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "I already made my position clear. I'm stepping aside."