Chapter 2I Took Her Apologies Too Literally

The morning after Celia’s arrival, the Harringtons decided to dissolve my engagement to Rhys Bancroft.

The Bancrofts and the Harringtons were old money, intertwined through three generations of high-stakes philanthropy and boardroom alliances. Decades ago, the patriarchs had shaken hands over single-malt scotch, deciding that whichever daughter emerged would marry Rhys. Because I was the only girl in the house, that glittering ring had hovered over my head for years.

Now that Celia was back, everyone looked at me with varying degrees of pained embarrassment.

I, however, breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

Rhys Bancroft was too clever by half. Talking to him was like sitting for an unscheduled SAT exam. I had no desire to spend the rest of my natural life taking pop quizzes at the breakfast table.

When Rhys arrived at the estate, I was sitting cross-legged on the Persian rug in the sunroom, absorbed in building a Lego botanicals set.

Celia sat at the opposite end of the velvet sofa. The moment Rhys stepped into the room, her eyes turned misty.

"Rhys… I’m so sorry."

Rhys paused mid-stride.

My Lego brick hovered in the air.

"Why on earth was she apologizing again?"

Celia looked down at her lap, her voice trembling with tragic self-restraint. "I know you and Delia have an arrangement. I’ve only just arrived, and I don't expect anything. Please, pretend I’m not here. I can manage on my own."

Mother looked ready to weep from secondhand heartbreak. Father sighed heavily. Jasper cast me a look heavy with brotherly warning.

Understanding struck me like lightning.

"Oh! I know the answer to this one."

I raised my hand high, like an eager schoolgirl. "I agree to terminate the engagement!"

Every face in the room swung toward me in unison.

Fearing they hadn't heard me clearly, I beamed. "Really. I completely agree."

Celia’s delicate sniffling hitched in her throat.

Rhys arched a dark, elegant brow.

I abandoned my Lego set, scrambled to my feet, and ran upstairs to fetch my leather portfolio.

"I even prepared an itemized settlement folder," I announced proudly, returning to the coffee table. "The vintage emerald suite your grandmother gave me is boxed up and ready to go back. The trust fund transferred into my name upon our formal betrothal—my financial advisor says only half of it needs to be returned under state contract law. Oh, and the singing crystal duck you brought me from Vienna last winter… it plays off-key show tunes and I love it to pieces. May I keep it?"

Rhys looked down at me, the faintest flicker of amusement curving the corner of his lips. "You may keep the duck."

"Yay!" I cheered.

Celia bit her lip so hard it went white. "Delia… were you just waiting for this? Did you want to break it off all along, and you’re only acting this magnanimous now because I’m back?"

I blinked up at her, utterly baffled. "If being relieved about ending an engagement is wrong… should I cry for you instead?"

Jasper’s voice turned icy. "Delia."

I clamped my lips shut, slightly startled.

Fresh tears spilled over Celia’s cheeks. "Don’t be mad at her, Jasper. Delia is just straightforward. Not like me… I grew up depending on other people’s charity. I never learned how to ask for what I want."

I considered this carefully for a beat. "Except you just asked for the engagement two minutes ago."

Her face lost every drop of color. "I did not!"

"Oh," I said innocently. "So you don’t want it?"

She choked, entirely stripped of words.

A low, muffled chuckle broke from Rhys.

Before the tension could snap, the butler rushed in, looking thoroughly perturbed. "Sir, Ma’am… the pink diamond heirloom brooch left by the Dowager Mrs. Harrington is missing."

Mother’s expression shifted instantly. That brooch was an Edwardian heirloom passed down through three generations; it had been earmarked as Celia’s official welcoming gift tonight.

Celia stood up at once, looking panicked. "Missing? How could it be missing?" She turned a frightened, trembling gaze on me. "Delia… I’m not accusing you. Truly, I’m not. But you were the only one who went into the jewelry vault this morning."

I tilted my head. "I went in to grab my hair clip."

Celia began to cry harder, her breath catching. "This is all my fault. If I hadn’t shown up, the family treasures wouldn't be vanishing. Delia, were you just… was your heart hurting so badly that you acted without thinking?"

Mother’s eyes darkened with a cold, unfamiliar skepticism.

Father’s voice lowered into gravel. "Delia. Where is the brooch?"

A knot of unfairness tightened in my chest. "I don't know."

Jasper stood up, his jaw set like stone. "Search her room."

Ten minutes later, the maid walked down the stairs, holding the antique velvet pouch. It had been tucked deep inside the zippered lining of my carry-on luggage.

The room went dead, static-charged and freezing.

Celia pressed a hand over her mouth, tears cascading down her cheeks. "Delia… if you couldn't bear to part with it, you could have just told me. I would have gladly given it up. Why did you have to do this?"

I looked at the pouch, and suddenly, the fog cleared.

Early this morning, Celia had come knocking on my bedroom door, whispering that she was terrified of handling valuable jewelry and asking if she could see the heirloom piece first. I had been busy filming a daily outfit reel for Phoebe, so I had told her to go ahead and inspect the box on the dressing table.

My processing speed might be slow.

But I am not an idiot.

I pulled out my phone, tapped the screen, and AirPlayed my camera roll directly onto the massive wall-mounted television.

The 4K footage flickered to life.

On screen, I was spinning happily in front of the full-length mirror. Behind me, in sharp focus, Celia opened the velvet case, lifted the brooch, held it for two silent seconds, checked over her shoulder to verify my back was turned, and slid the piece directly into the side zip of my weekend duffel bag.

On the video, my cheerful voice rang out: "Celia, do you think I look like a lemon meringue tart today?"

In the living room, Celia’s face went the color of curdled milk.

I asked softly, "Didn’t you say you were terrified of losing it? Why did you hide it in my bag?"

Celia’s lips trembled violently. Her sobs turned jagged, hysterical. "I didn't mean to! I was just… I was so scared! I was terrified everyone would think I was cheap and unrefined, terrified Delia would hate me, terrified you’d throw me back on the street!"

Mother’s reaching hand froze in midair.

Father’s face darkened into an ugly, thunderous scowl.

Jasper stared at the frozen frame on the screen, and for the very first time, he did not step forward to shield her.

Rhys walked over, stopping just beside my shoulder. He leaned down, his voice quiet. "You film everything?"

I nodded earnestly. "My memory is terrible. If I don't document it, I forget what I wore."

He let out a short, admiring breath. "Clever girl."

Celia was hyperventilating on the sofa now, clutching at her chest. "Delia, please… please forgive me. I just got here. I’m so insecure…"

I thought about it for a second, then gave her an honest answer. "I’d rather not. You almost made me a criminal."

Her head whipped up, shocked.

I clutched my crystal duck to my ribs. "I might be a bit slow, Celia. But that doesn't mean my reputation doesn't matter to me."

That night, Jasper knocked on my bedroom door.

He lingered in the shadow of the hallway sconces, looking tired. "What Celia did today… she was wrong. But she only just arrived, Delia. Her mental state is fragile. Let it go. Don't press the issue."

I sat cross-legged on my packed suitcase, looking up at him. "What about my mental state?"

Jasper blinked, stunned.

I held up my fingers, counting them off. "Today, my bedroom was ransacked. I was branded a thief by my own family. And I almost lost my singing duck. My mental state isn’t particularly stable either."

He stood in heavy silence for a long time, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a black card. "There’s fifty thousand dollars in this account. Consider it an apology from your brother."

I stared at the sleek plastic for two beats, then took it. "Okay."

Jasper visibly relaxed, letting out a relieved breath.

I looked up at him through my bangs, my voice quiet. "Jasper… next time she plays the victim, will you suspect me first again?"

His expression froze in the dim hallway light, trapped behind a mask he didn't know how to take off.